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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1519/30375/BGambleATGambleATv1.2.pdf
2657924e2f12afbc9e2eaea6afe49c54
Dublin Core
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Title
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620 Squadron
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-06-23
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
620 Squadron
Description
An account of the resource
Twenty-three items. The collection concerns 620 Squadron and contains photographic slides or aircraft and places, an autobiography of Alan T Gamble, wireless operator training school documents, a memoir of operations on D-Day by Noel Chaffey and a short biography of him as well as noted of crews lost on 620 Squadron during Arnhem operation.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Darren Sladden and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Transcribed document
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[underlined] WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE [/underlined]
By
ALAN T. GAMBLE
[line of stars]
[underlined] PART ONE [/underlined]
[underlined] “BY THE SEAT OF HIS PANTS” [/underlined]
[line of stars]
[underlined] PART TWO [/underlined]
[underlined] “NO PROBLEM SPORT” [/underlined]
[line of stars]
[page break]
TO THE MEMORY OF THE AIRCREW
OF
BOMBER COMMAND
WHO WERE KILLED OR MISSING
IN
OPERATIONS OVER EUROPE
1939—1945
[line of O’s]
[page break]
THERE ARE OLD PILOTS AND BOLD PILOTS
BUT
VERY FEW
OLD….BOLD PILOTS
Anon.
[page break]
[underlined] FORWARD [/underlined]
Like most impressionable youngsters I had ambitions; notwithstanding the fact that ambition is one thing and the chance of achieving it is something quite different.
In those early days I was not aware that there were so many factors involved. The only one that seemed obvious to me then was opportunity, or the lack of it, but on reflection it is obvious that both ability and motivation were most certainly lacking.
With the most important ingredients that one needed to guide one's path in life missing. I was stuck in a rut which seemed to be the normal lot of an average child from an average working family, although there may well have been a spark of a Walter Mitty trying to get out.
I had developed an interest in all things mechanical from bicycles to motor bikes then cars and aeroplanes. As far as aeroplanes were concerned I could not get enough of them. I read everything I could lay my hands on. I made models. I went to air shows to be thrilled by Alan Cobhams Flying Circus at Shoreham and to Tangmere for Air Days. On one occasion my hand built bicycle took me as far as Hendon for the Air Pageant and more thrills.
I once watched one of the giant German airships, the Hindenburg, cruise in from the Channel between Worthing and Lancing on it's way to Cardington, never suspecting that in a few years time there would be more lethal visitors following the same path.
Those early days were full of the exploits of aviators. Scott and Black and the original Comet. Amy Johnstone and Jim Mollison. The Schneider Trophy attempts and new records being made all the time by intrepid aviators on transatlantic and round the world flights from places like Hendon and other mysterious outposts of civilisation such as Mildenhall!.
For me to ever come into close contact with aeroplanes looked like remaining a schoolboy dream forever.
My schooling was not spectacular. I reached no academic heights. I could not even qualify for High School. I don't think I ever
[page break]
had a school leaving certificate but if there was one perhaps the kindest comment that could ever have been made on it would have been "goodbye"!.
On leaving school I had taken up an apprenticeship as a cabinet maker/polisher and the years passed by as the world lurched from one crisis to another until the prospect of another war loomed on the horizon.
Eventually the day came when ultimatums were given and promises were broken which resulted in the Prime Minister broadcasting the declaration of war against the German Nazi State over the radio on 3rd September 1939.
I had already made tentative enquiries about joining the RAF which attracted me like a magnet. Perhaps that is when I should have joined but I didn't; and the story that unfolds is the result.
[line of stars]
[page break]
It is difficult to describe one's feelings at the time of a declaration of full scale war in the knowledge that is was likely to be a very messy business.
For myself I could only recall all the stories that my father and my uncles had related of all the horrors that they had experienced or that they knew of and it was only 21 years since the last terrible conflict had ended with all of the human debris and suffering still evident in everyday life.
Even the Sunday walks along the prom. at Worthing were not without their reminders, with the war wounded from a nearby base being taken out in their basket chairs. They were the blinded and the limbless and those with such disfiguring injuries that they had so be covered with netting to avoid upsetting the kids or the sensibilities of some people whose war had only meant a few shortages and would rather that such unfortunates were kept out of sight.
There seemed hardly a family that had not lost a loved one, some having disappeared from the face of the earth with no resting place, and it looked as if we were going to have to go through it all again.
I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach as I made my way to the front garden gate with my friends after we had heard the broadcast by the Prime Minister; “....we are at war with Germany .....”. We were very quiet for a while as we contemplated what it was going to mean to us all and were each busy with our own thoughts when the wailing of the air raid siren jolted us back to reality.
As is turned out it was a false alarm but it certainly go things moving. Almost before the siren whined down an Air Raid Warden dashed by on his bike frantically ringing his hand bell and shouting to us to take cover which made very little impression on us except to shout back and tell him what to do with his bell. After that initial jolt the conversation turned to what we were going to do about it as there was little doubt to our minds, at our age, we were bound to be involved and would be likely to join a lot of our other friends who had already joined the services.
[page break]
I had made up my mind that it was going to be the Air Force for me but it was a long time before it was possible to get anything near what I wanted.
Every time I went to the recruiting office I found that their priorities did not coincide with mine and in the end I left it in the lap of the Gods.
Shortly before my 20th birthday I was called up!.
A great deal had already happened. Norway and Denmark had been lost to German domination and most of the continent of Europe was under the NAZI jackboot.
We had suffered serious setbacks all over the world and our resources were stretched to the limit. We had fought the Battle of Britian [sic] and only won it by the skin of our teeth. The threat of invasion of our shores still hung over us, which I and a good many others, as civilians, had been prepared to defend in the uniform of the LDV. (Local Defence Volunteers), later to be renamed 'The Home Guard' or more affectionately known later as 'Dads Army'.
I still wanted to change my kharki [sic] uniform for a blue one so when the time came it was 'in for a penny-in for a pound', I volunteered for aircrew; and much to my surprise, was accepted. There were still hurdles to be overcome like the medical examination and that was a tough one but when it case to deciding the aircrew category that I wanted the selection board and I had a little problem.
With so many young men joining, mostly with ambitions to become a pilot like myself, there was little chance for me with my educational qualifications; or lack of them!
They said No to pilot, No to Navigator, and No to Flight Engineer, which was actually my second choice, but they finally agreed that I might make the grade as a Wireless Operator/Air Gunner. That was good enough for me, especially as there were a lot of other things that I did not want to be!.
That was it, and I still had a chance of getting into the air but it took a long time. Nearly two years; and not without a few ups and downs along the way and a lot of hard work to make up for my mis-spent youth.
[page break]
With a great deal of excitement I followed the instructions that I had been given and found my way to Cardington in February 1941 for 'induction', which seemed to me to be a new word for a monstrous machine that devoured humans but had none of the glamour that I had expected of the place that I had previously known from news reels and books. The home of the airship.
Anyone that went through that routine will recall that as soon as the gates were behind you and you got a number that is all you were.
Most areas were out of bounds and we were confined to camp. No longer was our life our own so I suppose it is not surprising that I only saw the airship sheds close up on one occasion whilst I was there.
I saw more of a highly polished floor under my nose, and of the plumbing of the latrines, and the mess kitchens on fatigue detail and of uniform beds and uniform lockers and contents until I was utterly sick of the sight and smell of boot polish, floor polish, metal polish, stained porcelain and disinfectant and stacks of greasy tins.
It did not take long to learn that everything was best done by numbers if I was going to survive without getting into too much trouble.
There was the one time that I made the mistake of allowing myself some original thought when I forget that airman were not supposed to think and that the order of the day was still "yours is not to reason why, yours is but to do and die". The very backbone of blind discipline, in that terrible place.
One wet day the hut sprung a leak allowing a steady drip of water to splash onto our brightly polished stove in it's immaculately whitened surround next to a highly burnished coal bin which contained a load of rubbish under a carefully placed top layer of dusted and polished coal.
I would go as far as to suggest that the coal was kept just for inspection time and was otherwise locked away, whilst we did our best to burn the rubbish and the dust. With very little success of course.
The net result was that the leak was threatening to destroy all of our hard work just before an inspection by an officer was due.
[page break]
It seemed that the easiest thing to do was just to place a fire bucket on the stove until the last moment but the Sergeant in charge had different ideas when he came in for his final look around.
I was left speechless after a good dressing down for mis-use of fire fighting equipment when the offending bucket had been removed from the hot stove and the guilty person identified.
He roared; as only Sergeants can, "you, can't put out a fire with 'ot water you stupid airman: what are you?". By that time I had also learned in a very short space of time that the safest thing to do was agree with anyone with stripes on his arm, and admit sheepishly,to the accusation.
After that it was just a case of keeping the head down and only doing what I was told to do in that soul destroying place and hope that my turn would come later.
Most of my off duty time; and there was not such of that, was spent resting or sleeping. I was too damn tired to do such else after being on the go for about 14 hours a day.
It was obviously more than some people could take and it was not unusual at night to hear a little weeping going on in the darkness by someone who was finding it particularly hard going. Our civilian clothes and most of our personal posessions [sic] were sent home in a cardboard box at the RAF's expense and then we belonged to the Air Force body and soul. After that it was just a matter of settling down and running around like headless chickens.
We learned all the basic things that were expected of us. Who and who not to salute and how. Great chunks of Air Force Law and the Air Force Act were thrust down our throats, including the riot act; to leave us in no doubt what-so-ever as to the very meaning of the word 'discipline' as applied to the forces of the Crown.
It was definitely "yours is not to reason why" etc,...and after three weeks of agony, having been confined to camp all of that time, we were considered fit to go out in public with our bright new uniforms and partially shaven heads.
[line of stars]
[page break]
Going out in public did not mean that we were free. We went in a large party by train, more or less under escort of several NCO's and were delivered to a unit at Skegness for more 'square bashing'.
After being herded and marched about we eventually finished up being allocated billets in what had previously been holiday boarding houses, but there was a difference. Air Force beds and the three 'biscuit' sections of mattress had taken the place of the more comfortable Slumberlands that pre-war paying guests had enjoyed, and as many as possible had been packed into each room.
We were rounded up every morning and marched about and drilled first without rifles and than with, and drilled some more, and then some more until at times I wondered if my feet still belonged to me. They finished up a mass of blisters on top of blisters until a visit to the MO determined that synthetic soled boots did not agree with me and the inflamation [sic] subsided after changing to leather. How glad I was that I had not gone into the Army. I wondered if they would have been as sympathetic?.
At last we were moulded by our drill instructors into regimented lumps of humanity and with the passing out parade in sight there was considerable competition to be the best flight on parade.
Well; among the instructors anyway.
My efforts made sure that we were not!.
It was still common practice in those days to wear such things as sock suspenders as socks were not made to stay up on their own any more than trousers were, so it was not unusual for me to be wearing them.
Unfortunately one of mine came adrift on the march as we pounded our way towards the saluting base with rifles and fixed bayonets. It was causing a bit of a problem as the chap behind me kept crashing his No.9's down on the trailing bit and although it was a bit of a lurching job as it twanged it's way back I am sure we could have got away with it.
Nevertheless, a young officer on the flank worked his way across and came alongside me as I was in the outside file, and hissed out of the corner of his mouth, "step out of line and fix that quickly", so I did.
I stepped smartly out of line by half a pace and bent down to
[page break]
rip off the offending article but half a pace was not enough. Four others tumbled over the top of me in a tangle of arms legs and rifles.
We managed to recover sufficiently, minus a sock suspender, to get back in line before we marched past the saluting base but it goes without saying that there were some very red faces. I was of course carpeted by the flight commander and threatened with all sorts of punishments and it was the first time that I had been on a charge of any sort. I'm not sure what the charge was though but I was beginning to get the hang of things by that time. I do remember that with tongue in cheek I stated in my defence that I had only done what I had been told to do like a good airman and the fact that it went wrong was hardly my fault……there were a lot more red faces and a great deal of spluttering. The case was dismissed and I was told that I should go a long way in the Air Force. The further the better…..like TIMBUKTOO!.
As far as postings were concerned I kept my fingers crossed for a few days and was agreeably suprised [sic] to find that I was going to Mildenhall in Suffolk, instead of some isolated outpost, to continue the process of turning me into aircrew.
Sometimes I have thought that Mildenhall might have been better off without me!.
[line of stars]
[page break]
At Mildenhall my 'on the job training' started off in 'A flight office of 149 Squadron and there I started, to familiarise myself with the workings of a flying unit and aeroplanes.
I sort of bumbled along quite happily as the work of the unit grew on me.
It was one big thrill to be soaking up the atmosphere of this very famous RAF station that had been the scene of numerous departures of record breaking flights before the war and had at one time even been inspected by representatives of the German Air Force High Command.
Currently it was flying almost nightly operations against targets in Germany and German occupied territory, particularly ports and invasion barge concentrations.
I was moved out to the flights after a certain incident which was the result of been asked for assistance by the flight commander. It seemed that he had mis-laid his safe key and as he was 'ops' that night "could I help by getting his pistol out of the safe”?.
It was yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir. That request was as good as an order from such an exalted person and it certainly never occurred to me to refer the matter to the Flight Sergeant in charge.
Many years later I was to find out the correct procedure to achieve access to a safe when the key had been mislaid, but then; if the officer did not seem to know what to do why should a 'bloggs' with only a few months in the service be any better informed!.
'Sir' was quite happy to find his pistol, all oiled and cleaned, with ammunition, laying on his desk when be returned from briefing and with many other things on his mind he did not have time to ask questions.
It was two days later when the subject came up again as he still could not get into his safe so I was obliged to show him how. All I had to do was pull it away from the wall diclosing [sic] the hole in the back created by a circle of holes done with the aid of a Wolf electric drill. He seemed very upset and reckoned with a bit of luck that he would become a casualty before anyone found out. I must confess that…………………
[page break]
in my ignorance I could not understand his concern.
People and aircraft were being lost and damaged right left and centre but 'slight' damage to a safe seemed to be a much more serious problem.
I am not too sure of it but I do believe, that he was the great P.C.Pickard and that somehow he overcome the case of his damaged safe.
As for me, I was dispatched to the flight line and actually let loose with a tractor and refuellers. I don’t remember anyone asking me if I could drive but as it happened the only thing that I had been behind the wheel of before had been a Bren gun carrier,(in the Home Guard-days), when training with local regular units; but no-one seemed unduly concerned and I was soon charging about happily with petrol and oil refuellers as well as towing aircraft about.
It did not take long for the administration to find out that I did not hold a driving licence for my various sorties onto the public highway when I thought it was about time I tried to qualify for a full service licence. Not only was no-one interested but I found myself restricted to camp boundries [sic] only. No harm in trying anyway!.
In due course I found myself having to undertake a different sort of training.
Everyone was required to do a short local course of field training to ensure that they were proficient in the use of certain basic weapons, and as a relatively new arrival I was detailed to report.
I had handled enough weaponry in the Home Guard to know my way around most of what the RAF could produce and I had been awarded a marksmans proficiency in basic training apart from handling all sorts of non-standard stuff.
We had been issued with Canadian Ross .300 rifles of 1916 vintage that had never seen the light of day since they had been manufactured. They had hastily been taken out of storage as the result of an appeal made by Churchill for assistance after Dunkirk,and had been shipped to us urgently with millions of rounds of ammunition in a special convoy. Along the other items were more hand grenades, some Browning automatic .303 rifles and perhaps the most potent of all; the Boys .5ins anti-tank
[page break]
rifle which looked like a king sized rifle which fired armour piercing shot.
This latter item was looked at very suspiciously by the 1914/1918 veterans who were 90% of our ranks and when it had arrived and been degreased along with everything else there had been a lot of dicussion [sic] as to who was going to do the test firing of the thing. The net result was that they; and that included my father, encouraged me to do it, so off we trooped to the range up in the Downs to try and prove something.
Having given the Brownings a satifactory [sic] work-out the time case for the Big-one!
Despite the fact that it was on a bipod and it's heavily padded butt was pulled tightly into my shoulder, and I was in the classical prone position; when it went off I thought the heavens had fallen in. I was forced back several inches but despite the painful process the shot went where it was intended and everyone was satisfied. I promtly [sic] became No.1. on the gun.
The idea was to have a crew of four but it was questionable whether I would have the rest of the crew with me to spot and load when we were confronted by an enemy vehicle, despite the fact that in those desperate days we were expected to stand and fight to the last.
What we lacked in experience then we made up for by our determination to defend our homeland. The order of the day when things were at their worst was 'take one with you' which spelled out some very nasty goings on both for our unit and any Germans that got further than the units manning the beach defences.
Among the assortment of weapons were the 'Molotov Cocktails';bottles of mixed petrol, oil, and parafin [sic] to back up the lavish use of hand grenades.
Part of our defensive plan was to throw then all out of the upper windows to saturate the road junctions with splinters and flame; so my attitude towards that course was one of mild amusement. And a certain amount of smuggness [sic] .
[page break]
It therefore presented no problem when, at a certain part of the course we were in the weapons pit and the Flight Sergeant was calling us in one at a time and going through the procedure of throwing a hand grenade. After a series of bangs I was next in line, so it was "next one, step forward" etc and it was my turn to turn the corner into the active part of the pit.
I think that the Flight Sergeant had probably had one or two nasty experiences with the highly sensitive and nervous types as he seemed very tense when I arrived on the scene.
We had all done a dry run in practice so the rest was done in time honoured fashion as I was handed the grenade.
It was "by numbers-one, pull the grenade off of the safety pin, holding down the lever" ...."Two, throw the grenade overarm...and get down". The lever would fly off as it was thrown and then it would go off in either four or seven seconds from the time of throwing according to the fuse that had been inserted, and I doubt if many people hung about after the pin was out.
In the Home Guard we had practiced a short count after releasing the lever so that an air burst would result but what we were doing was not quite as sophisticated so I thought I would show off a bit. After pulling the pin and holding down the lever I enquired of the F/Sgt "now?".
He went a strange puce colour and kept shouting "now, now, now" as I continued to hold down the lever in the throwing position. Then he changed his cry to "everyone out" which was followed by a mad scramble as the trench was cleared in record time.
I contemplated putting the pin back in and handing it back to him but figured that was pushing my luck so I lobbed it down range where it went off with a satisfying bang.
I soon found myself facing a very irate 'chiefy' who suprisingly [sic] enough just sent me back to my place of work instead of escorting me to the Guard Room on a charge of some sort. But not without my ears burning.
He hurled several unkind remarks after me as I departed about "clever s...." and expressed the hope that the nest time I tried anything like that I would blow my f…… head off!!. Charming!.
[page break]
I soon found that there were plenty of other explosive articles about the place that one had to be very suspicious of in the absence of adequate instruction.
On my introduction to the innards of a Wellington I was told that the 'magic box' with a loose red cover on it in the navigators compartment had a demolition charge inside it and could make a nasty mess of things if interfered with. The same applied to the red cover over the firing switch on the table.
Other nasty devices were the explosive cable cutters set in the leading edges of the wings. It was good bye fingers if they were accidentally triggered and a short 12 bore type cartridge fired a chisel head into a plate.
A job that I did not particularly care for was towing a fully fuelled and armed Wellington about when repositioning was necessary.
It was a very rare job which I did very gently in case anything fell off despite being assured by many people that it was perfectly safe. After all; it was argued, the pilots had to taxy then around and fly them in that condition.
So they might have done but that did not make me feel any happier about the task.
Too many things just seemed to be taken for granted such as the incident out near 'A' Flight dispersals, no more than 100 yards from the 'Bird in Hand' and less than that from a fuel dump.
I came across an armourer sitting astride one of the new 4000lb. 'cookie' bombs on a bomb trolley. He was carefully chipping away a groove around it's middle with a hammer and a cold chisel as they had a tendency to slip out of the bomb hoist sling when arming up!.
The expression on my face must have been one of absolute horror if it reflected what was in my heart but once again I was assured that it was perfectly safe. Nevertheless, I took off at a high rate of knots to the other side of the airfield until he had finished.
I was to learn later that activities such as that really were quite safe. It was just a question of learning about what made things tick but I always remained a little suspicious ever since the occasion when a Cpl fitter had climbed into a Wellington
[page break]
undercarriage wheel wall to investigate the malfunction of an indicator micro switch. I had been shown such things when the safety locks had been in but on this occasion he had said "perfectly safe"…….but it wasn't. The undercarriage collapsed and he was crushed into a very small space and that, unfortunately was the end of his waiting for a pilots course to come through. It was a very unpleasant and messy business for everyone involved.
I generally tried to steer clear of trouble but it was not easy. I once got a loaded petrol bowser stuck in the sand on the way out to 'B' Flight. The Flight Sergeant was called to sort everything out, and me!.
Everyone stood around making various suggestions and I foolishly put in my pennyworth but got told to "belt up” for my suggestion so I just stood back and watched the fun. But I had a feeling that attaching a tow [underlined] above [/underlined] the tractor axle was not a good idea. There were lots of strong words when the tractor and the F/Sgt finished up on their backs but it eventually came out, I finished refuelling. and the aircraft went on ops. despite my efforts.
I still remained on towing and refuelling, even after I was left to refuel a Wellington on my own but I did not secure the filler caps correctly; mainly because as far as I can recall no-one had ever shown us how they should have been done.
It was a very alarmed pilot who landed immediately after take-off with petrol pouring from his wings, and the aircraft was unserviceable for some time whilst drying out. Even then I only had a dressing down and some belated instruction but perhaps the final effort was when I tried to put 'F' Freddie into dispersal on my own.
I had marshalled it in onto the taxyway opposite the dispersal pan and the Sgt. pilot airily told me to put it away; so I tried, but not very successfully.
Although I was fairly adept at hitching up the tow bar and operating the air brakes from the cockpit and I got nicely lined up going into the dispersal I had overlooked the fact that it was a bit of a down hill gradient and the brakes of a Fordson agricultural were not designed to hold a ten ton aircraft in such circumstances....and neither did it!.
Not only did the brakes not hold but the aircraft pushed the
[page break]
tractor, and me, through the hedge sideways resulting in a bent tractor and bent rear guns as well.
Eventually someone realised that perhaps a lot of responsibility was being placed upon 'Bloggs' from time to time, inexperienced as he was, and however willing he might be. From then on, although I still towed things about the fitters and mechanics, who were after all the responsible tradesmen, did the jobs that they were qualified and paid for....and more importantly, signed the Form.700 accordingly.
There were still some dirty and unpleasant jobs to be done from time to time; such as cleaning out the remains of a rear gunner from a battle damaged Wellington. A very unpleasant memory to carry with me when I subsequently set off for aircrew training. Despite the banishment to the more mundane jobs I did some-how get dragged in as an 'extra' in the film 'Target for Tonight', by being allowed on the mainplane and going through the motions of refuelling.
It was a great dissapointment [sic] when I saw the film after the editors had been at it. I appeared in a two second flash out of what I recall was at least a two minute take.
There is always the possibility that when they saw the proofs and noticed this leering airman on the wing trying to look like Errol Flynn they were obliged to do more drastic cutting rather than re-take it. We will never know as the film was also darkened by filters to give a night effect although it was taken in daylight!
[page break]
Piece by piece the vast programme of aircrew training which involved thousands of people was inexorably sucking me, and others, into it's system as it churned out the crews to man the thousands of aircraft that were pouring off of the production lines. My name came up to the top of the list and I was off on my travels again.
This time it was to Blackpool for the beginning of Wireless Operator training; which turned out to be just another production line although it was not nuts and bolts coming off of the end. Blackpool by that time was a sea of blue. Even Reginald Dixon the well known organist at the Tower Ballroom was in uniform as a Corporal drill instructor and his duties seemed to leave him a lot of time to continue to play the organ.
It was a welcome break to go along to the ballroom to enjoy his recitals. 'Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside' always seemed to be booming out some time of the day, but it was no holiday for us.
The boarding houses had been taken over in the same way as they had been at Skegness and they had crammed even more double bunks in so that there were about ten times the number of "guests" that would have normally have been accommodated in peace time.
It was a new experience to eat in our billets which was a change from the mass catering that I had been getting used to but although the landladies did their best with the ration allowances they did seem to dish up some strange things at times. Nevertheless, my taste buds had already undergone a change and I recall that I was eating a lot of dishes that I would have previously turned up my nose at. It was either that or go hungry!.
Our days were divided between morse training and drill with weekly visits to the swimming pool for our bath. The bath arrangement killed two birds with one stone as all the boarding house bathrooms were either locked up or otherwise out of bounds to us. We used the bedroom washbasins. The alternative to a [underlined] real [/underlined] bath was to partially heat a swimming pool.
The tram-car sheds had been converted for signals training and had been fitted with long tables equipped with headsets and morse keys, and stony faced civilian instructors seated at the
[page break]
end of each table.
Half the day was taken up in this environment getting used to the incessant dit,dit,dit,dah,dah,dah, at increasing speeds until the bell went to give us a break or when someone cracked up under the pressure and had to be carried away screaming or crying. It was not only the WAAFS that were affected that way!. No-one who ever went out that way ever came back but there were other ways of being withdrawn from training. It very nearly happened to me when I got 'stuck' at one speed and it was only after pleading with the chief instructor that I finally made the breakthrough.
Then one reached the stage where there was a progress test undertaken in the most nerve racking place. It was in the upper floor cutting rooms of Burtons, 'The Fifty Shilling Tailors', which had also been requisitioned.
The room was set out in a semi circle of tables facing a raised dais upon which there was one table with an elaborate brass morse sending key and a headset. All of the other tables just had headsets.
As we progressed through the course we were tested at an appropriate speed with no re-test if we could not meet the requirements, until the final test came up.
If anyone failed at that point they were washed out, finished, ceased training, call it what you like; and were sent off somewhere else to be something else.
The tension started to mount when the Warrant Officer who was conducting the test, appeared in his white dust coat and issued a dire warning about cheating. After that he set a metronome going to monitor the speed, and by the time he made his first signals check to ensure that everyone was hearing satisfactorily every nerve in the body was jangling.
By the time the opening dit,dit,dit,dah,dit, had come across some people had already gone to pieces but the remainder squared up their papers, checked that their half a dozen pencils were at the ready in case of breakages, and with one more deep breath just ploughed on hoping to get the test piece down with no more than the permitted number of mistakes.
It was inevitable that a good many people 'went for a Burton' in that place. 'Going for a Burton' was a phrase among aircrew
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when referring to those who for obvious reasons had disappeared from active service. That was the signals side of Blackpool apart from the fact that we even tried to read everything in dots and dashes. The paper, the hoardings, even our letters from home. The locals must have thought we were all daft but as in most skills it was a case of practice making things perfect or at least proficient, but I recall that we used to get some strange looks.
A lot of our time was spent in Stanley Park, the Tower Ballroom, and the public baths where we had our weekly bath; (unless one was rich enough to bribe a landlady). and that weekly bath in our case was combined with dinghy drill.
It is indellibly [sic] imprinted on my mind.
Stanley Park was bad enough with incessant marching up and down doing rifle and bayonet drill with a crazy old F/Sgt who worked us up to a pitch where we could have quite cheerfully put one through him. I'm sure old Freddie Fox knew that too.
The baths were something quite different.
Few people had swimwear and in fact it was considered 'cissy' to wear it anyway so several hundred blokes in their birthday suit's were quite a sight and there was a great deal of speculation as to the sight when they were replaced by WAAFS in the same state of undress. The mind boggled!.
To my knowledge no-one ever found out although there were a few bets taken. but security was very strict and WAAF Police replaced RAF Police when the switch was made and a roll call confirmed before the actual change over was made.
Despite the fact that I had been brought up by the seaside I was not a good swimmer, probably due to the fact that I had been pushed in at the deep end at an early learning stage. Being a slow learner I had swallowed a lot of water before being dragged out and pumped dry. It is hardly surprising that thereafter I was not attracted to deep water. Especially the cold variety.
Nevertheless, I did manage to swim the required width across the deep end to qualify as proficient but it was only the preliminary to the so called 'dinghy drill'.
I always seemed to go straight into a state of shock when it came to donning an icy cold, wet and heavy Sidcot
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flying suit, plus parachute harness and 'Mae West' life jacket which was inflated by the mouth after being thrown in. In practice the inflation was done by operating a pressure cylinder toggle but we had to do it the hard way.
There was an awful lot of floundering around after entering the water without swallowing too much especially with all the weight one was carrying, and suffering from the others making waves and generally simulating heavy seas before getting into the dinghy. It made things very difficult and I did not even enjoy doing the aggravation bit to others either.
There were times I could have cheerfully packed it in and remustered to a less demanding ground job but somehow I stuck it out.
[line of stars]
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The day finally dawned when the agony was over and with others I was off to Yatesbury in Wiltshire to learn all about procedures and equipment.
At last I was doing something tangible and I sailed through the course to be awarded the 'sparks' badge at the end plus a few more pennies in my pocket.
I certainly needed the latter as at Mildenhall I had for some reason been overpaid to the extent of being some £5 in the red at one time so deductions had been savagely made until the debt had been paid off. I could have settled it in cash at the time but I was told that the accounts section did not have a procedure for it so for a long time I had only been receiving 5/- five shillings, (25p) every two weeks and in a place like Blackpool my cash balance did not last long. It was no fun at all.
I was very glad when it had been finally settled and I no longer had to rely on the kindness of others for the odd cigarette, cups of tea and buns as well as the odd postal order from home. I'm sure a lot of others were pleased about it too.
I did manage to make up for the lack of certain 'home comforts', namely food, on one occasion though.
On a physical training run at Yatesbury one afternoon I decided that I had had enough and dodged the column by peeling off between some huts followed by a shout from a Cpl. who had seen me go. With that I put on a spurt with the intention of rejoining the party further down the route but did not reckon on the ability of the PTI.(Physical Training Instructor). He caught up with me first and that was me on a charge.
Later, when asked by the officer why I had not stopped when told to do so I simply told the truth and said that I thought that I could run faster than the PTI and that I had hoped to beat him back to the group. My award for failing to do so was three days C.C. (confined to camp), full marching kit parades twice a day at the guard room and kitchen fatigues to go with it. I didn't mind one bit!. I had nowhere to go anyway and I finished up being one of the few people in that place who was getting [underlined] four [/underlined] meals a day for a while.
It was worth peeling buckets of spuds and cleaning a mountain of dirty dishes and pans. The cooks were sympathetic and served up generous helpings as they would for themselves. I do not
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ever recall seeing a skinny cook!.
Someone had got hold of the idea that if you were particularly good at morse beyond the basic standard required then there would be a chance of being earmarked for Coastal Command so with others I put in the extra effort and time and achieved the extra speed almost up to Navy Telegraphist standard.
In principal it seemed a good idea when Bomber Command losses were reaching somewhat frightening proportions but it did not do me or anyone else any good at all as far as I can recall.
As soon as the course was over we were dispersed all over the place; mainly in Bomber Command, to consolidate the training doing all the things that Wireless Operators did and still wondering if it was all worth while.
I went to Marham in Norfolk.
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Photo
YATESBURY 1941
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I covered a lot of ground whilst I was at Marham but I still had to get airborne and there was a long way to go.
I suppose that being aircrew under training had a lot to do with the fact that I was given a wide experience of different jobs in a very short space of time. That is what I thought at the time anyway!.
I started out on the flight line doing daily inspections and ground tests on Wellington and Stirling radio equipments and was later transferred to what was then called Flying Control; as the R/T (Radio Telephone) operator.
Theoretically my job was to relay the controllers instructions to aircraft but everything seemed so incredibly slap-happy during daylight hours that I often found myself doing the actual control whilst the controller kept an ear open in the background.
I found myself particularly attracted to the two Thompson machine guns that were kept in boxes in the control tower. So much so that I was permitted to clean and polish then regularly; provided that I did not put the magazines on!. One particular controller seemed pleased to have someone around that was familiar with then as he certainly was not. My Hone Guard experience again. We only had one in the platoon but everyone knew how to use it!.
On one occasion during a quiet lunchtime with no movements notified I was on my own in the control tower when a Stirling arrived in the circuit and the pilot asked for landing instructions, but the pilot would not circle whilst I got in touch with the controller so I finally gave landing permission. Having given taxying and parking instructions I dashed out of the tower to marshall [sic] it in next to the tower. I was amazed to find that the pilot was a very small lady of the ATA. (Air Transport Auxillary [sic] ) and her only crew was a flight engineer.
I did not have such choice after that but to sign for the aircraft and then had another surprise when an Anson landed and taxied in without any warning at all. The pilot was non other than Jim Mollison who was doing the taxi driving to take the Stirling crew out.
The controller who had seen the activity from the Mess soon came dashing along after he had seen the aircraft in the.......
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circuit and were very surprised to find a brand new Stirling neatly parked but I got a hell of a rollicking for my efforts.
Things got tightened up eventually when another aircraft arrived that no-one seemed to know about. As R/T operator I also performed the duties of 'airmen of the watch' and although I had registered the notification signal in the log and written the details on the movements board it would appear that the controller had not placed a great deal of importance on the movement. As a result he was unaware of the visit of a VIP, (Very Important Person). None other than the Under secretary of State for Air!. Phew!, that caused a stir when he did realise what the score was. The Station Commander was not too pleased either!.
I suppose someone's head had to roll and it was possibly mine as I started a series of detachments to widen my scope of knowledge; unless it was to keep me out of the way!.
I did the rounds of Honington and East Wretham and numerous jobs and being of an inquisitive nature soon found out how things ticked.
At one time I was surprised to find that elements of the Czeck [sic] . Air Force were making a great deal of fuss over what they considered to be their low pay (they were paid RAF rates, Sgt's about £4.50 a week) then the unit moved and things went quiet.
Although I was expecting to be recalled to Marham it was still a shock when it happened. Even more so when I was required to draw flying clothing and prepare to go back to Yatesbury for the air training course. After that everything happened so fast that I wondered what had hit me. It was already mid 1942 and as our activities increased so were our aircraft losses increasing. It was with some apprehension that I embarked on this part of my training. My feelings were not improved when on the morning of departure; waiting for transport at the Guard Room. I was detailed off by the SWO (Station Warrant Officer), to help collect a coffin from the morgue and load it on the transport where it was draped with the Union flag.
I don't know if the SWO had remembered me from another incident which surely should have stuck in his mind, but whether he did or not I have reason to remember it as I was taught another lesson.
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It so happened that I snored; even in those days, which was not a good thing in amongst a crowd of people. In the barracks where we were jammed in with hardly room to move between the beds it was a considerable source of annoyance to my neighbours; if not the whole room although I was not the only one with the problem. It was just worse when I had put a few pints under the belt.
It was not unusual to wake up in the morning to find myself surrounded by a selection of footwear that had been hurled in my direction during the night. Whether any found it's target I would not know. I was usually too far gone.
There was one night that the others in the room could no longer put up with it even when well aimed No. 9's did not do the job and suffice to say that when the SWO marched onto the parade ground is the morning for the colour hoisting parade there I was, still fast asleep in my bed at the foot of the flag pole.
It was a hell of a situation as I struggled back to the billet with my bed and bedding with the SWO hurling dire threats after me. Good job I wore singlet and PT shorts in bed!.
However. it had not resulted in direct punishment. I was still on the mat of course but in my defence I stated that as I had known absolutely nothing about it by virtue of being asleep throughout the whole episode I could not be held responsible.
You can't tell SWO's things like that and get away with it even if the case was dismissed. It was not surprising that after the incident I found myself on guard duty every other night for two weeks, and that included the evening parade as well as the morning colour hoisting parade that the duty people did. It was very uncomfortable being under the eagle eye of the SWO all the time so my turnout and drill had to be impeccable to avoid further punishment. Somehow I got away with it. When detailed off for the loading up I was foolish enough to ask what had happened to the poor chap in the box; only to be told by the man, with a glint in his eye, that it was a Sgt. Air Gunner who had 'copped a packet' a few night [sic] previously. After that I was only too glad to see the coffin subsequently placed in the guards van and draped with the union flag in the care.....
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of the escorts whilst I took off to another part of the train and tried to forget about it.
Back at Yatesbury there were some familiar faces among the entry and we were in a different part of the camp; more or less segregated from the 'sprog' wireless operators, but otherwise there was little difference.
It was not long before many of us were sporting Leading Aircraftsman 'props', and a few more pennies came in useful as well. There was no such thing as a flying pay supplement in those days.
As usual the day was split between job training and other activities, and I was looking forward to the air experience part of it. At last I was going to get airborne and I was all set to enjoy it. It was the beginning of many occasions when I was to feel somewhat disillusioned about taking to the air.
Our initial flying was done in the De.Haviland Dominie as the RAF called them. Many were in fact ex. civilian Rapide's that had been requisitioned and as a result had had a name change and were flown by a mixture of civilian and service pilots.
They were fitted out with several radio positions at which we carried out exercises under the supervision of a Cpl. Instructor with a similar set-up on the ground where we also worked in rotation.
There was of course no toilet compartment, and not even the paper bag that is standard in today's aircraft. There was just an open square biscuit tin of the type that the ancient 'hard tack' biscuit came in, (circa 1917), and there were plenty of those.
That type of biscuit was being substituted for bread several times a week in most units as a great deal of our flour was being sent to the bottom of the Atlantic by the U.Boats, and the civilian population had preference when what limited flour supplies were being distributed. Hence the endless supply of tins. We were obliged to use them instead of paper bags but it was all very crude. It was loose on the floor for anyone to use as necessary. Ugh!!!.
It was a most nauseating experience as most of us were getting airborne for the first time so we were a bit queasy, and more!. It was all part of the elimination process. Anyone who spent
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more time at the 'throw-up' tin was threatened with withdrawal from training and remustered to ground wireless operator.
It was very difficult to force one's self to overcome the discomfort sufficiently to get back to work but the process was motivated by the fact that the rule was that the last one to use the tin was the one that had to dispose of it after landing. Yuk!. I made sure that it was not me.
I was not sorry to progress from that stage to the single engined Proctor for solo exercises. Then I only had myself to worry about…….and the pilot!.
By that time I was getting increasingly aware of the varying abilities of pilots. Not that I had had any alarming experiences, but the seat of my pants was always a very sensitive indicator of how a machine was handled.
It is difficult to explain but I had always had the same sensitivity either in a car or on the back of a motor-bike and that feeling was beginning to develops in respect of pilots. I had come to the conclusion that there were pilots and 'drivers airframe' to use a stores nomenclature description of an item, and it was always to be the same. I knew whether I was comfortable or not.
THEN I MET A PILOT WITH A REPUTATION…………..!!!!!!!!!!!!
[line of stars]
Photo
YATESBURY 1942
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On completion of the course the next move was to an Advanced Flying Unit at Penrhos, North Wales, on the Lleyn peninsular.
I fell in love with that area right from the start and still have a soft spot for it. The years have changed it very little. It was only a small airfield operating Ansons in which Wireless Operators and Navigators carried out more advanced exercises which covered a lot more countryside and took us almost up to the level where oxygen was needed. Just one more thing to contend with.
The pilots were all service types doing a stint as taxy driver to get more hours and experience as they progressed in their training but I had hardly settled in when I picked up a 'buzz' that was going around concerning a certain pilot who apparently was putting the wind up a lot of people.
He had gained a reputation for doing some crazy things and until quite recently had made a habit of flying under the Menai bridge which is the magnificent old bridge built by Thomas Telford across the straits between the mainland and Anglesey.
The practice had just been strictly forbidden under threat of the most severe punishment because someone else had tried it but had killed himself and a few others in the process.
Most people seemed to be keeping their fingers crossed hoping that they could avoid flying with him so I faced the future with some apprehension when I found myself on a flight detail with him as pilot.
My first impression of Sergeant. Francis, Cadell, Macdonald was that he did not look the sort that could put the wind up anyone. I had expected a 'jolly hockey stick' type such as the Pilot Officer Prune, (the accident prone cartoon twit), who featured in an Air Force Magazine, but as he did not fit that category I was forced to the conclusion that he must be downright ham-fisted.
It was a surprise to find that he was a little older than the average pilot, certainly on the wrong side of thirty, and it was many, many years before I was to find out exactly how old he was.
First impressions were of a strangely rugged character with rusty fuze wire type of hair with a heavy drooping moustache to match who seemed strangely out of proportion.
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It took a second look to find the real reason for that impression. His torso was that of a six footer, with well developed chest, arms like the branches of a tree but he had short stocky legs giving him an overall height of no more than 5ft 7ins.
In standard battledress which was designed to be purely functional he looked as if he was suffering from a severe case of 'ducks disease'.
We climbed aboard the aircraft after a briefing that was brief and to the point. "If we get into trouble I will tell you what to do, whether you jump or not, and you only jump when I tell you to. Got that?”. Then he started up, taxied out and took off and although I had my eyes shut during the first part of the routine I opened when there were no unusual sensations and wondered what all the fuss had been about. My sensitive parts had given out no alert signals and it all seemed pretty normal to me.
As the exercise progressed I virtually forgot that I was in an aeroplane despite what he was doing with the machine although it was impossible not to notice that he seemed to be trying to turn it inside out in the gentlest possible way.
The main issue was that I did feel any discomfort at all although a few hill sheep might have done so as we steamed up one side of Snowdon and down the other and we seemed to balanced on one wingtip as we went around the Great Orme on Anglesey with Puffins and other sea birds getting somewhat agitated by the disturbance. My insides took no longer to settle down after that flight than they normally did so I decided that I could cope with that sort of treatment at any time and it certainly made life interesting. My companions still had different ideas though as the stories of his various escapades became more and more exagerated [sic].
Before I left Penrhos I learned a little more about him whilst he was still scaring the daylights out of others.
He was reputed to have previously been Chief Engineer to Gar Wood the racing driver of pre-war years and although I have never found the need to verify the story I have never had reason
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to doubt it either.
As far as I was concerned he certainly knew what he was doing and that was good enough for me.
The operator training became more and more demanding as time went on and I had reached a point where there was a great deal of satisfaction in being able to transmit and receive messages in morse, juggle with frequencies and identify my control station through a cacophany [sic] of background noise. It was gratifying to be able to code and encode messages efficiently but as usual it was not all work and no play. I think we would have gone daft under the pressure if it had been. The pattern was the same as before with the days split between training and exercising.
There were invariably some high jinks in Pwllheli where the Royal Navy had taken over the nearby Butlins as a training establishment and in the traditional Navy way had named it HMS something or other.
There were all sorts of derisive remarks about Nary terminoligy [sic] as they called the bus the 'liberty boat' and they had to salute the 'quarter deck' on leaving and boarding their 'ship'. We called it the main gate!.
Of course we countered with suitable remarks about our 'wizard prangs', 'bombs away' and 'chocks away', but some they resented their 'ship' being called HMS Bullshit, all of which resulted in some good nattered rowdy exchanges in the local pubs.
There was a lot of ale sloshed around. and a great many fried eggs consumed in the basement kitchen of a sea front hotel after chuckout time at 6d, (2 1/2 new pence) each.
The 'end of course' party was a great success and I recall putting in a great deal of effort into assisting one member of the course with some conjuring tricks. He was a member of the Magic Circle and why he picked me I haven't the slightest idea. Little did he know what that did for my confidence which was being somewhat undermined by the realisation that I seemed to be accident prone. As it happened, the, programme went without a hitch and that little exercise did me a great deal of good.
I only vaguely remember the return to camp after that party. It was somewhat hilarious as we came back via the beach where several of us had to be rescued from the sand dunes where we
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had capsised [sic] and ploughed up a lot of sand.
I finally collected my flying log book that recorded the entry of the flight with one Sgt.F.C.Macdonald and normally it would have been just one more entry without much significance as I continued on my travels once more.
[underlined] Fate decreed that we would meet up again!!. [/underlined]
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Photo
PENRHOS 1942
Page 30 And there’s more!
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I continued the process of going up and down the countryside like a yo-yo which was quite an experience for someone like me who had never ventured very far from the home town before the war and I was certainly getting to know my way around.
My next journey was to a gunnery school on Walney Island just off Barrow-in-Furness, flying old hacks such as Blackburn Botha's and Bolton Paul Defiants which seemed to be a very chancy business.
Most of the time the direction of take-off was straight towards a hill and if that was not bad enough the Botha was a death trap on one engine. If there was an engine failure it could not maintain height on one and the emergency exit was straight into the propellor. Turning or not it was dicey.
The Defiant was not so bad although it had a nasty habit of flopping onto it's side in the air if the gunner failed to inform the pilot that he was rotating and firing on the beam. The pilot needed that information so that he could counteract his controls and it was not all that easy to get out of either if in trouble. I have the greatest admiration for the chaps that went into battle in those things.
Somehow I struggled through that period in the depths of winter and at one stage I was very close to being put back in training when I went down with a severe cold and only just avoided going sick, especially as we had strict orders about flying whilst suffering from a cold which resulted in bunged up nose and ears. I felt so bad one evening that I doped myself with whisky and asprin and retired to bed early after a hot shower even though it meant going to and from the ablutions through several inches of snow.
By the time the others came back to the hut later in the evening my condition had them so worried that they woke me up.
There was a considerable cloud of steam rising from me but once they were assured that I was not on fire the threw more blankets on me to continue sweating it out.
Despite the fact that I was a bit wobbly in the morning I still managed to fly my last detail and in fact even get a good score but the rest of the time there is a blurr [sic] .
I have vague recollections of Northen [sic] ale which appeared to be a lot stronger than average and of an hilarious evening at
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a vaudeville in Borrow where most of the course occupied the front row of the stalls, booing and cheering the acts as seemed appropriate.
There were often rowdy exchanges with the conciencious [sic] objectors who were formed into non-combatant pioneer units to man things like smoke generators to mask the docks from air raids, and some energetic clashes with strong minded and well muscled WAAFS who manned a lot of the searchlights and barrage balloons. All good clean fun!.
Eventually, in the end came the passing out parade and the award of the cherished Air Gunners brevet with promotion to Sergeant, and although that was only the outward sign of qualified aircrew it did at least take the place of what had by that time a very grubby white cap flash.
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There was still a lot of training to do, and more travelling as well.
The travelling was not so easy by that time as most of us had gathered more flying kit so everywhere we went it meant struggling with two kit bags.
The next port of call was a Wellington Operational Training Unit at Turweston, which was a satelight [sic] unit of No.12 OUT Chipping Warden, both near Banbury. Oxford. 'A' and 'B' Flights were at Chipping Warden and 'C' and 'D' Flights were at Turweston.
It was there that crews were put together more or less by mutual agreement.
In the first 24 hours everyone just browsed around gathering more paperwork, dealing with arrival procedures and generally making one's self known.
I had hardly settled in when the 'jungle telegraph' was sending out the news that a certain Scotsmen had also turned up. The notorious F.C. Macdonald!.
There were frantic efforts being made by people to find themselves another pilot of their choice. Anyone but him!.
I was not fussy, or for that matter as quick off the mark as some. I had met a Navigator who had also been at Penrhos and had not yet found himself a pilot and although he could not remember Macdonald he found him and introduced himself.
By the next day Macdonald had made up his mind and the crew lists went up on the notice board.
I was looking them over when he came up with a group and announced rather ungraciously, “so we have got you have we?".
A remark that was not designed to inspire confidence although I must confess that I felt a lot happier with someone of known qualities so I was not unduly concerned.
That was the way that the crew came together. I don't think any of us were very special.
Macdonalds background was still vague and was always remain so although I gathered that he was married but separated.
Peter Hobbs, the navigator, was an ex Cpl. accounts clerk who
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had been in the Voluntary Reserve. Both he and Macdonald were a little older than the average and were newly commissioned Pilot Officers.
We actually started with a commissioned Observer/Bomb Aimer but he did not last long.
It transpired that he had already flunked a pilots course, and a navigators coarse so they made him a Bomb/Aimer before they found out that he was too tall for the front turret so off he went to retrain once more.
He might well have been doing courses later on in the war to qualify for some-thing although it is just as likely that he may well have distinguished himself somehow.
He had certainly been been [sic] determined to be aircrew anyway but I must admit that his case was the result of a policy that I was never able to come to terms with.
To commission someone first and then go to considerable lengths to see if he was any good at anything was odd to say the least. However, that is another story!.
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In the place of 'mastermind' we got 'Hoppy’ Hill, so named because he bounced and rolled on the balls of his feet when he walked around invariably with a novel of some sort tucked under his arm. I never did find out what he had been doing before he joined the RAF.
Then we had another Mac. McIlroy, a Canadian Rear Gunner who had been at Walney Island at the same time as myself although I could not recall him. He had been with the Canadian Pacific Railway in some capacity although in his own words he had spent most of his time doing trying to do nothing.
Then there was me. A cabinet maker/polisher who had finished up doing almost anything to remain employed; and I mean anything. My last civilian employment had bees as a milk roundsman!.
Nevertheless, whatever we had been doing we were all in the same boat (or aeroplane) and we all had one thing to common. That was to get on with it and hope to come out of it is one piece.
We were a fairly wild bunch in our off duty periods but I would not think that we were any worse than any other crew.
It was from that point onward that living, working and playing as a crew started. It was for me anyway. Almost to the exclusion of everything else.
Suddenly it seemed that my youthful ambitions had been fullfilled [sic] although it was a pity it had come about under such circumstances.
The most important thing was that we got on well together and we concentrated on getting moulded into a crew which involved an airborne discipline that few people could understand considering our peculiar life style.
Although our crew seemed to be the ideal balance of officers and NCO's with commissioned Pilot and Navigator some crews had formed up with some very odd mixtures with Sgt. pilots and commissioned gunners but which ever way they were mixed the pilot was always the captain is the air.
This arrangement was incomprehensible to some Army and Navy types and even the USAAF. It did not seem compatable [sic] with the normal chain of command yet it worked satisfactorily within the RAF.
Mac, as he was always to be knows, still looked as lumpy in
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his new uniform as he did when we had first met despite a change of rank insignia and a fancy cap but there were more important things to concern ourselves with than how people looked.
We had far more serious things on our minds.
Flying had become a very serious business and if we were going to be together for any length of time we would be relying on each other a great deal for survival and it was to that end that Mac went about his part of the programme as if he had been born with wings.
As far as I was concerned he was an absolute natural and on more than one occasion I was asked by wireless operators in other crews how I got on with him.
I think some of then may well have been regretting their choice of pilot and were looking for a way out but I usually pointed out that I was in no way considering a change. Particularly as no-one saw us overshooting from missed approaches to the runway or had seen us swinging about all over the place on landing or take-off as I had often seen others doing, so what more could I ask?.
On more then one occasion I was told that I would be sorry, (as if I had made the choice): But I never was....Not once!.
I got the distinct impression that for some reason Mac was not very impressed with wireless operators, although from his occasional remark he seemed more interested in having a spare gunner aboard, and I was beginning to feel very spare until one night I had the opportunity to exercise some of my training. We were flying is the local area of Chipping Warden one night when the voltage regulator down by my left foot went haywire and burst into flames.
The voltage shot up and batteries started to cook immediately so I had to work very fast to tell Mac what I was going to do before switching the Ground/Flight switch to ground which cut us off of the engine driven generators, then go rapidly through the fire drill whilst Mac called control for an emergency landing on what little internal battery power we had left.
He did happen to mention afterwards that perhaps a wireless op. might have some use in a crew after all. Only perhaps!.
As time went on we did get to know him a little better although he was one of those chaps you could never get really close to.
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He was not actually unsociable but uncommunicative. More often then not when asked a question on a subject which was not directly related to what we were currently doing his answer would be a knowing wink, a tap on the side of his nose with his forfinger [sic] which could be taken to mean anything; like, "I don't know", or, " leave it to me” or," mind your own bloody business!".
No doubt some people would call it the attitude of a dour, canny Scot but I did get a satisfactory answer on one occasion when I asked him about flying under the Menie [sic] Bridge. His words for once were encouraging.
"Only a bloody fool would attempt that without the wind on the nose, at low tide and through the widest span'", and then I knew that he was not as crazy as some people would like to think.
That in my book added up to a calculated risk, and there were some more to come.
As we ploughed on through the course a great deal of time was spent in the 'Harwell Box' which was a compartmented type of simulator in which we practiced all of the airborne procedures for a bombing sortie, [underlined] only at twice normal speed!. [/underlined]
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All the clock faces had been altered to achieve the time factor and we had to work frantically to keep up with all of the information that was being fed to us from umpteen different sources: It certainly kept us on the ball, particularly the navigator.
That was not the only simulation. For the first time our operating heights were soon to be up in the rarified [sic] air above 10,000ft for lengthy periods. Above that height the use of oxygen was essential and mandatory, and just to wake sure that no-one treated the matter lightly we were introduced to the decompression chamber.
Eight at a time with a medical orderly, we entered the tank which was fitted with inter-comm and after it was sealed the pumps started to reduce the pressure as one would experience in flight.
When 10,000ft was reached on the internal altimeter we fitted our oxygen masks and then the pressure was progressivly [sic] reduced until the altimeter read first 15,000ft, then 20,000 and finally 25,000ft by which time various parts of our internal plumbing were beginning to respond to the pressure change.
We had been provided with note pads and pencils and were than told to start writing our names on the pads as the oxygen supply was turned off.
I was no different from the others when the voice on the inter comm said that the oxygen was back on and we were called by our names and asked to describe any sensations that we had experienced and the answer was unanimous. Nothing!. But the shock came when we were told to look at our pads.
Our signatures had tailed off into an unintellible [sic] scribble and then re-appeared at the bottom of the page.
The realisation hit us all. Although most of us had experienced some light headedness as the pressure lowered we had not been aware that that was the warning that could lead to oblivion and possible death. It was frightening to think that the process was so insidious that it was possible to be unaware of it.
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After that little demonstration no-one needed any further warning on how to recognise the early effects of the lack of oxygen and I was later to find that my tolerance was quite low and I usually needed oxygen at 8,000ft, and that if I needed to move about I had to be fairly quick when going from a main point to a portable bottle especially later on when I was often sitting next to a damned great hole at the back end of the aircraft where there was no main outlet.
The training got more and more realistic both in the air and on the ground. We had got used to the parachute harness and packs by that time and the short briefing on it's use such as "after you have jumped, count ten and pull that", but suddenly it got serious now that we were going to have to face all sorts of unknown difficulties whilst we were defying the laws of gravity.
We started more intensive training off a rig. First without 'chutes just jumping off of a 12ft platform onto coco mats and then right up in the eaves of a hanger with harness and weighted cable system.
The landings were the same spine jarring thump either way as we made contact with the ground with feet together, knees slightly bent, slight angle to the direction of landing to roll over shoulder and hip on contact.
That was the classical way of doing it if you had the opportunity!. A very good friend was not so lucky when his turn came. He had already received a smashed arm when the aircraft was hit but although some of the crew put his 'chute on and threw him out he lost consciousness on the way down and busted a leg is several places on landing. But he fared better than the others. They all went down with the aeroplane!
Perhaps I was fortunate in my approach to the training and found no great difficulty but others were not so lucky and were required to do it again and again until they had improved their technique but not without a few sprains and bruises as one ploughed on through the course.
We finally completed it with a better than average crew assessment and then we were all on our travels again, but for the first time as a crew.
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Our next destination was to a Stirling Conversion Unit at Stradishall, near Bury St Edmunds. Back in-Bomber country again!. We had known that we were destined for "heavies' long before we left OTU. In fact, I had known before I left gunnery school as I had only done the short course for wireless operators and bomb-aimers, and my log book had been annotated accordingly.
Nevertheless, I had hoped that I would finish up on Lancasters or Halifax's as I already knew enough about Stirlings to be very wary of them.
When I had marshalled in a new one on delivery to Mareham [sic] I had been amazed that the pilot of the monster had been a very small lady of the ATA.
The Stirling was impressive. Although it looked very big it’s dimensions were not much more than the other 'heavies'. It was just that it looked so incredibly bulky.
It stood high on an undercarriage that looked more like some scaffolding around a building, placing the pilot's eye some 22 1/2 ft above the ground which was very high for those days and did not make the assessment of the distance between the wheels and the runway any easier whom landing the thing.
I was also well aware that they had been causing all sorts of problems when the Marham Squadrons were converting to them resulting in all sorts of hair raising incidents and bent aeroplanes.
At least I was familiar with it, and the radio compartment but the fact that I was going to finish up as a crew member on one was a thought that I had not entertained.
Soon after arrival the crew was made up to seven by the addition of a Flight Engineer and a Mid-Upper Gunner.
'Paddy', the flight engineer was of course from the emerald isle and was no stranger to the Stirling having been a ground engineer on them at Waterbeach until he had remustered. He was several weeks into his conversion training and it was a long time afterwards that I learned that he had never flown before he got airborne with us. He must have wondered what he had let himself in for.
Certainly he had a nasty shock when instead of finding his pilot to be another fresh faced youngster he got this 'gnarled old man' as someone described his.
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It was suggested that his main task would be to help the poor old bloke in and out of the driving seat!.
It did not take him long to find out that Mac was something different.
The mid-upper was at the other end of the age scale. Ralph was a fresh faced youngster who had just about changed his Air Cadets uniform for RAF uniform although of course he had done the gunners course since joining and had been at Stradishall for a few weeks on a familaristion [sic] course. But he had not long been out of school.
The crew was now complete. although for a while there was a little doubt about us staying together as Mac found out that he was not exactly built for the Stirling; or visa versa.
The lady ATA pilot had been small but she had seemed to cope but I suppose it was a matter of proportion, and Mac's proportions were somewhat different.
With the controls and the seat adjusted to their limits he still needed some special padding made up to improve things. and the seat of his pants took a terrific beating as he wrestled, wriggled and sqirmed [sic] to handle the thing.
The take-off and landing characteristics of the machine did not help such either. An uncontrollable swing to starboard could develop very easily and the tall undercarriage would be incapable of standing the strain and 'crunch', another one would bite the dust adding to the numbers that ended up damaged by that sort of accident which was already in excess of the numbers lost by enemy action.
It usually depended on how fast you were going at the time whether you walked away or were carried away from the wreckage. Not a pleasant prospect!.
In theory the idea was that the engines were opened up on a staggered basis having due regard to any cross wind. until a speed was reached when the rudder would give effective control, then all engines could be taken to full power.
The snag was that with a full load there was never a lot of runway to spare so it was usually a choice of two evils. You either took a chance of running out of runway if you did not get the power on soon enough or you slammed it on at the beginning of the take off run and took your chance with a
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swinger'.
Mac seemed to have it down to a fine art.
Whatever the length of the runway. Whatever the load, the strength and direction of the wind. Whether the runway was uphill, downhill, or both, with bump or a hollow in the middle, his computer brain had it worked out. Whatever the circumstances and however tired he was we always seemed to make a perfect take-off and landing. So far I had not experienced a bad one with his at the controls.
Nevertheless, he was wearing out his pants at an alarming rate in the process.
So much so that the instructors were having serious doubts as to whether Mac and the Stirling were quite right for each other.
Then something happened that removed all the doubts.
On the night of 13th June 1943 we were doing night circuits and bumps in preparation for his first night solo.
After several circuits the check pilot gave Mac the thumbs up after another satisfactory landing and vacated the aircraft the aircraft in the vicinity of the control tower before we taxied around again for the next take-off.
After the usual pause for the routine cockpit check we entered the runway and were soon thundering along gathering speed; when it happened.
At the most critical point, almost half way down the runway, with about 90mph. on the clock, the port outer seized with a crunch that could be felt throughout the aircraft despite all the other sensations, and 30 tons of Stirling started to swing to port.
It was a wonder that the prop did not sheer off which would have been normal but the reflex action that went on in the cockpit was fast and furious. It had to be to prevent us from becoming another statistic.
Paddy closed down the dead engine by stabbing buttons and switches that cut the ignition to the engine, cut off the fuel, operated the bulkhead fire extinguishers and 'feathered' the propellor as Mac called for maximum power on the inboard engines as obviously his hands were very busy with the controls.
As Paddy took over the throttles and the propeller pitch controls the power came on with a bellow as he shoved the inboard
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We were just at the 'unstick' point and almost at take-off speed as the swing to port became more pronounced with Mac struggling desperately.
At least we were almost airborne which was better than being splattered all over the airfield and his efforts were being rewarded as we then started to go slowly into a starboard turn with only just enough speed on to keep us flying.
Standard procedures dictated that we had to go into a right hand circuit as it was invariably neccessary [sic] to turn away from the dead engine. There was so little margin of control if you went the other way that a nasty mess was the likely result.
Still close to the ground with wheels and flaps still down Mac was straining every muscle to maintain control but slowly and surely we increased our speed still swinging to starboard.
From my position in the astro dome I could see the hangars and the control tower dead ahead!.
If that wasn't out of the frying pan and into the fire!.
It looked as if it was going to be decidedly messy and certainly it was going to do me no good at all if I dived for my crash position…...and then we started to climb and bank as the speed had built up sufficiently.
With wings almost vertical we went between No's. 1 and 2 hangers, taking a telephone line with us. I had a very unusual view of the water tower as we went around it straight into a very low level emergency right hand circuit for a landing that was just like all the others. As smooth as silk. Even under those circumstances.
It was shortly after we had landed that I became aware of the fact that I seemed to have been holding my breath for a very long time and I had been very close to ceasing to breath altogether.
We taxied around to the control tower to pick up the instuctor [sic] pilot and when he came aboard he was still very much out of breath as like most of the staff in the tower, he had abandoned it rapidly as we headed straight for it.
He just managed to gasp "you'll' do" before we taxied back to dispersal.
There was so doubt in our minds anyway. He had tamed the beast and there congratulations all round.
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Mac's reaction was normal. A wink and a tap on the side of his nose. No comment!.
After that there was very little let up as the training including flying intensified. Mac continued to wear out his trousers in his efforts to maintain control and that’s what it was all about as far as he was concerned. Total perfection, and he never, ever, let the machine take over. We had absolute confidence in him.
The only other incident of any note throughout the course occurred shortly after we had landed one night and had got back to the billet. A Ju.88 intruder who had followed someone in tried to shoot him up on the runway without success. He sprayed lead all over the place and I think the most damage was done to a window above my bed in the barrack block. I was under it!. There was no one hurt although my bed was showered with glass.
That sort of effort did not impress us very much if that was the best they could do. It all seemed a bit panic stricken and I had seen plenty of similar activity on the South Coast where air raids on Worthing had been mainly of the hit and run type.
I had been close to several attacks as they came blasting along the railway line and the shunting yards but they never hit the gas works which was opposite the hospital; which was just as well as my father was invariably fire watching on top during a raid.
Not one bomb fell on the railway line or the signal boxes in the local area but there was a fair amount of damage to civilian property and loss of life. The flat in which I had spent the first few years of my life was one that collected a direct hit although mostly the bombs fell in open ground.
There is still evidence to this day of the occasion when an Me.110 straffed [sic] along the line. The metal footbridge between East Worthing and Worthing Central still has the canon shell holes in it and my wife remembers it well.
She was walking along the road parallel to the railway when this chap came blasting in firing both front and rear guns and she was obliged to make a hasty dive over a low wall into someone's garden for safety.
Even then I thought it was a bit panic stricken and not very effective.
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It was whilst I was at Stradishall that I saw the half scale Stirling in one of the hangars. A very interesting little machine. It was about the size of a Wellington with a cockpit just big enough for two in tandem, and four little two blade props on Pobjoy engines. It had been built for test purposes early on, whilst the full size machine was still in the design stage. Even then it was-fall of snags but they pressed on.
No-one sees to know what happened to it eventually. It had been pranged and was not airworthy but it just seems to have dissapeared [sic] . Perhaps it will turn up at the back of a barn one days!.
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[underlined] THE SHORT BROS. S.29."STIRLING" [/underlined]
Built by Short Brothers, Rochester & Belfast and Austins, Longbridge.
First flight (Mk.I) 14th May 1939. Followed by Mk's II, III, IV & V.
Began with daylight operations in 1941 before switching to night operations until the end of 1943. Later used as glider tugs. paratroop and supply dropping and finally transports.
2,374 of all types manufactured but none remained in flying service after the early 1950's.
[line of stars]
[underlined] Model B.Mklll [/underlined]
Span...................99ft 1in.
Length………………87ft 3in.
Max. all-up weight…………70,000lb.
Max. speed…………270 mph. (Economical cruising 180mph. fully loaded)
Range……………….Max. 2010mls. (According to load).
Service ceiling………17,000ft.(14-15,000ft with max. load)
Engines………Four 1,650bhp. Bristol Hercules Mk.XVl
2 stage, supercharged, sleeve valve, 14 cylinder radials.
Defensive armament…….8 .303in. Browning m/g. 2 in dorsal and front turrets. 4 in rear turret. All power operated.
Max. bomb load………..14,000lb. (Max. bomb size 2000lb.
[line of stars]
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[deleted] 44 [/deleted]
[underlined] FOR NORMAL BOMBER OPERATIONS THE CREW CONSISTED OF:- [/underlined]
Pilot………………………..………..who was always the captain.
Navigator……………………..…..who was also trained as a bomb aimer.
Observer/bomb aimer…..….who was also trained in navigation and was front gunner.
Flight Engineer………..………...was responsible for monitoring the engines and other systems. Often acted as co-pilot.
Wireless operator/gunner….communications, radio direction finding and trained reserve gunner.
Mid-upper gunner……………..)were interchangable [sic] between positions
Rear Gunner……………….…….)but generally preferred one position.
Note:- On occasions another pilot was allocated to the basic crew for operational familiarisation and became the co-pilot.
[line of stars]
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[deleted] 45 [/deleted]
It was the middle of June when we left Stradishall and it was a pleasant change not to have to travel too far to our new unit. We moved by truck just a few miles up the road to Chedburgh, a satelite [sic] station of Stradishall.
Most Stirling units were concentrated in East Anglia and we were to join a new Squadron being formed on the day we arrived. The Squadron had been numbered 620 and we would be the partner to 214 Squadron which had been in residence for some time. It had been formed by the standard procedure of hiving off 'C' flights from established Squadrons. In this case 'C' flights from both 214 Squadron and 149 from Mildenhall; by coincidence the same Squadron that I had been with at Mildenhall previously. To assist the rapid build-up new crews direct from training were being added so with virtually a snap of the fingers the new Squadron was born on the 17th June 1943.
Chedburgh was just another war-time airfield that like so many had just mushroomed all over the countryside by the hundred. A tremendous achievement both in planning and engineering considering the enormous amount of material and man-power each one absorbed. It was not surprising that Britian [sic] was often referred to as an unsinkable aircraft carrier. There were over 100 airfields in East Anglia alone!.
They were all built to the same basic pattern with Nissen huts all over the place with dispersed accomodation [sic] tucked away in woods and down country lanes that ensured that everyone had plenty of exercise in the process of getting to and from their place of work.
The airfield was situated alongside the A143 Bury St Edmunds to Haverhill road and the set up was much the same as any other unit.
The Station support services comprised an Administrative Wing, a Technical Wing and a Flying Wing and within the latter were the flying units, the Squadrons, which were independant [sic] units.
Altogether the station was manned by between 1800 and 2000 people including Squadron personnel, with an establishment of 16 air-craft per Squadron. plus 4 reserves. Theorhetically [sic] that should have given the station a total of 40 aircraft but we were rarely up to even the basic strength and then not for very
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All the arrival formalities that we had done so often were soon completed with introductions to the Squadron and Flight Commander as well as the specialist leaders, in my case the Signals Leader, who was an operational Wireless Operator filling the position by virtue of his previous experience and seniority.
With all that attended to Mac had received his instructions from 'B' Flight Commander and we boarded the bus that continually circled the outer edge of the airfield where the aircraft were dispersed.
On the way we passed many Stirlings poised like great vultures, except for the odd one that looked as if the vultures had been at them and had gangs of men working on them.
When we stopped at one dispersal pan Mac said "this is it". 'This' was a pleasant surprise. We had become so used to flying old hacks that had seen better days that to be looking at what appeared to be a new one was unique. Even more of a surprise was to be told that this one was 'ours'.
This particular Stirling was serial No.EF433, built by Shorts at Belfast, and was still new enough to have a new smell about it.
The Squadron identification letters of QS and aircraft letter 'W' had been freshly painted on it's sides over some other lettering that turned out to have been 214 Squadron's identification, with whom it had apparently done three operations before being transferred on the formation of the Squadron.
We were concerned with getting to know that piece of machinery more intimately than anything else we had had dealings with in the past.
We spent hours going over it with the ground crew; testing and adjusting until we had it ticking over like a well oiled sewing machine. We air tested it and put it through it's paces again and again. The gunners tested their guns over the sea. Pete checked his box of tricks. Hoppy put the bomb release mechanism through it's sequences and tested the front guns. I tuned my radio and made contact with the control stations as well as testing the radio direction finding system. Mac and Paddy did everything they could to ensure that the engines and controls gave the right responses by throwing it around at height including a landing procedure with first one then two engines
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feathered and everything throttled back just to see how she stalled as well as a maximum height climb until they were at last satisfied that if anything went wrong with it it [sic] would not be our fault.
When all that was done we were ready for anything and both crew and aeroplane were in a partnership which we hoped would be for some time. As it turned out it was longer than than [sic] the average!.
We were soon to find out what we had let ourselves in for on a series of night operations that were not without a little excitement.
[line of stars]
Four days after leaving Stradishall we found ourselves on the Battle Order for the night of the 22nd June and from the moment the order went on the board everything started clicking into place as we started a procedure that hundreds of other crews were doing up and down the country in order to deliver thousands of tons of bombs and incendiaries to the enemy.
Mac had already been through it the night before, flying as second pilot with a crew to Krefeld, but the only thing he would say about it was that we would find out soon enough, accompanied of course by that tap on the nose.
I was naturally apprehensive at the prospect of flying over enemy territory now that we were finally committed and not unaware of the losses that had already occurred in 214 Squadron in the short time we had been on the base. Fortunately there was plenty to do to take our minds off of the inevitable as the procedure had become standard for major exercises and operations and we knew precicely [sic] what to do.
The first thing was to ground test and then air test the aeroplane and with [deleted] that [/deleted] over to try and get some sleep before the briefing and all the other business whilst the ground crew prepared it for the flight with bombs, fuel, flares, ammunition, oxygen, first aid packs and safety equipment such as the dinghy, inclusive of the distress radio and a multitude of other individual items to be checked over or stowed.
Our next step was to change into clean underwear of the aircrew type. The pure wool and silk mixture. Not only for warmth in the sub zero conditions we were likely to
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encounter at altitude but just as important to reduce the risk of infection if injured. That was the general idea anyway, but at the rate we were soon to be flying we very often had to wear underclothes a week or more before the laundry caught up with us.
'Night Flying supper' was always something to look forward to at whatever time it was scheduled. The rare operational egg and bacon special. That meal was not just a 'perk' but possibly the last one that one would get for some time depending on the circumstances, and then we were off to the operations block.
Once we got there we were cut off from the outside world. All the outside telephone lines had either been disconnected or were at least monitored and even the local telephone boxes had been disconnected or secured as soon as the teleprinters had started clacking away earlier to advise that the operations order was following.
Within that environment there was a lot of activity and the amount of stuff we had to get together was quite extraordinary.
There was basic stuff such as parachute harness and pack. Life jacket, (the Mae West), helmet complete with earphones, microphone and oxygen mask, all to be tested on the rig in the safety equipment section. Then to change into sea boot socks and flying boots. Then to empty pockets into the locker and don the heavy fishermans roll neck sweater. The next step was to draw rations and escape and evasion packs that all had to be stowed into the numerous pockets of the life jacket and as if that was not enough we then gathered up our specialist equipment.
The navigator and wireless operator carried the most and it was quite a pile of stuff. Maps, charts, rulers, pencils, computer, (of the Dalton circlar type for wind calculations etc) , sextant, star tables, code books, lists of call-signs, frequencies, identification beacons. colours of the day information etc. Some of the secret stuff was typed on rice paper for the purpose of disposing of it by eating it if if [sic] the need arose.
It was hardly surprising that we needed large canvas flight bags for all of the odds and ends apart from having to carry all of the other gear.
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After assembling all that there was a short briefing by the specialist leaders before the main briefing took place, and it was at this point that the pilot, navigator and bomb-aimer were given advance knowledge of the target so that they could make their special studies of route, and target photographs before everyone else trooped into the main briefing room where the whole thing was put together so that everyone knew what was going on.
The teleprinters had been spewing out stuff for a long time after the planners at Command and Group HQ had held their planning meetings and sometimes the Operations Order was yards long. The operations order contained details of take-off times, route, turning points, target data, ack-ack defences, possible fighter activities, heights to fly and speeds, winds and weather en-route and return, fuel and bomb loads, pathfinder marking, alternative and emergency airfields, radio procedures, radio beacons, frequencies and callsigns, etc, etc. and even details of any POW camps if they were near the target.
The complex mass of stuff had been sorted out and the whole station was in top gear as we at last struggled into the main hall to assemble around our own table where there was a great deal of chat with clouds of tobacco smoke floating about by the time the whole assembly was called to order by the senior briefing officer. That was always a dramatic moment and the climax of all the activity that invariably seemed to be a race against the clock. Heaven help a crew that was late!.
The windows had been shuttered as soon as preparations had commenced and the 'fug' must have been murder for non-smokers.
As soon as everyone was in and accounted for the main doors were closed and two RAF Policemen took up position outside. Everyone settled down within the chaos of equipment all strewn around the floor and on the tables as the briefing got under way as soon as the big wall map was uncovered.
The briefing officers included the Flying Control and Met.Officers. The Armament and Engineering Officers, The Wing and the Squadron and Flight Commanders, and very often the Station Commander
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who took no part in the proceedings although he occasional took part in the operation with a 'scratch' crew but he invariably had a few words of encouragement at the end of the briefing.
When the curtains were drawn back from the wall map there was a bit of a gasp as eyes followed the coloured tapes across to the target..Mulheim, and then with such waving about of an old billiard cue that had been 'liberated' from one of the messes the show got under way.
It was a source of relief to find that we were not part of the main force. Our detail was 'Gardening'. The code name for mining, which we would be doing by flying part of the route with the main force and then dropping out to sow our 'veg' as we approached the Frisian Islands. I was glad of that and would not have cared for a trip to Mulheim first time out.
Mac would still say nothing about his trip to Krefeld. In fact very few people would. When asked, the usual answer was, "you will find out soon enough", and as far as Mulheim was concerned Mac would only say that we should think ourselves lucky that we were not going there. No-one argued with that!.
As soon as briefing was over there was a mad scramble for the crew bus to take us out to dispersal and to load all the gear into the aeroplane.
Having stowed everything where it should be there was time for a tour around the outside to make sure that all protective covers and control locks had been removed.
When all was ready it was just a matter of waiting for start up time with a few minutes quiet contemplation, a pee on a wheel, and a cigarette.
Any chatter there was at that stage was about anything other then the operation ahead of us.
Although the start up and taxy times had been given at briefing there was usually a signal from the control tower as back up bearing in mind that radio silence was strictly imposed from the time that the operation had been notified.
The signals were yellow/green verey flare for start up or a double red for cancellation so when the yellow/green went up the game was on. Some game!. Suddenly it was all deadly serious.
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My only consolation was that it was my own choice. I could have been blown to bits in the infantry, or roasted in a tank, or faced several different ways of drowning in the navy so it seemed as good a way as any of taking my chance.
With the start up everything in the aircraft seemed accentuated. The smell of paint, leather and fuel brat was all mixed up to create the odour that was peculiar to an aeroplane.
There was the additional smell of the rubber oxygen mask that was attached to the now sticky leather helmet and would be stuck to my head for the next few hours.
There was no way around that as the earphones and microphone were an integral part of the helmet.
Then there were the atmospherics on the otherwise silent radio receivers that mingled with all the other muffled noises as the aeroplane case to life in the hands of Mac and Paddy.
Starter motors whined. Engines coughed and spluttered and the airframe vibrated from end to end with the initial rough running in rich mixture. Flaps were operated, bomb doors were closed and brakes released with hissing air and sighing hydraulic systems after the wheel chocks were waived away, followed by the rolling motion of the heavily laden aircraft as we taxied to the marshalling point near the runway threshold. Depending where the dispersal was in relation to the runway in use determined the length of time taxying, and the order of take off, but normally by the time we reached the threshold the oil temperatures and pressures, and cylinder head temperatures had risen sufficiently for the engines to be run at near full power against the brakes to test the magnetoes [sic] .
As was usual in aero engines there were two magneto's to each engine, each serving one of the two sets of plugs per cylinder. That added up to 112 spark plugs altogether and it was neccessary [sic] that every one was doing it's bit when full power was called for. Then the superchargers were tested, and the variable pitch propellors, with the aircraft shaking and rattling until all four engines had been tested after which they were throttled back to a nice healthy tick over.
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That was the decision point of 'go,no-go'. The engines had to give power within certain tolerances before a full load take-off could be attempted, and a decision that we would have to 'abort' if all was not well would here been an anti climax at that stage.
It would have meant entering the runway at the allotted time, rolling down and turning off at the intersection or the end, and then justifying it to the engineering officer and the flight commander. It was not a decision to be taken lightly.
That first time, with a live load and everything checked out satisfactorily, a green aldis lamp signal flashed from the caravan in acknowledgement of the aircraft's letter signalled on the downward identification light and we were ready to go.
We entered the runway with the one hundred and one checks complete and the adrenelin [sic] started to flow as we went through the familiar procedure.
Line up, brakes on, one third flap, engine cooling gills set, superchargers in low gear, props in fine pitch, mixture rich, engines wound up, a momentary pause for a final check of revs and boost with the aircraft straining against the brakes....brakes off; and a surge of acceleration as we started down the runway. Then the continuing acceleration and the tail coming up followed by a final bellow from the engines as the throttles were shoved to the stops.
The runway lights flashed by at ever increasing speed. The aircraft gave a little sideways fidget as the line was corrected and we were soon approaching the critical speed.
Very mindful of several tons of high explosive and a great deal of high octane fuel surrounding us we continued to thunder down the runway until those of us not in the cockpit knew by all the familiar sounds and sensations that all was well up front. The flight engineer who had followed the pilots hand on the throttles up to the stops had now taken them over and applied the friction locks as Mac devoted all his attention to controlling the aircraft as at the same time the engineer was calling out the increasing air speed.
The rumbling stopped; the attitude changed and we knew we were airborne. The next call was "undercarriage up" and as soon as they were showing up the next call was "flaps in" and another
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change of attitude as the aircraft was 'cleaned up' before there was a final change of engine note as they were throttled back after reaching a safe height and speed.
At that point we all started to breath [sic] a little easier.
All the time the intercom between the pilot and enginneer [sic] was lively as the action and subsequent indicator response was called out and acknowledged.
With so such to do and so such depending on it being done correctly it was a rigid discipline, and very soon we were climbing on the first heading to the rendezvous position before climbing further to our operating height.
On that first occasion we set off at medium level under cover of the main force and once more we were on our way. This time with a difference……it was for real!..
[line of stars]
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As soon as we got clear of the coast the gunners tested their guns with a couple of bursts and the smell of cordite drifted around for a while, after which they settled down to their long spell of sky searching.
It was a lonely and demanding job but very neccessary [sic] as they methodically scanned up and down and left and right with the turrets following their search.
You could not see them out there but there were a lot of aircraft milling about with between 600 and 700 hundred converging on the main rendezvous position from East Anglia, Lincolnshire and Yorkshire to make up a solid stream. Even in good night conditions you were lucky to be able to see further than 700 yards so that if anything did show up there was not a lot of time to take action.
Some separation was provided by the various waves being at predetermined heights, and by time separation between the waves going through a check point or turning position, but nevertheless there were still a large number of aircraft packed into a relatively small area of sky at any one time.
When I was not in the radio compartment my position was in the Astro dome. That was the clear vision dome on top where the navigator took his star shots from and where I could assist in the search.
From there I could still remain plugged into the communication system and listen for routine broadcasts from the Group control station every half hour. These included up-dated forcasts [sic] of the weather in the target area and a common barometric pressure setting for the altimeter to ensure that we were all flying on the same datum.
Any message received was rapidly de-coded and passed to the navigator or the pilot although it was more common that only the station identification would be transmitted, (no message). It did not do to miss anything like a recall though, and to find that you were the only one over the target and getting a great deal of attention.
On occasions I would be required to release a flare over the sea for assessment of the wind drift. It was released down the flare chute and ignited after entering the water and then the rear gunner kept his sights on it to read off the drift angle.
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whilst the navigator did the timing and his sums which was very crude by modern standards but the results were a very useful check against the Met. forecast which with the best will in the world was often well out and navigators needed everything they could get to keep us on track. Pete was forever beavering away with his rulers, dividers and computer to cross check everything and did not rely on any one specific facility. The best I could do for his were radio bearings from the UK using the direction finder equipment.
Unfortunately that became suspect as we got deeper and deeper into enemy airspace. The Germans sent out false signals on the same frequency to confuse things and the continental broadcasting stations were suspect as well due to them being made on linked geographically located transmitters. [underlined] The same as we did for UK broadcasts. [/underlined] It was impossible to get bearings on that network. One equipment that they found difficult to interfere with was 'GEE', which was our most important navigational aid up to a certain distance imposed by range and height. That was the 'Magic Box' which used Information from a number of special high frequency transmissions which were received and displayed on an oscillascope [sic] . When the information had been transcribed to some special lattice charts positions could be fixed with considerable accuracy, and from running fixes it was possible to assess wind speed and direction for the purpose of correcting headings. It did not do to stray far off track.
The flight engineer continually monitored the engines, and all the vital functions that kept us going including fuel flow and fuel remaining as well as transferring fuel from the smaller tanks to keep the main one's topped up. There was very close co-operation between Mac and Paddy as Mac was meticulous in his handling of the engines.
The bomb-aimer/observer whose main function occupied very little time often spent time as co-pilot or assisted in map reading when conditions were favourable, so everyone had their job to do and a little bit more. It was team work all the way.
Positioning for mine dropping was meticulous. The Navy provided the charts and told us where they wanted them dropped, and the charts went back to the Navy.
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The mines went down in their specified area on their parachutes which softened the blow of them entering the water after which they submerged to do their evil business at a later date.
I was glad to see those go. Their explosive content of Torpex was far more devastating than that in our bombs; not that the outcome would be any different if we had a direct hit in the bomb bay!.
It all seemed too easy. We saw a little sparkling flak in the distance that someone had stirred up, possibly a flak ship.
Those were the blighters that could crop up anywhere so every sighted had to be logged so that some might be done about them later; if only to give instructions to avoid the area. The trouble was that it was easy for them to more from one anchorage to another before the next day!.
As we droned back to base I found it difficult to reconcile the fact that it really was me going through it all. It all seemed so unreal like a dream.
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I had moved on.
Someone else now had the refuelling job.
If ever I needed to call the W/T (morse) fixer service I knew what was at the other end of the facility and how they could help us.
I had worked in one of Bomber Command's transmitting stations at Honington, (mainly polishing the wretched floor), but as a qualified wireless operator I had often been allowed to plug into the transmitter side-tone as it squawked away and take down the transmission for practice.
Mostly of course at that time it was incomprehensible as it was in code, but now I had found out what it was all about being one of the recipients within a collective call sign.
There were facilities available on the shorter range R/T (radio telephone) service usually need directly by the pilot and although I had means of using it from my compartment it was very rarely necessary [sic] .
Apart from air to air and normal air to ground control there were some very useful services to be obtained such as the D/F (direction finder) cabins which I had also spent time in.
These were the strange tepee like wooden cabins stuck out in some field near the airfield with their double walls filled with fine shingle for protection against shot and shell and an aerial array sticking out of the top. I [sic] was from there that a highly experienced operator was able to give pilots a course to steer for base, or a bearing, and in dire emergency, assistance with a descent through cloud procedure.
I had spent more time in the teleprinter communication cabins and had done duty as the R/T operator in what was then called Flying Control as well as doing daily inspections on aircraft radio equipments.
I had time to reflect on what it all added up to as we droned steadily towards base. There was little else to do except listen out on the control frequency, load the colours of the day into the verey pistol and switch an the IFF (radar identification signal), make up the log etc as we approached the coast, descended and identified the flashing beacons that pin-pointed airfields and other geographical locations by their code. (I had even
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been part of the operating team on one of those at one time); until we identified Chedburgh's among the dozens that were winking through the night.
With navigation lights on and gunners still keeping a good look out for intruders we called the tower and got our joining instructions; joined the circuit, landed and taxied around to our dispersal.
The ground crew were waiting and marshalled us into position and finally when the chocks were in place everything was shut off and at last the dull roar that had been going on in our ears for hours finally subsided.
It took some time to adjust and we found that we still shouting at each other for a long time afterwards.
Apart from that and to get the tacky helmet off perhaps the most relief was gained by being able to slacken the lower straps of the parachute harness that if properly adjusted made life very uncomfortable, and then to have a good pee on a wheel and light a cigarette. What a blessed relief that was!. It became almost a ceremony!.
There were a few minutes to wait whilst the skipper had a few words with the crew chief to pass on any information relative to defects or malfunctions and then finally the crew bus arrived and we boarded on route to operations still drawing hungrily on our cigarettes, that as I recall, tasted pretty horrible at the time.
On arrival at the ops. room for debriefing there were excited exchanges with other crews all milling about after we checked in our parachutes. The room was still thick with tobacco smoke as the windows had remained closed since the briefing and would remain so until until [sic] the end of the de-briefing or to the time when all was quiet. The time when all aircraft had landed back at base or had been notified as landing elsewhere or endurance times had been reached. After that time aircraft that had failed to turn up were chalked up on the state board as FTR. (Failed to return).
We then spent a little more time answering questions put by the Intelligence Officers and their assistants as they probed for information, and completed combat reports as appropriate as they pushed more cigarette across the table.
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Finally came the specialist debrief when we handed in our logs and code books. Returning all equipment. Changing out of our flying clothing and at last making our way to the mess hall for our eggs and bacon, and to top it all off, a nice long walk back to our tin hut where others were already asleep or just tumbling into bed.
That is when it hit. When you were winding down. When it was all over and you felt completely drained. I know I did. Apart from anything else I was never very good at being up half of the night.
It might have been a routine trip for us but later as we found that [underlined] Eleven [/underlined] out [sic] 96 Stirlings had failed to return from the Mulheim raid and one of them had been from our Squadron. The casualty procedure was already under way and we had not even been there long enough to know the unfortunates concerned!.
That was the pattern of our lives. We usually reported to the flight office at 1400 hours the next afternoon whatever time we had landed, to see what was in store for us and a special effort was made for more than one reason.
If we had slept late and had to make a dash for it it [sic] was easy to miss lunch and we would have to go through to tea time before eating again. There was no other way of finding something edible unless one happened to find a mobile NAAFI wagon doing it's rounds. Even the so called 'sausage rolls' or the inevitable currant bun was welcome then. We very soon got around to keeping a tuck box of some sort to tide us over by hoarding some of our flying rations.
If there was no flying there was a serious attempt to be the first in the queue for supper. We always seemed to be hungry in those days. Or perhaps it was just me!
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On the 25th we were detailed for another mining job. This time in the Bay of Biscay, off the estuary the Geronde [sic] and in the approaches to the Atlantic U.boat bases.
Again it was hours of concentrated low flying over moonlit waters that could be so very, very deceptive. It placed a great deal of strain on Mac but that is where he seemed to be in his element and we were glad to get home again after a flight of 5 hours 45 minutes.
The mines had been placed with the same meticulous care as before and everyone seemed of the opinion that mining was 'a piece of cake' although not everyone was happy about spending so much time near the wave tops, especially as on one occasion Mac was close enough to cause the rear gunner to complain about the spray drenching his turret!.
There was some speculation about whether Mac was volunteering for mining but we never found out. What went on in the confines of the Flight Commanders office only ever translated itself into what went on the Battle Order and the Flight Authorisation Book.
That night others were not so lucky and another aircraft and crew from the Squadron failed to return.
We were all beginning to feel a little jaded by that time and we were hoping for some free time, if only to catch up on some sleep; but we had to wait for that.
[line of stars]
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We dragged ourselves down to the flight office in the afternoon hoping to hear the magic words "stand down", only to find that we were on the Battle Order again for another operation that night, and later on, in the briefing room, I was to experience a very strange feeling in my innards, somewhere between my heart and my stomach when the target was announced as Gelsenkirchen, in the Ruhr, or 'Happy Valley' as it was commonly dubbed by aircrew. It had to happen sometime!.
For Mac, it was already his fourth operation in five nights so it was not surprising that he was tight lipped about it. He knew what we were in for!.
For the rest of us it was to be our first time over the enemy coast to face all the perils that went with it. Since no-one would talk about it it [sic] had to be imagined although it not do to dwell on it.
I do know that as we approached the target that I was glad that I was not a pilot after all. How I would have reacted in those circumstances I am really not sure. Perhaps I would have coped but since my responsibilities towards the crew at that moment in time were limited I decided that on looking at that scene as we approached I would rather not know. I promptly retired to the protection of my armour plated seat. As if that made any difference!.
It did not seem possible that anything could fly through that unscathed. There were a lot of explosions and steel splinters out there but it soon occurred to me that the armour plating was only psychological protection. The others had a lot less protection so I went back to keeping a look-out and to hell with it.
As we started the bombing run the sight of the destruction being wrought upon a town by hundreds of tons of high explosive and incendiaries was bad enough but there was also evidence of life or death struggles going on around us as there had been on the run in. The searchlights probed and flak peppered the sky and through it all, flying more or less straight and level, Hoppy guided Mac to the aiming point chanting his left's, steadie's . and right a bit as the target slid up the sight wires.
In the initial stages of the approach the flak had been scattered as the guns went for individual aircraft but as the 'stream'
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Mac had laid down his own ground rules about what was expected of us when we were away from home shores.
In any case he strictly limited the use of the IFF. This was the device that sent out an identification signal to our radar stations, but which some people were known to use over enemy territory in an attempt to confuse the enemy radar. We most certainly did not!, and On/Off entries were made in both the signals and the nav. logs accordingly.
He would not permit the use of the infra-red rear facing fighter warning system which was just as well as we were to find out later that their fighter A.I. (airborne intercept) radar could home on it.
He was insistant [sic] that there should be the absolute minimum use of any radio equipment, and if it was not needed it was to be switched off. (He even used to switch off his R/T set unless there was a very good reason for having it on!.)
The ban even included navigational equipment if there was any chance of an emmission [sic] from it.
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Perhaps he knew something that we didn't but he was never one for explanations and since he was the boss what he said was never questioned. Not openly anyway!.
Like most pilots he carried a mini route map to help him keep orientated and the navigator was kept hard at it to keep us on track and on time as well as keeping in the middle of the stream rather than being a sitting duck waffling around on the fringe where we could be picked off by a roaming night fighter.
My duties had become very restricted by the limitations imposed by Mac. I could not even use the main transmitter without his permission and he was even reluctant to have it switched into the stand-by position which kept it warm and ready for use.
Only the main receiver plus it's associated direction finding equipment were available to me so I was not able to do much to assist in the navigation although there were plenty of other jobs to keep me occupied.
The results of people straying off track had already been obvious when sparkling exchanges of fire between aircraft were seen, or a sudden concentration of ack-ack and the probing fingers of a cone of searchlights and occasionally an orange ball of fire in the sky that would fall to earth and disintregate [sic] . Having no wish to be part of that scene it was 'softly softly catchee monkey'.
One job I often did was chucking leaflets out of the lower rear escape hatch but generally in the final stages of the bombing run I had another job that was another of Mac's specific requirements.
In order to take a photograph of the bomb strike a photo flash was released automatically down the flare chute and a barometric capsule activated it's 'chute and ignited it. Some photo flash!. It contained about 25lbs of magnesium mixture that produced a 3,000,000 candle power flash but the release mechanism of this thing had been known to fail with disastrous results. If it went off inside the chute or failed to clear the aircraft if it malfunctioned the results were as spectacular as getting a direct hit with an ack-ack shell.
It was usually assisted on it's way by a shove from me when I was not otherwise engaged. Just another safety measure that Mac had very quickly picked up from somewhere,
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and I imagine that the rest of the crew were somewhat relieved to hear the call "flash away---chute clear" call on the intercom before I went back to my other duties.
Once more we had run the gauntlet without problems and although the homeward journey was tedious we were eventually back over base and once more flopping into our beds an hour later when it was all over. Even then sleep did not come easily.
There were some more mines to be dropped in the Bay of Biscay on the 25th; again in the approaches to the Atlantic ports and U.boat bases and once more they went down bang on the button.
There was a special technique for accurate positioning but as usual Mac had his own variation. The brief was to transit at medium height and then down to the dropping height after a 'GEE' fix. Our way was to go down to the wave tops after the fix and then climb to dropping height after which we went down to the wave tops again to avoid being picked up by the Coastal radar stations.
It was not only the position in which they were dropped that was important but [underlined] how [/underlined] they were dropped. Too high and they could be out of position and possibly break up on impact. Too low and they were still likely to go up on impact by hitting the water before the 'chute deployed. Either of those results made the effort a waste of time....and there is no fun being blown up by your own mines!.
As soon as they were gone we were racing home again with the taps wide open to avoid the attentions of any prowling Ju.88's in the area….and then we climbed back up to above 2000ft. On that occasion our flight time was 5hrs 35mins.
By that time I was finding it difficult to reconcile our efforts with all the experiences that I had had on operational stations and of other lurid stories told by others of combats, fires, crashes, injuries and deaths. I knew it was not a myth and that it could and did happen so perhaps some people were just unlucky as the BBC news bulletins were regularly giving out that "XXXXX of our aircraft are missing". Just a cold statement of fact but often they were crewed by people we knew. The figure was frighteningly high on occasions, especially among the Stirling force, and there were not only operational losses. On the 2nd July two of the Squadron's aircraft collided in the Chedburgh
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circuit and crashed nearby with the loss of 15 lives. There was only one survivor from that tragic accident which included some ground crew getting some air experience.
We had a few days break before the next operation and like the I others I managed to catch up on some sleep and letter writing as well as sinking a few jars in the Mess but it was not all fun and games.
Hoppy and I took time off to go to Ely for a look around the Cathedral which we had so often seen from the air or the train and of course there were other activities laid on if there was no flying.
There was the often repeated talk about our conduct should we be unfortunate enough to become POW's and it was sometimes made all the more interesting when the talks were from people who had already escaped or evaded to make a home run. There talks on first aid and sea survival and how to make the most of all the equipment that was available to us if we got into trouble. There were not many idle moments but on those days we achieved some sort of normality. One could not be in the front line all the time, and it was too good to last. On the 3rd July we were on the Battle Order again to find that at briefing targets at Cologne were detailed so off we went again.
The defences were even more lively than I had ever seen before. There was evidence of a lot of fighter activity around the City and some very nasty sights as aircraft were hit in their vitals. There must have been some desperate situations as people fought for their lives if they had not already been blasted into eternity. How we went through that inferno I will never know and we were very relieved when we came out into the clear again and were heading for home, still keeping a good look-out for a long time.
It took time after slipping between the sheets before that scene finally faded from the mind. The brain needed time to wind down allowing the need for sleep to take over.
There were [underlined] seven [/underlined] Stirlings lost that time, again about 10% of the Stirling force among the total losses for the operation. It did not bear thinking about for too long and it was rarely the subject of conversation. At that rate according to the law of averages it would not be long before our number came up but
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people normally kept such thoughts to themselves, or shared their fears with their Chaplains.
For me, I soon gave up the struggle of concience [sic] . If people were getting killed or maimed on both side fighting for God and country then any rational person was bound to have doubts at some time. Possibly most people, like me, tried to push such thoughts to the back of the mind and just concentrated on eliminating the enemy, trusting that a forgiving God would understand.
I suppose it was a sort of psychological con. trick that one played on one's self.
It couldn't happen to us!!!!!
[line of stars]
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On one break between operations and sleeping there was flying practice of the kind that I found the most-enjoyable.
Fighter affiliation was the one exercise that involved us all except the navigator. He could get his head out of the 'office' and enjoy the fun. It allowed Mac to demonstrate his skill by causing more than a few Thunderbolt, Hurricane and Spitfire pilots to have to work very hard to get a bead on us, with a very good chance of getting them in our sights first, which Mac insisted was the object of the exercise.
It required complete team work between gunners and pilot and they had a fine old time giving their running commentaries and instructions which were interpreted by Mac into evasive action. The inter-comm was alive. A team of acrobats could not have put a routine together any better as we skidded and banked and slithered this way and that way to the frustration of the fighter pilots.
My place was in the Astro-dome as usual looking for any attacks that the gunners were not concentrating on....just in case!. I never had the opportunity to get into the turrets. The only way that I was ever going to do that was if one of the gunners became a casualty and although I was not over anxious for that experience I still had to keep in practice.
It was inevitable that Mac would get the opportunity to show off to our American friends one day.
We had recently had a liaison visit from USAAF crews and we had shown off our aeroplane only to be left smarting from some tactless remarks about our 'pop-guns' and the lack of them in certain parts, and "where did we stow the pool table", etc, etc. Certainly the fusulage [sic] of the Stirling was big enough for one, but they were more subdued when we told them that we could carry some three times the weight of bombs that they could!. We kept quiet about the fact that they could fly more than twice as high as we could, and very often did.
On one particular occasion we had just completed our exercise and the fighter was orbitting [sic] out of range somewhere when a B.17. (Flying Fortress), came stooging in looking for all the world like a porcupine with guns sticking out of everywhere.
We were a little above him so Mac shoved the nose down, piled on the power to build up the speed quickly, then stopped and
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'feathered'; (turned the propellor blades edge on to the slip stream) both outboard engines before coming up alongside him. After a little hand waving came the big surprise. We then slid up, over the top of him, came down the other side, then underneath and back into the original position before waiving [sic] goodbye to the astonished, and possibly alarmed B.17. pilot and then peeling off like a fighter. All that on two engines!!!!. Very good for morale!.
It has to be said that although the Stirling could not get to a decent altitude it could be thrown about in a very lively fashion and Mac's handling of it had to be experienced to be believed. We might have done some strange things at times and he threatened on several occasions that he would loop it but one thing I do not ever remember him doing was a heavy landing of the sort that some people seemed to make a habit of.
One measure of the quality of successive landings could always be taken from what was known as 'creep' marks on the tyres and wheels.
When a tyre was fitted on one of those enormous wheels a line was painted across wheel rim and tyre so that after a number of landings with the wheel being jerked into motion by the impact with the runway it was possible to see how far the tyre was creeping around the rim. It was only allowed to go so far otherwise the inner tube could distort and fail.
In most cases tyres needed re-fitting about every seven landings but I do know that our aircraft did not have a refitting as often as that.
As for looping, we never did, although we were never very far from it on the occasion when he did attempt it. He had several tries but the result was the same every time. We started running out of air-speed long before we got up to the top and he was obliged to roll out of it with dust, fluff and debris of all sorts floating about loosely in a brief spell of weightlessness. He gave it up after a while having calculated that he needed at least 300mph on the clock before the pull up to make sure of getting over the top but one thing he would not do was to push 'Willie' to that extent,
Someone else's aircraft maybe, but not ours!.
It goes without saying that such fun and games were never
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attempted without a lot of airspace under us. At least 7000ft. of it to make sure that to make sure of recovery if anything did go wrong, and I loved every minute of it.
On the 9th we were back to mining in the Frisian [sic] Islands this time, in the approaches to Wilhelmshaven and Bremerhaven. There was a lot of flak going up from the islands or ships but we had gone in on track fairly low and as soon as the mines had gone down we went again, skimming the wave tops and once more we skirted all the defences finally arriving back at base with no more problems other than just feeling tired even if it was one of the shorter trips.
Someone did mention to Mac that he was likely to slam into the side of a flak ship one night but he reckoned he would always jink around it before they could bring any guns to bear.
[line of stars]
Among the odd jobs that cropped up between operations were trips to pick up a crew or part of one that had diverted or pranged somewhere, or taking a crew to pick up an aeroplane after it had been repaired. Every day it was something different, and some nights as well with a mass exercise to test some procedure or just to keep the enemy guessing. Spoof exercises were boring but very worthwhile as it put the German defences on the alert only to find that the force had turned away half way across the North Sea.
Mac still went out of his way to practice low flying and I recall with shame the number of sailing boats all over the Broads that we capsized with our slipstream as we steamed along with about 200mph on the clock.
It seemed funny at the time anyway. Especially the poor bloke on a bike who was wobbling all over the place as he was looking over his shoulder at a massive Stirling at about 30ft bearing down on him, to be finally flung, bike and all, into the dyke.
None of it was authorised of course but Mac always used to say that if the flight authorisation book was annotated 'local flying' it looked suprisingly [sic] like 'low flying' and that is what he would be doing for as long as he could get away with it.
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On the 24th we were briefed for a raid on the docks and the U.Boat construction plants at Hamburg with a maximum effort being called for.
Every available aircraft was put on; many with 'scratch' crews drawn from the operations staff. This was one with a difference!. The briefing was long and detailed as we were going to drop 'Window' for the first time.
'Window' was the code name for the bundles of foil strips that were to be discharged from aircraft at a steady rate from a given position en route and as every aircraft in the force was contributing it was expected to cause such a smother of signals on the enemy radar that it would be quite impossible to track individual aircraft. It sounded like a good idea to me and I was quite content to spend a lot of time shoving that stuff down the flare chute if it was going to keep us out of trouble.
It did work and losses were cut considerably despite the fact that three of the Stirling force failed to return out of a total of 791 aircraft dispatched. Nine others were also missing.
It was a fairly long flight of 6 hours 55 mins. but was without incident until we were over base on return. Someone ahead of us had done a 'swinger' and blocked the runway so we were diverted to Mildenhall and it was a strange bed for the night for us. The arrangements for diverted crews were a bit rough and ready. After debriefing we were given bedding and then had to hump it, with all of our other gear, around the camp, through the main gate to the pre-war airmens married quarters which were being used as barracks, and we finally flopped into hastily made beds in the kitchen of one of them, dead beat. I'm sure we could have slept the clock around but it was not to be.
We were hauled out of our beds at mid-day by the RAF Police as there was a panic to get back to base. We had no time to have a drink or a meal or clean our teeth or wash or shave. It was a mad scramble to get out to the aircraft as quickly as possible after returning the bedding. That basically is what caused my problem. It was not until we had got airborne that I realised that in the 'flap' I had left my flight bag in the billet and that was
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serious. Among the contents of that bag were secret code books but Mac was adament [sic] when I asked for a turn round. His comment was simply "hard luck". so when I reported the loss on return to base the cat really was among the pigeons.
It was a long time before the enquiry was concluded.
I could have shortened the period, and certainly Mac was soon wishing he had turned-back but he would not take me over later in his car, or lend it to me (not that I had a driving licence), so we had to put up with a Squadron Leader chasing us all around for statements. It must have been time consuming and frustrating for him when we kept disappearing into the protection of the briefing room which were 'off-limits' to him.
The bag was eventually recovered from where I said it was. It was in one of the cupboards in the kitchen where we spent the night. (I had put it there for safety!), and later I got a formal reprimand for my sins. It did not make a lot of difference in the long run.
[line of stars]
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Nevertheless, I was feeling very apprehensive about the outcome of the oversight as we set course for base, air testing the aircraft on the way, and once the loss was reported I was issued with a new kit before we dashed off to try and get a few hours more sleep and a clean up. There was not much time to spare as we were on the Battle Order again. Hence the panic to get us back!.
Even then none of us felt particularly wide awake as we dragged ourselves into the briefing room once more. This time to be briefed for a raid on the Krupps complex at Essen.
Essen was considered to be one of the hottest targets in the Ruhr, being right in the middle with some fairly formidable defences to work our way through.
It was a case of running the gauntlet for a long time with a big of a wiggle here and there to dodge the ack-ack and the searchlights that someone else had stirred up but nevertheless, around Essen itself it was pretty fearsome.
Somehow we got through it and were homeward bound just wanting our beds but it was not to be. Routine W/T (Wireless Telegraphy-morse) broadcasts from Group HQ confirmed that the weather had indeed taken a turn for the worse, as we had been warned about at briefing.
Fog was forming all over East Anglia and we did not have a lot of reserve fuel. We had carried a maximum bomb load instead so someone at Group HQ planning must have been keeping his fingers crossed. The problem was that there were a lot of pilots wanting to get on the ground quickly as the low swirling fog was thickening up rapidly.
The countryside was covered in almost 100% cotton wool with church spires and masts sticking up through it and it did not make it easy to find a runway underneath it.
Our diversion was to Waterbeach and by the time we arrived on the scene it was going full blast. Aircraft were milling around over the top burning up precious fuel and others who had been called in had made missed approaches and rejoined those circling so when we were called in without too much delay Mac pulled out all the stops and made it first time on the BABS (Blind Approach Beam System), much to the relief of all concerned.
There was a lot of nail biting and it did not improve matters
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when we actually passed over one flaming wreck on the final approach. We had made it but some others holding off near the coast ran out of fuel and had to abandon with the inevitable loss of life due to parachute failures, crash landings and drownings.
At least we were home and dry once more even if it was going to be another cold and somewhat damp bed for the night, which was more than could be said for some poor blokes. Nothing at all was heard from another six Stirlings, Three of then from our Squadron. There was another large gap in the ranks that would need filling!.
The weather had cleared up by mid-morning and we were hauled out of our beds again feeling more dead than alive, with another panic to get back to base as we were on the Battle Order yet again!.
I must confess that at the time I felt that we were really pushing our luck.
"Willie' did not come up to scratch as we airtested it on the way back. We had actually taken off with what would normally have been an unacceptable 'mag' drop being unladen but it really did not make a lot of difference so we handed it over to the ground crew to sort out and once again we went through the same procedure as before. Grabbing some sleep, cleaning ourselves up etc. but when it came to briefing time 'W' still had not become serviceable despite Mac's rantings and ravings. He and Paddy had spent quite a lot of time out at the dispersal with their sleeves rolled up. We were allocated EF492 which someone else had air tested.
It finally resolved itself as the operation was cancelled almost immediately after the briefing. That was one time I was very relieved when the 'op. scrubbed' message came through considering the diabolical weather that had been forecast.
Despite the extra time that was available 'W' still failed to give satisfactory engine responses even after they changed all the plugs, ignition leads and magneto's on the troublesome engine so we were still down for EF492 when we were briefed on the following day for Hamburg yet again.
'Windowing' was the routine once more starting long before we entered the flak and fighter belt.
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The only break in that routine was when the flare was loaded as we once again approached the target in the midst of the docklands complex.
There was a lot of chatter and excitement from those up front as we got nearer. I went forward to join Pete who had virtually abandoned his charts about fifty miles from the city. There was absolutely no doubt where the target was. No spoof target fire could have possibly looked like that.
There was a damn great fire up ahead that, obliterated any aiming point so we jostled ourselves into the stream and Hoppy aimed for the middle.
The scene was almost beyond description, with a carpet of fires delineated by the waterways and streets with bursting bombs and other erupting areas of fire with photo flashes and flak tracers climbing lazily into the sky. Probing fingers of searchlights and cascading chandeliers of red and green Pyrotechnic markers.
It was an obsolutely [sic] apalling [sic] inferno down below us. It was sea of flame with smoke reaching up almost to our height to even penetrate the aircraft which bounced and bucked in the updraft.
I had never seen anything like it before and it was a long time before the flames faded into the distance as we left it all behind us. The rear gunner reckoned that he could still see them nearly 100 miles away and everyone was wondering what could have caused such a conflagration. We were to find out later that a combination of freak conditions had caused what was to be known as the 'firestorm’ but it was with some relief that we eventually arrived back at Chedburgh, into a hut now full of new people and to flop into our own untidy beds ready to sleep for a week.
[line of stars]
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We had another free day before the next operation was scheduled.
A day of rest and an opportunity to write to my parents, who, although they never showed their feelings in their letters about the family must have dreaded each day for what news it might bring them, knowing what I was doing. But the following day we were on the Battle Order once again.
We had a shock when we found that the target was Hamburg once more, and there seemed something sinister in going for the place so soon after the last attack that surely must have torn the heart out of the place.
EF433 was back in business as they had sorted it out at last and we had a rough time weaving in and out of a multi searchlight cone and concentrations of flak as we approached the target area. Once again it was a combination of Mac's skill in weaving about and a fair slice of luck. It was not surprising that our gunners were getting a bit 'twitchy' by this time, and so would I have been in their situation. One moment of slackening concentration on their part and we could easily be one of the 'flamers' we saw all too often so when Ralph blasted away at a shadow that swept across the top of us without warning the very fact that he identified it as a Halifax almost immediately was taken for granted. We learned later that Ralph's fire had been accurate enough to have wounded the Halifax engineer in the foot!. It was unfortunate but it really was a case of shoot first and ask questions afterwards. A split second hesitation and there was no second chance if it had been a roaming night fighter trying to drop something nasty on us. We had been warned about that possibility.
Worst things could happen in the 'stream' with hundreds of aircraft converging on one spot with a night visibility of 500 to 600 yds. at best. Collisions were always a possibilty [sic] despite the attempts to achieve separation in the planning, but if someone was out is his timing, and at the wrong height that was it. What the Halifax was doing at our height and mixed up with the Stirlings is anyone's guess. Pete was adament [sic] that we were on time but a total of six Stirlings were lost that night despite the protection of 'Window' and other methods that were being used to give us some cover.
The Special Duties Force had all sorts of tricks up their sleeve
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to confuse and jamb the German fighter control system including German speaking operators on board to imitate their controllers and transmit spurious instructions.
They played merry hell with the system causing Luftwaffe pilots to continuously change channels and in the general confusion they were soon forced to make some drastic changes and then the main force joined in as soon as they entered the fighter belt. Every aircraft transmitted noise on a selection of frequencies which overlapped and were manipulated in such a way as to produce a solid spread of noise across their operating band.
It caused a buzz of excitement when this was detailed at briefing but was Mac was still reluctant to have our main transmitter in use. It produced a typical comment, "It's all very well these clever sods deciding that we will do this and that and the other, but I'm not having a fighter home on our transmissions right up our chuff".
Nevertheless, I had my orders and I could appreciate the value of it. He was finally convinced when I asked him try to listen into the din that was going out on the airways. There was a solid spread of noise from hundreds of aircraft using a microphone in an engine housing feeding to the transmitter. It blotted out everything else so I was allowed to add my bit. Operation 'Tinsel' was good value as far as I was concerned.
Once more the journey was made over the North Sea which always looked so angry and inhospitable when there was sight of it. The very thought of finishing up in the 'oggin' filled me with dread but that was the way so many went following an emergency signal going out at frantic speed to the fixer service. If the sender was lucky it would be followed by a long transmission when the key was clamped down before he dived for his crash position and the transmission ceased when the inevitable occurred.
Everyone who heard those transmissions logged whatever they heard and a D/F bearing if they managed to get one although the transmission would be acknowledged smartly by the base operator for the benefit of all those that might be listening.
The sender would no longer be listening. He would have far more important things to occupy his mind; if he had been lucky!.
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It was not always easy to ditch copy-book style, with the tail down, along the bottom of the swell, exactly at the right speed, at night, and with the aircraft flying like a brick lavatory. Maybe without even a qualified pilot at the controls. But some made it just the same and the rescue services did the rest.
For us once more there were the dulcet tones of the WRAF in the control tower when Mac called for landing instructions, and eventually after all the paraphinalia [sic] had been attended to; to climb into a cold and untidy bed, for most of us, in the same state as we had got out of it!.
The next night we were off to Remchiede [sic] in the Ruhr and marking was carried out to the ultimate. Something different was being tried. There were route markers, turning point markers, target markers, back up markers and shifters, but it was not to Mac's liking. It might have helped to place more bombs in the right place but it also seemed to be an invitation to the night fighters to concentrate their efforts in a nicely defined corridor.
That was the night I did something that I only ever did the once. We were carrying a second pilot on his first operational trip. Paddy spent most of his time in the astro dome, the flare was loaded and there was no window to throw out so I was virtually 'spare'. I retired to my armour plated seat, receiver volume turned right up so that I would be alerted at the first signs of a transmission; and then I dozed off!. At that point in time I decided that if I was going to get killed I did not want to know about it.
It is not possible to go right off in such circumstances so I was still conscious of thumps, bounces and weaving sensations but we still sailed right through it all although eight other Stirling were not so lucky. Two of them from our Squadron!.
[line of stars]
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There was hardly time to get our breath back before we were at it again. We went through the old familiar routine and there were a few gasps when we found that the target was Hamburg once more.
In the meantime a story had gone around in respect of an NCO crew who had turned up for a briefing in their best uniforms, having told their commissioned captain in advance that they were refusing to go, but when they announced that fact to all and sundry that they really had had enough after their last rough trip there was one hell of a commotion. They had all been placed under close arrest and were stripped of their rank and aircrew insignia after which they finished up in the ‘glasshouse'. Subsequently, when they had completed their term they were employed in the Sgt's Mess of another operational station with the glaring signs of removed badges for all to see………and lesson to everyone!.
How much truth there was in that story is anyone's guess but it did show up the anomaly in the aircrew set up that everyone was well aware of.
Despite the fact that all aircrew were volunteers once you were in that was it. There was no going back and staying that you did not like it or you did not want to do it, on moral or any other grounds. You were stuck with it.
Failure or refusal to carry out your duty in the air was classified as LMF. (Lack of Moral Fibre) and led immediately to a Courts Martial. The action was swift although there was a subtle difference between that charge and 'cowardice in the face of the enemy'.
I am sure that a lot of people who were justifiably scared out of their wits still pressed on rather than give way and be labelled with that stigma. In many cases the condition was recognised by other crew members and the individual often 'rested' on medical. grounds which eventually sorted the chap out one way or the other.
In this particular case where there was more than one person involved it was much more serious and no doubt could have been construed as mutiny rather than LMF. It begs the question of how a similar problem would have been dealt with in either of the other services. I have a fairly good idea...but this was
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the Air Force way!!!!!!!.
The briefing was well under way and everyone did their little bit until it finally came to the Met. man's turn.
He commenced to put up a chart such as I had never seen before; or since.
It was smothered in the usual blue and-red symbols of high and low pressure systems. Warm fronts. Cold fronts. Occluded fronts, and the craziest pattern of isobars that looked as if they had been put on by a demented spider.
There was a buzz of anticipation as he finished pinning up his chart, then he turned around, coughed nervously and confessed that he had not got a clue.
What a brave chap!.
The announcement was greeted with good natured hoots, howls, and whistles accompanied by the stamping of feet until, he had an opportunity to explain that the situation was very complex and that it was impossible to draw up really accurate forecast. This was the best that he could do.
His forecast was absolutely grim. We were to expect anything and everything. There were no soft options.
He probably did not realise at the time that all the noise we had made was little more than a cover for the twinges we nearly all had in our guts.
His chart may have been a joke but the weather was not. There were umpteen layers of cloud with heaped up cumulous and dirty great Cumulo [sic] Nimbus embedded in the layers with the most incredible wind sheers in them that was a navigators nightmare quite apart from the fact that if you did happen to be unfortunate enough to blunder into the worst of that it was enough to tear your wings off with updrafts and downdrafts of around 100mph adjacent to each other!.
We encountered ice, snow, hail, rain, thunder and lightning and even that rare phenomenae [sic] 'St Elmo's fire' that lit up the aircraft with a silvery blue glow of discharged static electricity around all of it's extremeties [sic] including the propellors that were turned into enormous catherine wheels.
Mac fought the elements and that aeroplane for hours as it bucked, bounced, and groaned with every lurch. We couldn't get above it so there was only one way....onward!
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Hail about the size of marbles hammered us until we thought that every piece of perspex must give way under the onslaught but somehow we got through although we had to bomb under the parachute sky markers that the Pathfinders had been forced to drop above the diffused glow of the doomed city below us.
It must have been too much for some. It was a shocking night all round. For us as well as Hamburg. We lost thirty aircraft altogether and another 50 were badly damaged, without a doubt as much by the elements than by enemy action and on the whole it is not suprising [sic] that the bombing was scattered all over the place.
We were all utterly exhausted after that. None more so than Mac, and were very relieved to get back to base and flop into our beds again. We were very lucky. A lot of good blokes went to a more permanent resting place that night without achieving a lot on that ill fated mission.
There were some angry mutterings directed at the commanders who had made the decision to go out an such a night.
There is a story told of one Aussie pilot who was so incensed at the debriefing he insisted on phoning Group HQ and when he was connected fired a real Aussie broadside down the line. The story goes that when he had finished the person at the other end said "do you know who you are talking to?", "No" said our Aussie. "This is the C in C, Air Chief Marshall Harris" (short pause), the next question was from our Aussie friend, "do you knew who this is?" to which the C in C said "No". "Thank Christ far that" was the answer to that before the phone was promptly replaced!.
[underlined] Noel [/underlined]
Happy reading
[line]
and there are another 70 pages to ‘Water under the Bridge’ Part 1
[underlined] Alan [/underlined]
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On the lighter side there were a few evenings out together in Bury St Edmunds where someone had found a pub that was just right for us.
It was a back street 'spit and sawdust' place with the very apt name of 'The King William', and give us a common meeting place that we were otherwise denied as we were split between two Messes.
Mac used to get a small recreational petrol allowance for his car but it didn't go far. One or two sorties had proved fruitless as everywhere we went we seemed to be up to our armpits in aircrew and allied troops of all nations, and despite various reports about a certain pub having some beer we would be lucky to get in the door before they sold out. In others it was not unusual to get a watered pint. With war-time beer being limited to 2 1/2% alcohol to start with who wanted a watered pint! We most certainly didn't so once we found the 'King Willie' we kept very quiet about it.
The landlord and his wife had recently heard of a service bereavement in the family and when we turned up they virtually adopted us. We were treated like family and we could not have asked for more. In those days such a place that never ran out of beer, eggs and bacon, or time was the nearest thing to home. We probably spent more time in the private rooms than in the bar.
After 50 years that old `pub` no longer dispenses jars of ale. It has been converted into a private dwelling but the old pub sign boarding across the front that used to bear the name has been painted over, but it will always be the 'King Willie' as far as I am concerned.
I will always have a soft spot for that place and 'mine hosts'. There must have been times when Mac's elderly but mechanically perfect Triumph Dolomite was on auto pilot when we were on our way back from Bury after an excursion but it always did it without fuss even if it was grossly overloaded. Anyway, Mac was quite used to nursing a grossly overloaded machine and under the circumstances I never had any worries.
There was the consolation that of course if anything did go wrong; and one day it did when I was not with then, we would not have far to fall, and on occasions we were past caring.
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After a short break we were on the Battle Order again on the 10th August and that night we had a very close shave.
The targets were at Nuremburg, and everything was as normal as it could have been under such circumstances until we were in the final stages of the bombing run when Ralph suddenly snapped out "go port--go-go-go", and Mac threw the aircraft over without hesitation.
I searched around frantically to see what it was all about because I was as usual looking in the opposite direction to where Ralphs turret was pointing.
My heart nearly stopped when I saw a Lancaster no move than 100 feet above us, sliding diagonaly [sic] across, with a 'cookie'. 4000lb blast bomb just leaving it's bomb bay!.
That instant `jink' undoubtedly saved us as we actually felt the displacement of air buffet us as it passed within a few feet of us between the mainplane and tailplane....and then it was gone. So was the Lanc!
Whether we were late on target or the Lanc. was early, or why the Lanc. was at our height, or why the bomb aimer had not seen us goodness only knows. There were lots of theories put forward and Mac had a lot to say about it for a change.
Our own theory was that a new Lanc. crew had done a panic stricken dive to the target and were more intent on getting rid of their load and out of it, and we were well aware that such things did happen from the whispers that did the rounds.
Hoppy was more concerned that the manoeuvre had spoiled his bombing run and he had lost his initial aiming paint so all he could do was to dump the bombs into the inferno that was Nuremberg below us but we were still sweating over that incident for some time afterwards.
It certainly had the affect of increasing our vigilance in the future and we were not going to be caught out like that again if we could avoid it. Things were dangerous enough as it was without being 'bombed' by our own aircraft.
Sixteen aircraft failed to return that night and three of them were Stirlings out of the 119 Stirlings sent out!.
Despite the savage losses within the Stirling force we were
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off again on the 12th but from all around the briefing room there were sharp intakes of breath when we saw just how far the tapes stretched across the wall map, right down to Turin, Italy, and everyone knew immediately that it was going to be a 'hairy' one. Mainly because every Stirling crew member was only too well aware of just how high a Stirling would go. Even the Wellington and some of the 'oldies' could do better than us so we knew that there was no way we would be flying over the Alps...it had to be through them!. As the plan unfolded we soon learned that that was exactly what we were going to do. The bolt hole if in trouble was North Africa!. Our Stirlings were a standing joke in Bomber Command. Even WWI aircraft could get to greater altitudes. We were lucky in normal circumstances to get above 15,000ft fully loaded despite the fact that the Operations Order often called for heights that were unobtainable. There were occasions when we managed to 'claw' a bit more at the expense of high fuel consumption by using more revs and boost and with a bit of luck, climbing at a ridiculous 200 feet per minute with 5deg. of flap when it was possible to gain another 1000 to 1500ft before starting the run in to the target but it was not always a good idea as it reduced the airspeed at the most vulnerable time. It did of course produce an increase in airspeed in a nose down approach to the target but it was a 'swings and roundabout' situation. It was certainly a waste of time gaining height that way for any other reason as having achieved it it [sic] could not be held in level flight and would slowly sink back to it's own level like a waterlogged hippo. The net result was that we got the full treatment from both the medium and the heavy flak as well as being bombed by our own aircraft!. The die was cast and we were stuck with it and it seems appropriate to relate an incident as I recall it.
A New Zealand pilot of 214 Squadron received a replacement rebuilt machine and to his delight he found that it out-performed any other Stirling that he had ever flown and kept singing it's praises until the news got around and an investigation was started to try and find out all about this 'Super' Stirling.
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All sorts of people flew it and sure enough it went up to around 20,000ft feet just like a Lanc. and there was much scratching of heads. Then they brought the jigs in from the repair depot, (SEBRO), at Cambridge and the matter was solved. They found out that the tailplane was out of incidence, so they promptly put it back to the 'correct' specification and 'presto', it was back to what a Stirling should be.
It might have solved the technical problem but it did not help the pilot much. He was so peeved about that he refused to fly it until it was changed back and he was threatened with disciplinary action but it was overcome by allocating him another 'normal' aircraft so he had to fly that or face the consequences. My recollection of the final verdict is that the powers that be decided that an incorrectly rigged tailplane could cause a structural failure in flight and that was the last word as far as I am aware. Stirlings continued to be produced to the same specification and displayed the same problem right to the end of it's days, even when many were converted or built as Mk.lV and Mk.V transports that were subsequently to be found littered around airfields all over the world.
I think most of us at that time would have been prepared to have taken a chance if there had been a choice of the two evils and Mac summed it up in his own inimitable way. "Bloody stupid sods", but since there was no choice through the Alps it was.
At the other end of the spectrum there was another `rogue' aircraft that arrived on the Squadron after a rebuild but it must have had a very limited test flight prior to delivery. Rogue is hardly the word that it's crew called it after air testing It. It creaked and groaned. The wing tips fluttered and it could not be trimmed from a lop-sided attitude in flight. Despite the most careful handling it showed great reluctance to exceed 9,000ft and was finally landed very delicately as it seemed that it was about to fall apart. It still took another independent short air test to confirm it's condition before it was promptly grounded and handed back to engineering!.
Despite the problems with the aircraft and the conditions encountered in flying right down to the South of France, skirting around Switzerland and heading through the mountains the Fiat factory......
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in Turin received our calling card but Mac was not at all happy with the return journey.
We had used a lot of fuel as a result of the engine settings that he had insisted on as we had weaved in and out of the mountain tops and to make matters worse it seemed to be getting light much earlier than anticipated.
The planned route was given up in favour of a straight line course for home shores and in the improving light Mac went down to deck level to get under radar cover and to make sure that no-one could get underneath us.
There was little I could do. Radio communication was out of the question even if it had been needed. We were far to low for reeling out the trailing aerial without loosing it so I went into the front turret as all of the others up front concentrated on map reading and safety look-out.
We were scudding along and were about 30 to 40 miles South of Paris when Mac let out a yell, "all gunners stand-by.....open bomb doors". He had spotted something that looked like a good place to jettison the incendiary containers. That 'something' appeared to be a German troops early morning parade forming up in a barrack square and we blasted into the parade ground leaving a very nasty mess behind us from front and rear guns as well as the containers.
That got rid of a bit of weight and we continued to steam along until we came to the shores of the Normandy coast where we spotted what looked like another troop assembly for morning bathing which we blasted into as well leaving that area rather messed up as well.
It did seem as if Mac's apptitude [sic] for low level flying was paying off as we had no-one chasing us so we stayed down low until half way across the Channel by which time I had vacated the front turret then it was back up to height, IFF on for radar identification, and on to base.
Mac had his own reasons for imposing a discreet silence about that episode despite what might have been a considerable contribution to the war effort. As far as anyone else was concerned we had dumped the containers and fired off the ammunition in the Channel to lose weight but having run for home more or less in in a straight line we got it........
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in the neck for arriving home early, a little earlier than others. There was even an accusation that we might not have even been to Turin and Pete's charts were impounded, but the target photo proved that we had. What they thought we had been doing for 7hrs 25mins. I really do not know but it was not very pleasant until we were proved to be in the clear but our unauthorised activities were [underlined] never [/underlined] reported.
The relief of crossing home shores again on the return journey was always an anti-climax as there were many hidden dangers on the home run with most of the crew drained by the physical and mental concentration of picking a safe pasage [sic] through enemy defences.
It was too easy to relax too soon with the gunners fighting the overwhelming desire to close their eyes, and even up front it was just as easy to be lulled by the steady throb of carefully synchronised engines with the aircraft flying itself on auto-pilot, particularly during the dark hours.
It was not unknown for the occasional Luftwaffe fighter bomber to infiltrate the home going bomber screen [sic] with a chance of shooting one down or following it through the radar screen to his base to shoot him down when he was most vulnerable during the landing and to give the base a plastering as well.
There was one occasion that I thought Mac had gone barmy when we were homeward bound over the sea and he called me up to take over his seat whilst he went down the rear. The night was as black as a coal cellar otherwise I am quite sure that I would never have had that opportunity but I dread to think of what might have happened if we had been bounced.
Of course, Paddy, in the right hand seat was quite capable of flying the aircraft within certain limits should an emergency arise, that was part of the job. So could Hoppy and although I had done several hours in the Link trainer (Flight simulator) my own efforts were very limited. My best effort was when I had an outside horizon but I was not very good on instruments alone and with the hood down. Under those circumstances I invariably 'pranged' it by losing control so when on that occasion I sat there gingerly making adjustments to the controls; as I thought, Paddy said after a few minutes "easy isn't it?", and when I nodded he added, "especially on auto-pilot"!. Rotten
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swine, and I thought that I had been doing so well to keep it straight and level.
After that I just sat there until it was time to return to my radio compartment to take a routine broadcast. Then I knew why I had been afforded the privilege of a front seat.
There was Mac, comfortably seated on the Elsan toilet down the back end, smoking a cigar, seemingly without a care in the world. Skippers privilege; no-one else was allowed to smoke!.
After the last operation we learned that three Stirlings had failed to return and one of them was from our Squadron.
The briefing on the 16th was for the long haul down to Turin again but we had an engine pack up 1 1/2 hours out and we were forced to return. With obstacles like the Alps to contend with it was no time to invite trouble but it seemed a terrible thing to do to jettison about 1000 gallons of precious fuel over the bombing range at Thetford followed by the bombs. It all had to go to get the aircraft down to landing weight but not all of the bombs went down safe. They never did. If the arming links did not release from their clips the pins were pulled and they went down live.
I remember only too well the occasions when as an airman on the very range, looking after the flashing beacon that there were some hair raising incidents. I have always maintained that the safest place was the target area. Being 2000 yards from it was no guarantee that you would not get earth thrown in your face,.....even when the Lufwaffe [sic] had a go at knocking out the light. At least on those occasions it gave me a bit of fun then with the Bren gun!.
We were certainly more rested than those who had done the full round trip when we found out that there was another operation planned for the 17th.
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Excitement mounted when the Battle Order was posted calling for a maximum effort and every available aircraft and crew was on the board to start with although it was whittled down for various reasons as time went on. We were allocated a 2nd pilot as EF433 was still undergoing an engine change so we were down for EE945 but it seemed a struggle to get many serviceable.
There were gasps and whistles as the wall map was uncovered. The tapes went right out across Demark and jinked about all over the place before they ultimately took up a course for Berlin from a turning point on the German Baltic coast very close to the Polish border. That was the crafty bit. We had been going on that route with variations for some time but that time we were not going to Berlin but to some place by the name of PEENEMUNDE.
The briefing was lengthy and very detailed. We were going in at medium height in bright moonlight to attack an experimental radar establishment (so we were told) and there was an order of the day from the man himself, 'Bomber Harris' to the effect that we were expected to press home the attack with the utmost vigour, and that if we did not knock the place out the first time we would be going back again the next night to finish it off.
Apparently Peenemunde was very special and I did not like the sound of that any more than the rest of our brief.
The aiming point for our wave was the quarters of the technical staff with the intention of killing as many as possible and the other waves would deal with the research and manufacturing plant. There was a lot of quiet whistling through clenched teeth at that announcement. It had a particularly dirty feeling about it to set out to deliberately kill people although we were not so naive not to be aware that the type of bombing that we were engaged in invariably took it's toll of innocent civilians including women and children. Somehow this felt different.
The Pathfinder technique was something new too. We had a 'Master of Ceremony's', who would be flying around the target broadcasting target and marker information to keep the bombing concentrated in the right place. A very dodgy process at low level and under a lot of falling bombs so Mac had to keep his R/T set on whether he liked the idea or not.
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Despite the maximum effort called for all the Squadron could muster was four serviceable aircraft and in fact only a total of 54 Stirlings were committed so we were not the only unit having difficulty in keeping aircraft flying but we got off and were under way without any trouble.
It was a long trip taking a Northerly route across the North Sea with many feint turns to keep the enemy guessing until we eventually turned South to cross the Island of Rugen with the head of the stream pointing to Berlin but in that case using the island as a final navigational check point to line us up with Peenemunde.
In such a bright moonlight night dozens of aircraft could be seen lining up but the rear gunner spotted one that seemed to be lining Itself up on us and it was not one of ours!. He kept an eye on it until he was sure of it's intentions and then there was a sharp warning, "fighter low, corscrew [sic] starboard, go" and opened fire as he spoke.
There was a lot of firing from both gunners as banked and dived followed by a yell from the rear gunner "got him" as the would be attacker went diving earthwards with smoke and flame pouring from him.
We soon levelled out again with the target area now clearly lit up ahead by markers, exploding bombs and fires. The Flak was very light and the target stuck out like a 'sore thumb' although there was a little confusion about the precise aiming point. The MC had been a bit late in giving corrections to bomb upwind and to one side of the markers but Hoppy had already locked on to his target and it was too late to do anything about it once the button was pressed, He always maintained that he went for the correct target anyway as it was obvious that the markers were out of place but there was a lot happening around us and there was more excitement to come.
The bomb bay doors had just closed when Mac suddenly ordered "guns stand-by-fighter dead ahead" and I swung around in the astro-dome to see an Me.110 about 200 yds ahead going from left to right with the crew plainly silhouetted in the cockpit by the light of the moon.
In the time that it had taken me to turn around Mac had already
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rammed on full power, banking right and Hoppy was scrambling into his turret. Ralph was rapidly rotating forward but it was a forlorn hope that we might do something effective. There was no way a thirty tonner was going to produce the sort of urge [sic] that was necessary and we soon lost him as he went into the dark side. I don't suppose the German crew even saw us.
The intercom was a bit lively after that as we cleared the target area and finally headed for home. The fighters were showing signs of getting very busy and there was evidence of combats all around us so it was not surprising that Mac did his usual and to hell with orders to climb away from the target. I heard him explaining to our co-pilot that he did not think it was a good idea to reduce his airspeed to about 150mph in those conditions and our co-pilot was learning a few things too. It must have paid off for him anyway. He stayed with the Squadron to the end advancing from Sgt to Sqdn.Ldr. and with a DFC.!.
Mac did the very opposite to the briefed instructions by shoving the throttles right forward with the nose down and 'high-tailed' it out of there like a scalded cat and kept it going until we were down to about 2000ft which we maintained over Denmark before climbing again.
We got home without any more trouble. The rear gunner had his claim of a `kill' of a Do.217 confirmed by other sightings although it was never acknowledged in the record books and fortunately we didn't have to go there again. We had well and truly put the place out of business and the Yanks made sure that it was unlikely to recover.
It was long afterwards that we learned that the so called 'radar delelopements [sic] ' at Peenemunde were in fact the V1 and V2 rocket research and developement [sic] that had received top priority, but at a terrible cost.
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The raid had cost us 41 aircraft including one Mosquito over Berlin where a diversionary attack was-going in. Of the two Stirlings lost one was from our Squadron and we lost not only the 'A' Flight Commander and another 'freshman' pilot who was down as second pilot.
Altogether there were nearly 300 casualties of which 131 had a been consigned to watery graves; never to be found!.
Later on some more interesting facts emerged. Apparently the Luftwaffe had dispatched their night fighters to Berlin at first due to the Mosquito's stirring things up and in the excitement they had a fine old time shooting each other up; and down, before it became obvious that the main raid was-somewhere else. Then the fighters were diverted to the Peenemunde area and other units were alerted.
The net result was that when the whole flock descended to land, very short of fuel, on diversionary airfields it was every man for himself and quite a number were lost in mid-air collisions and taxying accidents.
One significant loss that could be attributed to that episode was that the senior General of the Peenemunde production staff was among the many casualties and production was put back sufficiently to gain time for the introduction of countermeasures when they did finally launch them.
[line of stars]
I was not sorry when we found ourselves free for a few days as we waited for the nights to get darker and for nearly 300 air-crew and 40 aircraft to be replaced; but it was only a few days.
On the 23rd August EF433 was back in business again and we were off once more. The target was Berlin; the 'Big City' as it was known to aircrew. It no longer gave us any cause for concern when the target was announced....we had been well and truly blooded, so off we went again although it was not without a spot of bother.
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It seemed that there were battles going on all around us with intense activity for a long time. There were 'flamers' going down in all directions and we were all keeping a very sharp look-out whilst Mac weaved about so that at times we could see below us but we were lucky again even when Mac had to take some very lively action to duck out of a searchlight cone that definitely had our number.
The pale blue high intensity radar controlled master light locked onto us first and then a number of others joined in and chased us around all around the sky.
We had seen that situation often enough to know that once you were trapped in that lot there would be a fighter not far away waiting to finish us off if the concentration of flak did not get us first; and the flak got [underlined] very [/underlined] concentrated.
That was no time to just 'corkscrew'. Throttles forward, fine pitch, nose down to increase speed and then Mac more or less played tag with them as they chased us but he used some very rapid changes of direction before they could reverse.
That night was perhaps the most desperate searchlight situation we had ever been in. On occasions the whole interior of the aircraft was illuminated as plain as day and it was like being a fly caught in a spiders web but eventually Mac's tactics paid off as we broke free. We were very glad to get home again after that.
It was becoming increasingly obvious that the relatively quiet earlier missions were a stroke of luck as we were now having to fight our way through almost every time. The odds in favour of us completing a tour were shortening considerably, and to make matters worse the flying time was getting longer. The last three ops. had all been over seven hours and Berlin was nearer eight, and 56 aircraft had been lost on that raid, 16 of them Stirlings!. The beds in our hut were getting new occupants before we even got to know the previous one's!.
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No-one seemed to be getting posted away or 'tour expired'. There was always someone from the 'committee of adjustment' gathering up the possessions of those who would have no further use for them unless they had been particularly lucky.
As far as we were concerned it was still not a subject of conversation although we were a little superstitious about the situation. Despite the fact that our beds were scattered about the hut none of us ever moved from the beds that we first flopped into so that we could be grouped together, although it would have got some of us away from draughty doors and windows.
We just stayed put as the occupants of the others changed regularly and I learned later that Mac and Pete had adopted exactly the same procedure!. Among the most recent casualties that brought things rather sharply into focus was the loss of another McDonald, (slightly different spelling), ex 214 Squadron, on the last operation. We had got to know him and his crew quite well as they were the most experienced, and we had wished them 'Good Luck' as they left the briefing room.
It was his 30th and final operation before being rested and it was a long time later that I learned that only his W/Op. had survived as a POW. Apparently, at the last moment, on leaving the briefing room, he had been offered the chance to stand down and finish his tour there and then but the crew voted to turn it down!. It did not help to reflect on the fact that when the Squadron had been formed there was a McDonald, a MacDonald and a Macdonald. One, Sgt MacDonald had already goes missing on the 25th July, so we were the only one left!.
As usual, despite the long trip the night before, we reported to the flight office in the early afternoon where we learned of the Squadron's loss, hoping as usual, that we would be 'stood down'. Some were but for Mac and I it was a different story.
For us there was a flight detail with some S/Ldr Staff Officer from Group HQ who for some reason wanted to demonstrate the 'corkscrew'.
I don't know why it was us. Perhaps Mac had volunteered again
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as we suspected he did an occasions, but as it only required a minimum crew of three for such details the others were sent off. There was no Battle Order on the board so they did not need a second telling. They were off like scalded cats!.
It was no real problem with two pilots up front so I was down as 'gunner' for the flight and there was a chance that we might learn something new although we had certainly done our share of 'corkscrewing'; and a bit more the previous night when Mac had got into an energetic but still smooth manoeuvre in such a way that it did not communicate the extent of the motion to the back-side. The evidence of that was that Pete, sitting in his darkened 'office' doing his sums, was only half aware of what was going on apart from the occasional interior illumination, came on the intercomm [sic] and nervously suggested to Mac that he "chuck it about a bit"!. That was a bit of a surprise to the rest of the crew. I knew that we were being 'chucked about,' quite a lot. How else was it that I was in my seat and often getting glimpses of the ground through the the [sic] Astro dome on [inserted] the [/inserted] [underlined] top [/inserted] of the aircraft.
When we got out to EF433 I was more concerned with the pre-flight checks of both mid-upper and rear gun turrets in case I had to make a dive for one of them in the event of an intruder chancing his luck, and then basically I was a passenger.
I was a little surprised to see Mac in the right hand seat as I took up my position on the flight deck between the two pilots as we started up and taxied out…..even then I was getting alarm signals in my sensitive parts as I was subjected to an G experience that was rare since flying with Mac.
The brakes squeeled [sic] and shrieked and the aircraft rocked and a lurched about until finally it was heaved off of the runway in about the clumsiest take-off I could ever remember and into a climbing turn that seemed to strain every rivet. And that was before we corkscrewed!.
After climbing to about 5000ft with the engines bellowing I was listening to this chap explaining to Mac how it should be done but it still caught me by suprise [sic] when he went into the most violent, wildest manoeuvre that I had ever thought possible. The wing tips must have flexed by about 6ft although I did not know for sure as I was brought to my knees by the 'G' forces
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one minute and was floating to the roof the next desperately trying to hang onto something to avoid being thrown around the cockpit and possibly finishing up in someone's laps. Even so I could not avoid noticing a purple tinge developing around Mac's neck that had nothing to do with 'G' forces. As it went on he was obviously getting very angry and not learning a lot!.
Eventually he got very emotional as he turned to the other pilot and the intercom [deleted] n [/deleted] fairly sizzled with an outburst that contained phrases like, "how dare you treat my aeroplane like this" and "what the bloody hell do you think we were doing over Berlin last night" and "what the bloody hell do you think the gunners are supposed to be doing whilst all this is going on" and a lot more besides which is unprintable. An argument ensued, the outcome of which was that Mac finished by telling the other pilot to relinquish control by his "I have control....now sit back and you might bloody well learn something". I crept away somewhat embarrassed and took up my position in the mid-upper turret reporting in when I was established and I soon knew how Ralph felt as Mac put us through the same manoeuvres as we had done the night before, (and he was driving from the right hand seat), with no further comment from the visitor.
At least, being in a gunner situation for a change I learned the value of keeping my eyeballs in their sockets which is more than I would have done if the other chap had been driving!.
Having got that off of his chest we headed straight back to base and landed with the Squadron Leader still fuming at the indignity of being lambasted by a Flying Officer, so he stamped away from the aircraft with a flea in his ear!.
Mac left him to his own arrangements to get back to the flight office whilst we spent a long time looking around the aircraft for signs of sprung rivets and other signs of over stressing like wrinkled skin.
Mac was muttering darkly all the time about "ham fisted buggers" and other uncomplementary [sic] remarks that are unprintable.
He was more vocal than I had ever heard him and definitely not impressed that 'Sir' had not done as many ops as we had!.
No doubt the demonstration was well intentioned even if it was a case of 'teaching grandma to suck eggs'.
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On the 27th we were in the briefing room again to find that targets in Nurnburg [sic] were to receive our attention so off we went in the company of another 673 aircraft.
My recollections are that the flak was the worst I had ever seen so far. There seemed to be a solid wall of shell bursts in front of us as we closed in on the city, and 'flamers' were going down right left and centre.
At briefing it had been mentioned that the night fighters were likely to be repeating some new tactics that had already had some success; as far as they were concerned anyway.
It confirmed our suspicions that something different was going on.
Previously the fighters had kept clear of the ack-ack and waited until they saw someone in trouble before going in for the kill but they had started getting in among us and having a go at anything they saw regardless of the possibility of being hit by their own stuff. Between those operating those tactics and others using AI (Airborne Interception Radar) they were beginning to knock us down like clay pigeons.
The searchlight/flak/fighter combination was lethal under those conditions and between them accounted for the loss of 33 aircraft, 11 of them Stirlings from a force of 104. [underlined] Three [/underlined] of them were from our Squadron detail of seven that had ultimately got under way. The loss of nearly 50% really knocked the stuffing out of us. None of them had been with us for more than a few weeks and one of the pilots had flown with us as co-pilot recently.
At this point I was hoping that a spot of leave would help to prolong things but it was not be.
After a brief rest the next place to receive our attention was Munchen-Gladbach [sic] on the 30th and this one started off on the wrong foot.
All was well until start-up when the starboard outer starter motor stripped when engaged.
It was not unnatural that most of the crew immediately started planning the evenings entertainment to occupy a bonus night off as we knew that there was no spare aircraft. I must confess that I had no knowledge of the starting handle!.
There was no reason why a wireless operator should I suppose
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although it was in our own interests of survival that we should know quite a lot about everyone else's [inserted] job [/inserted] . But that was some starting handle!.
Nearly 20 feet long, shoved through a hole in the engine casing to engage it, and with a large double. crank at the bottom designed for two people to turn it.
With Paddy in the cockpit juggling with throttles and mixture controls, and Mac jumping up and down shouting unprintable words of encouragement to the owners of [underlined] four [/underlined] pairs of arms, mine included, we cranked that engine until at last it spluttered into life and then we all piled aboard and got under way.
We soon made up for lost time by taking a few short cuts to catch up the force as there was no way that we were going to be a loner over enemy territory but I doubt it very much if many aircraft had been started that way to go on ops.
We had a bit of a skirmish later as we approached the target. The rear end Mac hollered and fired as we jinked away from an Me.109 which spun away pouring smoke and flame although we did not see what finally happened to him. We were far to busy searching for others as it was obvious that the fighters were very active all around us. McIlroy was only credited with a possible for that engagement.
There was no doubt that our two gunners were really on the ball as once again they had fired first but others were not so lucky and for one reason or another six Stirlings failed to return.
[line of stars]
We were briefed for Berlin on the 31st although there was some doubt about W becoming serviceable although they were half way through the starter motor change. In the event it was not rectified in time and at the last minute we were allocated EF117, but Mac was very peeved about it. It had not even been air tested!.
We did not get very far in it before we found that the rear guns would not fire and then the intercom went dead on us.
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Mac was fuming and we pressed on for a while desperately trying to rectify the faults without any success but he decided that we would not waste the trip or the bombs as we turned away from the enemy coast and diverted to overfly a place that most people tried to keep clear of; Texel, in the Frisian Islands. They started firing as we approached so it was taps open, speed up with a bit of a weave on and Hoppy planted the bombs as close as he could to the batteries and the searchlights. Their effort was certainly reduced as we turned away so perhaps we had done a bit of damage in the process. It was counted as an operation as we had been over enemy territory but there was one a hell of a row as the brief was to dump the bombs in the sea or jettison them on the Thetford range.
In addition there were even accusations of possible sabotage and collusion from higher up until the faults were proven to have been electrical malfunctions that could not have been fixed in the air. Mac was furious about the whole business but it did not help. One can only speculate on what the outcome might have been if we had not been forced to 'abort' the mission. There were 16 Stirlings lost that night out of the 57 dispatched. One of them from our Squadron!.
The gaps around the mess tables were getting noticeable again and if the absence of any entries in my log book is anything to go by we were sent on leave whilst the Stirling Force was being put together again.
I do vaguely remember one leave that started with a fair old session at the King Willie and I must have forgotten where I was as we pulled out of Bury. St. Edmunds station. Apparently I had to be restrained from dispensing leaflets out of the window!. Despite my indiscretion I still managed to retain some of them.
There were a few mining operations undertaken by new crews whilst we were away and on our return we were to find that one new crew had arrived and had already been lost in that short period. It was not long before we were back in the briefing room again to find that the target was the Dunlop factory at Montlucon, Italy, but it was another washout. We never even left home shores.
An engine seized shortly after getting airborne and we were
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obliged to jettison bombs and fuel on the range before landing. We were in 'W' and it had only done a few hours local flying whilst we had been away but sleeve valve Hercules engines really made a thorough job of it when they seized, so of course Mac was hopping mad.
We ail got blamed for the various things that had gone wrong and a lot of accusations were flung around in the heat of the moment. The frustration was understandable as we all knew that he was driving himself, and us, as hard as he could to get the tour over as quickly as possible but eventually he calmed down and we renewed our efforts.
[line of stars]
It was during our last leave that Mcllroy spent a few days with me and the family as we had a welcome break from the East Anglian scene.
We walked miles over the Downs at the back of Worthing where I had spent all my earlier days, and past the spot where in 1940 I had gazed in awe at a shot down Heinkel 111. although it was an area now that was not so regularly visited by the German Air Force.
It had been different then, when the invasion was imminent although they had been forced by their losses and other commitments to limit their efforts in our direction.
I can still recall vividly the occasion when I found myself right under a scrap over Worthing, between three Spitfires and a Heinkel 111. that had dared to venture in the direction of London.
The Air raid siren had sounded and I had seen him going over very high, leaving vapour trails but he had obviously been forced to turn tail and he was in a shallow glide going very fast as he came over the hospital and the gas works. Then those Spits gave him a real hammering.
With hot empty cartridge cases and links cascading down all around me I had watched mesmerised as the top gunner had winged two of them, one going off East towards Shoreham staggering a bit and the other in the direction of Ford and Tangmere trailing smoke. Then the third one went in for the kill if the
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way that the guns suddenly went askew was anything to go by. That was it. He continued out to sea and plunged in about a mile off of the pier. He had put up a good fight but it had not done him much good.
Now the skies were relatively clear but that did not mean that the area was safe. There were elements of the Canadian Army en-camped in the area and they often imposed a threat to life and limb.
I was glad of McIlroy's company in a bar one evening when some of his countrymen who were somewhat 'tanked' up started making derisive remarks about Brylcream boys and a scrap was imminent.
It all looked very ugly for a while and of course those chaps had been trained to the peak of fighting efficiency and no doubt still had a bee in their bonnet about the Dieppe affair.
Just in time Mac defused the situation. He pushed me out of the way, took of his raincoat to reveal his Canada shoulder flashes, gunners brevet and stripes, and drawing himself up to his full height of 6ft plus asked who was going to be first. There were no takers and we moved to another bar to continue drinking in peace.
No doubt that lot had more than their share of fighting later on, on 'D' Day and after.
[line of stars]
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That was all behind us as we finished our leave and got back to the task of taking the fight to the enemy.
On the 16th we found ourselves on the Battle Order for an operation that turned out to be a very dodgy one.
There were the usual mutterings, quiet whistling through clenched teeth plus a few caustic comments from the assembly when we found that we were off to do some damage to a railway station and tunnel at Modane, a mountain pass between France and Italy. What caused most of the comment was the unusual method of attack. Modane was at the Northen [sic] end of the Tunnel-de-frejus, deep in the Alps!.
As it was in a valley, the floor of which was 3,467ft above sea level, with the tops of the valley at about 11.000ft and only three miles across the tops it was impossible (so they said), to approach the tunnel mouth direct due to the sheer rock face above it.
The plan was to approach from a valley at 90° to the tunnel mouth, plant the bombs in the valley wall to bring down a large amount of debris before doing a smart left hand turn into the main valley.
The task was a risky one, bearing in mind that it was at night. Anyone who failed to get it in one was to initiate the left turn and take the station and yards at Modane as the secondary target.
One way or the other it would make it difficult for the German military traffic that was plying between France and Italy through the remote pass.
Fortunately the Met got it right that time. The weather was perfect. It was beautiful moonlit night and we entered the mountain region between the peaks bang on track and worked our way through until the target area loomed up ahead. We rushed towards the rock face at around 200mph and Hoppy did his lefts and rights and steadies and then he goofed it!. !
What happened next caused my heart to miss a beat. Calm as you like as if he was on the bombing range Hoppy said "missed it-round again"!.
I think that is what upset Mac more than anything else as we banked over into the valley expecting him to give Hoppy some verbal about the secondary target but what came next caused
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my heart to miss a few more beats.
We were all alarmed to hear Mac say, 'that is just what we will do too, and get it right this time or you go out next, we are going back to the tunnel"!.
By now we had got to know Mac well enough to know that when he had set his mind on something there was very little that we could do about it. I got the distinct impression that I was riding a runaway roller-coaster as I braced myself in the isle [sic] between the pilots positions.
The horizon went haywire as we banked over into the initial turn and started to descend. We had not quite got to the station yards when we went into a tight 180deg. turn to head back underneath the rest of the force that was still hurling bombs all the way down the railway line.
I don't know how serious Mac was about chucking Hoppy out but he gave it to him straight, "no more messing about" as we charged at the tunnel mouth and when the "bombs away" call came we did not hang around to see the results although I don't see how we could have avoided hitting something. Our greatest concern was getting out of the situation.
All I could see was a kalidascope [sic] of nasty looking rocks as there was only seconds to make the turn, no room to turn back, no chance to climb with aircraft still coming in over the top of us. All we could do was wriggle and twist along the valley floor hoping to God we would not go the wrong way and find ourselves in a cul-de-sac.
It was very uncomfortable for a while as Pete and Hoppy had consulted their maps and assured Mac that all was well. And so it was as suddenly we came out into a wider valley and were able to climb.
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Obviously we had not done the exact reciprocal of our inbound route and it did not matter a lot as we all breathed a little easier until Mac let out a whoop with an "all gunners stand by" and we were all on the alert again. Then he told us what it was all about as the gunners reported "ready".
He throttled back and in rich mixture we were soon whispering along without even a flicker of flame from the exhausts, and then we all saw clearly what he had seen as we went into a turn. We were able to pick out dim convoy lights on a road halfway up the mountainside, so it seemed likely that it was the Southern end of the tunnel that we had just bombed. Mac said "if that is not a military convoy I will eat my socks" and followed it up almost immediately with a gentle turn onto a Northerly heading to within a few hundred yards of the mountainside. All gunners blazed away in turn and there was all hell let loose before we turned away.
The results were spectacular and certainly not quite what we had expected.
There were explosions, scattering lights, and liquid fire pouring down the mountainside with more explosions in the waterfall of fire and after about 20secs. we turned about and repeated the performance.
It was an appalling sight as obviously vehicles including fuel and ammunition trucks had been hit but turning away with most of our ammunition gone and somewhat shocked, we made our way home, low down across the tip of Switzerland and across France just as fast as we could.
Mac's orders were specific. Not a word about it, and he swore each one of us to absolute secrecy as we had not been ordered to do it, or whether we had done the right thing even though we might have contributed considerably to the war effort.
It was never reported and has remained under wraps until Mac can no longer answer for whatever damage was done. With more operations still to do if we were lucky it was best to forget the episode although some explanations were called for as our target photo showed a very messy tunnel mouth and the expenditure of several thousand rounds of ammunition was explained as an attempt to supress some ground fire in the valley. [underlined] And a ticking off for attacking in the wrong direction [/underlined] !!.
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I did not do another operation until the 3rd October as I went on the sick list for a few days.
I received an injury not from enemy action but from one of my own crew, although the outcome showed the sort of crew spirit that there was even if I had to be the 'dogs-body' to prove the point in respect of my own particular crew.
Macdonald and I had been into Bury St Edmunds to the King Willie for a couple of quiet drinks and on return we went to the Sgt's Mess where there was a dance in progress.
As soon as we entered the Mess we found ourselves in the middle of a group of people, Station Commander included, who were being treated to a drunken comedy act by Paddy who seemed to be doing his damndest [sic] to climb a wall by making repeated runs at it.
He must have been in the bar as soon as it had opened and obviously had had far more than his share.
The affair had just reached the stage where the Group Captain had already ordered the RAF Police to be brought in so Mac stepped in to sort things out his way. Exercising his right as 'Skipper' he ordered me to get Paddy out of the Mess and out of trouble. I wish he hadn't!.
With the assistance of another Flight Engineer from the Squadron Paddy was talked out of the building but we had not got very far when the other chap slipped and went down and a very confused Paddy decided that I was responsible.
I was still trying to hold him up but he turned on me and belted me one!, and I tumbled into an open trench.
I could have coped with that but grabbing a large paint drum half filled with solidified paint he heaved it at me and I remember nothing after it bounced off of my head.
I woke up in the sick bay the next morning with the great grandaddy of all headaches and adorned by large pieces of sticky plaster.
In the meantime wheels had been in motion as it had been decided that disciplinary action would be taken against Paddy for the rumpus that he had caused in the Mess. As far as my condition was concerned it was a different case so it looked as if Mac was going to have to do without his favourite engineer for a while if that reached it's logical conclusion…..until Mac did a deal with someone. That is, in addition to me!.
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He came to see me in the sick bay with a proposal that he said would satisfy all concerned.
The deal was that I would be charged with being responsible for the whole affair and as I was hardly in a state to argue I went along with it. The net result was-that Paddy was in the clear, I was fined five shillings (25p) for being 'drunk and disorderly', a scar on my forehead, and an entry on my documents as well as a few days off; but I had an opportunity to even the score sometime later.
Whilst I was on the sick list and grounded the crew did another two operations with a relief W/Op, going to Hanover on the 22nd and Mannheim on the 24th without incident. and each of those two nights I spent in the control tower biting my nails until they were back. One of our Squadron failed to return from the Hannover raid…..and it was nearly a turning point for me.
There was a limit on how long you could remain out of a crew without being, permanently replaced and the relief W/Op was sufficiently impressed with the rest of the crew to ask if he could stay with them. Mac must have pulled a few more strings and the MO signed me off despite the sticky plaster so I was back in the crew instead of becoming spare man.
The other chap had previous been spare because his crew had gone missing whilst he was sick so he went back to being spare.
Unfortunately, when he did get crewed up again the following month he was killed in a flying accident. That's fate! and it was being tempted far too often for my liking.
Eventually Mac did get around to thanking me in an embarrassed sort of way for my involvement but I think that when I weighed up the final outcome I was the one that was most thankful, so despite a sore head and some red ink remarks in the records, we just pressed on as if nothing had ever happened.
[line of stars]
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The operation we were briefed for on the 3rd October was for aircraft factory targets at Kassel and as 'W' had been unserviceable on air test we were allocated EE971. After air-testing that one Mac and Paddy agreed that 'it would do'. Not quite like our 'W' but they could accept it.
A few things had changed by that time. The Luftwaffe hit and run raids were almost a thing of the past as they were well and truly on the defensive and East Anglia now bristled with AA sites which very rarely permitted a raider to get very far.
We had got bold enough to assemble all the aircraft for the night's operation on the runway in front of the main camp area and in sight of the main road, and on this occasion there must have been as many as 28, possibly 30 aircraft lined up, and very impressive it looked too.
I have always thought that one lone raider bold enough (and lucky enough) to have got through the defences to shoot up that line would have done an awful lot of damage, but fortunately no-one ever did. The resultant mess would have wiped out half the camp and the Marquis of Cornwallis pub at the same time.
Nevertheless it was a great morale booster for the locals who were crowding up to the other side of the fence to watch procedings [sic] , many with pints of ale held aloft in salute. It did restrict activities a bit when many crew members were saying goodnight to their favourite WRAF under the mainplane, but the less said about that the better.
Off went both Squadrons in grand style and we were just approaching the coast outbound when the port outer packed up with a great deal of spluttering and backfiring so it didn't look as if we were going to get very far.
Mac and Paddy juggled with the engine controls but the engine steadfastly refused to do much more than 1000revs without protesting so they shut it down and feathered the prop.
By that time Mac was keen to get another op. under the belt and apart from calling me a 'jinx' he decided to 'press on'. We were not keen but he didn't ask us so we went all the way on three engines, bombed the target and headed home with Paddy biting his nails with concern at the high fuel consumption and the strain of the extra power being extracted from the other
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three engines. I do not think he would have put 'W' under so much strain but this one was not ours and that was that.
As soon as we cleared the enemy coast wee started to economise on fuel with a change of engine settings, firing off ammunition into the sea. Flares, incendiary containers and all sorts of stuff being dumped to lighten the load with Paddy getting more and more agitated as he endeavoured to work out our fuel state which was not made any easier by Mac's persistent nagging.
My request to make an emergency call was refused as was a further request to call the emergency services for the state of Tangmere, although we did change course in that direction. I was further refused permission to switch the IFF to the emergency code, in fact he was downright bloody minded.
Nevertheless, I was all ready to go straight into all my emergency procedures with IFF, radio and verey [sic] signals if the need arose, without permission, as we approached home shores.
We were just about overflying Tangmere when Paddy and Pete come up with the results of their combined calculations.
When I heard that on the intercomm [sic] I thought immediately, 'Tangmere, here we come', with one hour to base and one hour five minutes fuel, so we were not amused when Mac said, "what the hell are you worrying about then. Navigator, a direct course to base please".
A direct course for Chedburgh was made in defiance of standing orders that forbade us to overfly London and hoped to God that we would not lose too much height and find ourselves tangled up in the London balloon barrage.
It was bad enough when the banshee wailing of the balloon barrage warning came in on the radio. That in itself was a bit unnerving but we were all in Mac's hands and I was hoping that he would be prudent enough to settle for any airfield whilst we still had a limited reserve of fuel. And it was limited. Paddy had made it quite clear that he had calculated to the last drop of [underlined] usable [/underlined] fuel on the evidence of gauges that he was doubtful of. He could not do more other than protest further to Mac as we cleared the London area, in fact everyone protested that what we were doing was unnecessary, although perhaps not in such mild terms.
His only answer was to request that I open all of the fuel tank
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cocks on the bulkhead behind me and he started to rack the aircraft from side to side to drain every last drop into the main tanks.
That was enough for me. On went my 'chute and it would not have taken much more for me to be heading for the rear hatch which I had left open after jettisoning equipment over the sea earlier. It was just at that time that Paddy decided that he had definitely had enough. As far as he was concerned Mac had gone 'bonkers' and he was getting out whilst he still had a chance. He struggled out of his seat, clipped on his 'chute and had just got by Pete, and I was seriously. contemplating joining him when I received an order from Mac to "restrain him".
That upset any plans, so he was 'restrained', if that is what you would call tripping him up and sitting on him, although it was not for long as Mac had decided that we were serious and he agreed to go for the nearest airfield if Paddy would go back to his seat.
No sooner had he done so the port outer spluttered and died so they started up the port inner for the first time in hours and although it would not run at any speed without backfiring it was kept going as we desperately searched around for an airfield.
Mac was very busy struggling with the controls when one was sighted and we immediately headed for it. I fired off the colours of the day as fast as I could load and fire and when they were gone I fired off all the reds and then everything else in the rack, greens, yellows, star shells and even smoke puffs in the hope that the control staff would be suitably alerted to an emergency. Mac was far too busy to even use his radio and it was all very tense in the cockpit. I was half hoping that Mac would still give the order to abandon, and I was still ready, but instead he instructed Paddy to select wheels and flaps only when he asked for them and that's when the starboard outer spluttered and died. It was in those desperate moments that Paddy 'goofed' and we lost about five thousand feet rapidly after he feathered the starboard inner by mistake, and although he promptly rectified the error we were by that time descending like the proverbial brick lavatory. Not surprising as we were for a time flying; if you could call it that, on between one
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and one and a half engines.
I was back in the astro dome by that time as we aimed at the threshold of the runway at an alarming angle to keep the speed up. My legs and fingers were crossed as I looked hypnotically at where I was quite sure that we were going to make a large sized hole and then the nose came up …….."full flap" was Mac's breathless request over the intercomm [sic] and we were flaring out above the runway with the speed falling off as all power was taken off with another almost whispered request ...."wheels down" and then we floated whilst Mac held her off, to kiss the runway within seconds of the undercarriage 'green lights' coming on with warning horns blasting our ears.
Another perfect landing!!!! even if the approach had been a bit abnormal.
Mac established contact with the control tower to find that we were at Wratting Common, another Stirling base and we managed to stagger to the end of the runway and turn off before everything stopped with a splutter as we ran completely out of fuel!. We subsequently had to be towed away but not before we had managed to compose ourselves.
It was really an amazing piece of flying that had made the best out of a very bad decision that so easily could have ended in disaster…..and we all knew it.
Why else would Paddy come rushing past me towards the rear door, ashen faced, then jump out and spend a lot of time throwing up and kissing mother earth!
As for me. I stayed in the semi-darkness of the doorway until my colour came back and my knees stopped knocking before I ventured out...and I needed the ladder!. I don't think the others were much better.
After a few hours sleep we were back out to the aircraft which had been repaired and refuelled. The problem had only been burned out ignition leads which was something that Hercules engines quite often suffered from and we were soon on our way back to base still feeling as if we had experienced a very dream [sic] but we were still better off than some. Another five Stirlings failed to return that night.
Not another word was said about the incident. No apologies....nothing! Perhaps it was best left that way if we
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expected to continue as a crew…..and we did, although Mac was somewhat subdued afterwards -and was suffering from strained back and shoulder muscles for several days.
[line of stars]
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We had a few days break before we were detailed for another operation on the 8th. It was my birthday on the 9th so I planned a celebration if all went well but that night, as the 8th turned into the 9th we got the sort of party I could have done without. The main target was Hannover although-we were part of the secondary force within the main force with everyone heading for Bremen and at a certain position the main force turned towards Hannover leaving us virtually as decoys.
The fighters had been scrambled to intercept the track to Bremen and I was half way through a large bale of leaflets that I was dispensing out of the rear escape hatch when the rear gunner suddenly yelled "fighter--port quarter--corkscrew port--go" and over we went straight into evasive action as the fighter opened up. The rear gunner opened up at the same time and the interior of the aircraft was lit up by flashes as we were hit and bits and pieces were flying around in all directions. There was not a lot that I could do although I instinctively started to throw out leaflets as fast as I could without bothering to cut the string on some as I came up to the standing position to kick some bundles out. As I was to find out later, a good move. Mac was throwing the aircraft around all over the sky and the firing seemed to go on for a long time with smoke, flashes and a great deal of noise as something stung me in the face, and then it stopped as quickly as it had started. Immediately the rear gunner was back on intercom to report that his rear turret was damaged and had jammed solid when he had resorted to turning it manually.
He also reported a hell of a lot of debris from us had smothered the attacker before he had broken away suggesting that we had lost a few bits of aeroplane.
It was later on when we were piecing together details of the attack that we figured that it must have been my leaflets in the slip-stream, and he also reported that the fighter appeared to have two glowing tails; which is what I had also seen in a brief moment through the hatch.
There was a hell of a lot to do. We were in no doubt that we had collected a considerable amount of damage yet everyone checked in OK and unharmed which was a relief.
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I made my way back to the radio compartment to find Paddy curled up behind the armour plating of my seat which he had dived for after seeing me hopping about in the illumination of tracer that was flying about.
I asked him to check me over as there was a lot of wet and warm stuff running down my face and producing his torch very soon re-assured me that "it's hydraulic oil you bloody twit" before he was off down the back end to make some repairs.
Everyone was checking around thoroughly at that time but there were no fires or fuel leaks and all engines were turning without fuss. All other indications were normal….and we were still flying, complete with bomb load so we pressed on somewhat gingerly at that point in time.
There was another very good reason why I had dashed up front so rapidly after the action. Despite the fact that I had been standing on the edge of quite a large hole to dispense the leaflets, my 'chute had still been in it's stowage a long way from me; and I never ever did that again that's for sure!.
Everyone eased their parachutes in the stowages. Paddy put his on as he had to negotiate the open hatch which we had decided to leave open under the circumstances and as we continued to Bremen we checked and re-checked all our vital functions.
Paddy used a fire axe to clear the rear bulkhead and turret doors before the turret became operational again with a healthy short burst. But Mcllroy was in a very draughty situation as most of his perspex had gone and there were holes all around him, after which he made some first aid repairs to the hydraulic piping in the area of the position where the ventral turret would have been; if it had been fitted. First aid was the operative word; he used the medical first aid kit!. More to stop slippery oil sloshing about than anything else.
The intercomm [sic] was lively and as we had a freshman second pilot with us he was learning very fast. For a change Mac was not telling anyone to quit the chatter as he usually did so bit by bit everything was satisfactorily cross checked and it was reassuring to find that all the essentials were working despite the fact that there was a lot of internal damage: There were holes in the main bulkhead up front near my position and
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even some of the instruments in the cockpit had lost their glass. With everything giving the right responses it was no time to pull out of the stream and becoming a sitting duck for another enterprising night fighter so we stayed with it, bombed and stuck to the route for the return journey still regularly checking and cross checking.
I really thought that that was the one time Mac was going to have to use his "angle of dangle" equipment as he called it; to help him fly the aeroplane. It was in fact a weighted Scots doll suspended by a cord in line with his nose that he always set up for use. He always said that he could fly on that if all else failed but fortunately it was not needed and stayed up on the scuttle.
Eventually Paddy and I replaced the rear hatch and things returned to near normal but I could not help reflecting that I could have been a lot more effective with a pair of .303's sticking out of the bottom instead of dispensing a pile of paper which no doubt the German population used for the same purpose as we would have done in those days of paper shortage.
As it was, we had nothing protecting the underside and the Luftwaffe knew it well enough. After all, they had a fair sized scrap business going in recovering crashed Allied aircraft and re-cycling them into fighters for the defence of the Fatherland, and it was costing us dearly.
Although the attack on us had been from the rear so many losses of the period were being caused by something that for some reason or other our intelligence people did not know about, or if they did it was not made common knowledge.
It could have been that the Luftwaffe system was so effective that few, if any, aircrews ever got back to tell the tail [sic] .
They had developed a weapon along the lines of a British invention of WW1, the COW (Coventry Ordinance Works) gun, originally intended for shooting down airships.
They had put together a pair of 20mm cannon with periscope sights on an upward firing mounting in several types of aircraft, including the Me.110. and codenamed it 'Schrage Music' as part of their 'Battle Opera' control system.
With or without radar they were getting into the bomber stream, picking a target and positioning themselves underneath in the
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blind spot out of sight of the gunners, even to the point of following through a 'corkscrew' so that the gunners never got contact, or the Wireless Operator through his infra-red 'Fishpond' equipment, (if he had got it on) for that matter.
All they had to do was to keep up the shadowing until they got their aiming point 'spot on' then hit the button.
The aiming point was usually the starboard wing root where there was a concentration of fuel lines, fuel tanks, control lines and crew. It was very adjacent to the bombs, one engine, flares, oxygen bottles and other things that go bang in the night.
One short burst in that vital area was usually enough and the aircraft invariably exploded within seconds of the strike giving the occupants very little chance to escape. No wonder that we had seen-so many aircraft just explode and dissapear [sic] in a fireball.
It is on record that one of their night fighters fitted with the system was credited with [underlined] Five [/underlined] Lancasters in a 30 minute sortie so it was hardly suprising [sic] that there was very little feed back of intelligence information.
As we got nearer home we were very careful how we prepared the aircraft for landing. Fortunately the bomb doors had operated satisfactorily and Hoppy had made sure that there were no hangups. That was the last thing we wanted as a primed hang-up was a very sensitive beast.
Finally there was more to do before joining the circuit. Air pressures, hydraulic pressures and electrics were all normal. Mac did a mock landing procedure at height to test the responses at landing speed. There was no way that he was going to have the aircraft fall out of his hands at same vital stage of our final approach, but flaps, undercarriage and control services all gave the right reaction so it was on to base for a landing. Even then he was not entirely satisfied. Our first touchdown as a bumper to see if the green lights stayed an indicating that the undercarriage has locked down and to check that the tyres were not perforated.
Only then did we make an approach for a normal landing which was, as ever, as smooth as silk.
We gave ourselves a bit more time that morning to look around the aircraft after we had parked in dispersal and what we saw
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in the morning half-light made us gasp.
It did not seem possible that nothing had been seriously damaged yet there was hardly a square foot without a hole in it.
There were holes in the undercarriage doors, the flaps, bomb doors, control surfaces, engine cowlings and nicks out of the propellor blades. The rear turret had suffered most of all with 80% of the perspex gone and there were dozens of holes around the foot well.
A count showed that there were 96 groups of damage altogether but what brought me out in a cold sweat was to find a nice group of five holes through the rear step of the bomb bay where I had been sitting when the attack started. It was just as well that I had jumped up when I did or I would never have subsequently raised a family!.
I would not have been surprised if McIlroy had not been in a similar sweat. Not only was his turret a mess but his flying suit was nicked all over and ruined. There were tufts of fur sticking out under his arms and around his waist and even his flying boots had been chipped.
His turret doors had been ripped open like a tin can and the bulkhead doors had been badly holed as well. His parachute in it's stowage between the doors was later found to have quite a lot of lead embedded in it. When they opened it up it was like a colander and it is doubtful if it would have been much use if he had been forced to use its but he had not got a scratch on him!. I will never understand it.
As far as EF433 was concerned, although she had served us well she was done for. She just sort of sat there drooping and creaking so it was just as well that Mac had treated her gently. She was taken apart and sent to Cambridge for repair.
We learned later that when they stripped her down further and further they were still uncovering signs of damage including a cracked main spar, so she was very close to falling apart.
I have often wandered whether all that internal damage was battle damage or the result of the terrible handling she got on the corkscrew demonstration. I am incline [inserted] d [/inserted] to think the latter and it would not surprise me if that particular pilot had not ultimately torn the wings off of something.
However, the repair depot did their remarkable jig-saw puzzle
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repair job with so big an aircraft and there must here been sufficient of EF433 left for it to retain it's identity as it later went back to the Squadron after it had moved to Fairford. Eventually it was transferred to 1665 CU as OG-N until the following February when a mishap with a 'swinger' wrote her off at the end of the month.
In the meantime EF189 had been produced and painted up as the new 'W' so within the period of quiet that seemed to have descended on us that also received the attention that we had previous lavished on EF433. Stirling operations were slowing down a bit and few operations were undertaken. Rumours regarding our future were rife and Mac was very busy checking out new pilots as they came in to bring us up to strength. Several operations were scheduled but cancelled although there was still a bit of mining to do from time to time.
We did not mind a bit. The Bremen affair was not easy to forget and although our last flight in EF433 may not have been all that significant we had get quite attached to her. Some poor chaps had never got any further than their first trip and we had always considered ourselves very lucky that the attack on us had been made with small calibre ammunition. If we had been hit by cannon fire it would have been an entirely different matter.
[underlined] Thirteen years later I found out why there had been no cannon. [/underlined]
As an Air Traffic Controller at Amman in Jordan I was swapping yarns with an ex Luftwaffe pilot, then senior captain of the resident airline, Air Jordan, and an honourary [sic] member of our Mess, when the incident was recalled.
We had got so far with reconstructing the episode that we both went for our log books as the whole thing had reached the proportions of a gigantic 'line-shoot', Nevertheless, there were the details of date, time. and place to match those in my log book.
Apparently he had been a test pilot on jets and had been called in to try out the aircraft in operational conditions.
I don't know who was the most surprised but he had claimed us so badly damaged that we most likely finished up in the sea, and even if we hadn't then we must have had casualties on board. The burning question was "why only small calibre ammunition?",
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It transpired that he had used up all of his cannon ammunition in knocking down two other Stirlings already, so he would have been responsible for two of the three Stirlings lost an that raid. His name is not important in this narrative but it is significant that our combat report of the episode (which has never come to light) had put special emphasis an the aircraft with the fiery tails and it may well have been one of the first reports that identified jet night fighters to the intelligence people. Nothing: was ever mentioned about it so it may well have been kept quiet for good reasons.
Nevertheless, the Messerschmitt aircraft factories continued to be pounded regularly.
[line of stars]
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It was the 3rd of November before we had the opportunity to take our new 'W' on ops. We were briefed for mining in the Kattegat between occupied Denmark and neutral Sweden.
It should have been a 'doddle'. It was a lovely moonlit night and we had to overfly Denmark at medium height before going low level to the dropping area.
All went smoothly until just after the drop when we were engaged by a flak ship with a stream of sparkling tracers squirting at us which started Mac wriggling around all over the place with the taps wide open and down to the wave tops until we put him behind us. We were just beginning to breath easy again when there was a yell from the rear gunner as he spotted an Me.109 on our tail. We must have come in for some very special treatment as a loner crossing Denmark and it was as well that Mac had kept us as low as possible until the drop. Once we got back down there again that's just where we stayed as the intercom between the gunners and pilot got very lively.
It was the fighter affiliation stuff all over again as we slithered and twisted and turned, only this chap was not using a camera.
He sent several bursts after us but they all went wide as the gunners assessed the point at which he was coming into the right position for a deflection shot and then we side slipped and banked out of his sights once more.
We never fired a single shot as Mac had said only to let him have it when the gunners were absolutely sure of a hit so we played tag for a long time.
In the later stages we came to a rugged shore line and still the 109 could not get at us.
In and out and round and round we went across country where the landscape showed up in great detail. We could see people in gardens and lights blinked from friendly windows and open doors. We went around chimney stacks, over power lines and we must have given that enemy pilot a real run for his money until eventually he broke off and disappeared. He either did not care for the low level stuff or he was getting low on fuel but we were glad to see him go after a very hectic 30 minutes. We continued to stay low just in case he had a partner somewhere
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and we were still skudding along weaving about for some time before it was considered safe to gain some height and sort out the navigation.
It was hardly surprising that Pete had lost track of where we were. The number of tight 360° turns had been sufficient to upset both the magnetic and gyro compass's. We were too low for 'Gee' to be effective and I was still refused permission to break radio silence for a D/F fix so we staggered around somewhat blindly for a while trying to sort ourselves out.
At one time we saw an illuminated coastline some miles ahead which puzzled us a bit until the penny dropped...whoops..Sweden!. That gave us a clue as to which way we were going...the wrong way, so it was a smart about turn and back to low level again trying to stabilise the compasses as we picked up the Danish coastline again and crossed the country as quickly as possible before finding some higher cloud to hide in and set a rough course for home.
Pete still could not make a lot of his plot. 'G' was not helping a lot. D/F bearings that I was able to obtain from UK beacons only seemed to confuse the issue and when I looked over his shoulder at his chart it was a mass of hastily pencilled in headings and speeds until it looked like one of those kids dot puzzles that produced a picture when the dots were joined up. Only his picture looked like a bundle of loose knitting wool!.
All we could do was press on in a rough direction, picking our way in and out of convenient clouds whilst Pete gathered as much information as he could. It did not help much that Mac would not fly a steady course but even when he had satisfied himself that we were just off the Dutch coast Mac still had his doubts until Hoppy reckoned he had got a good visual pin-point. He estimated that we were over the Zuider Zee and would be able to confirm it when the Western side came into sight. Sure enough it did, but it was not the sort of confirmation he had been looking for!.
Just as we crossed the coastline, in and out of cloud at about 7,000ft, a number of searchlights switched on as one, in a perfect cone, smack on us, and it seemed several dozen ack-ack guns let loose at the same time.
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The salvo must have gone off about 50ft below us with the sound of gravel being sprayed all over us and we bounced up with Mac piling on the power, banking and balling [sic] "that's Dover you bloody fools".
There was all hell let loose as we wound into a corkscrew followed by the lights and a lot more flak. Mac was hollering "Darkie-Darkie" on the R/T to identify ourselves. I slammed on the IFF (radar identification) switch and fired off the colours of the day as fast as I could fire and reload the pistol and then as if by magic it all fizzled out.
The guns stopped firing, the lights wavered and flickered out and the violent evasive action slowed as Mac asked if everyone was OK. By the grace of God we were and then we immediately started checking around the aircraft which seemed to have taken a bit of a battering.
Despite the presence of several shrapnel holes everything seemed to be working satisfactorily so we set course for base with a lot of discussion as to how we had found ourselves over Dover.
The general opinion was that we must have done a zig-zag course right down the Danish, Dutch, Belgium and French coasts without interception. Perhaps our course had been so erratic that the German fighter controllers had just held back waiting for us to make a navigational error that would have put us within their grasp, or some other problem we had on board manifested itself and did the job for them.
As it was the Dover defences had done us far more damage and we were very thankful for either a slight error in the guns predictor or perhaps a little aiming off just in case we were a friendly aircraft with a spot of bother.
We would not have been the first RAF aircraft that the Dover guns had put on their score board though. They had to be very wary of unidentified aircraft. The Luftwaffe's equivilent [sic] of Farnborough; Rechlin, was known to have quite a comprehensive selection of airworthy Allied aircraft that they played all sorts of tricks with. In such circumstances it was more often a case of shooting first and asking questions afterwards and a risk we had to take if there was any doubt about the position at which the IFF was switched on.
During the final part of the flight back to base we had to go
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over the aircraft with a fine tooth comb to test everything before attempting a landing in the same way as we had done for our previous operation and it was a relief to find that everything worked and ended with a perfect final landing.
I have often wondered how many of the others felt as I did as we prepared for that final landing. Legs, fingers and toes crossed as we took up our crash positions, until we were safely on terra firma again.
I was beginning to wonder how much longer we could keep up that sort of escapade without coming unstuck somewhere.
After we had taxied into dispersal and shut down, the ground crew seemed somewhat concerned as we clambered out. I distinctly remember one of them saying "oh no, not again. You chaps must have a guardian angel somewhere". I could appreciate the sentiment when we looked around the aircraft with them.
The underside was like a pepperpot with slivers of metal hanging loosely from everywhere yet nothing vital had been hit.
We did not fly it again as it was withdrawn for repair and subsequently relegated to the training role' as yet another 'W' was prepared for service.
We were very lucky that night. [underlined] Four other mine laying Stirlings failed to return. [/underlined] Mining was no milk run!.
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[underlined] Picture page. [/underlined]
Macdonalds crew
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We were reprieved after a decision was finally made to withdraw Stirlings from the main Bomber Force and start preparing them for another task.
620 was once of the first to go and crews that were close to the end of their tour were not being retained. That meant us...and it was a great relief when we were told. There was only one other crew made 'tour expired' with fewer operations than ourselves although they had originaly [sic] come from 214 Squadron when the Squadron had been formed.
Certainly it was a relief not to have to fly the two ops that I was short of for the full tour. I had already seen what happened to 'spare' people but it placed our crew in a unique position. We were the [underlined] only [/underlined] crew to have actually started and finished a 'tour' on the Squadron since it had come into being.
The credit really belongs to Mac of course but in that short time we had lost 17 aircraft on ops and 9 in accidents. [underlined] More than the whole Squadron establishment strength, plus six!. [/underlined]
Our gunners had accounted for two enemy fighters. We had carried seven 'freshmen' pilots to introduce them to ops and two of them had not survived Chedburgh.
We had lost 147 aircrew killed or missing of which 47 were known to have become POW's. It was a sad tally.
In the same period of time the Command had lost nearly 1000 bombers with their crews in an air war that showed little sign of abating.
The Squadron distinquished [sic] itself later by towing gliders and dropping parachute troops and supplies into the invasion of Europe, Arnham [sic] and the Rhine crossing, as well as numerous SAS and SOE operations into enemy occupied territory with some very severe casualties.
[line of stars]
We were more concerned with the present at that time. We celebrated with a wild night at the King Willie and a few more nights in the Mess as the strain began to fall away with the added bonus of some special leave.
On our return there were, a lot of new faces but we were more concerned with clearing the station and preparing for our next posting. There was trouble of a different sort on the horizon!.
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As soon as we had returned from leave, refreshed, we found ourselves; that is, the five NCO's lined up outside the flight office with Mac demanding an answer to a very delicate question. It was not very delicately put.
Apparently a certain WAAF who had been fairly liberal with her favours; to say the least, was beginning to show signs of motherhood, and since [underlined] some [/underlined] of us were known to have been in her company at times we were all suspect. Of course, it did not help her case a lot when she was only able to claim that it was one of the Macdonald crew!, and why that did not include Mac and Pete the two commissioned officers I do not know, but Mac's question was blunt and straight to the point. "Which one of you buggers was it", which rather stunned us and for a moment we just shuffled our feet as we studied each other.
I forget who stepped out first followed by another until all five of us had stepped forward. I know for certain that we had not all sampled those favours but a crew is a crew through thick and thin. 'All for one and one for all' and all that stuff. There was not much that could be done under those circumstances so whilst they were trying to pin it on someone else (and there were plenty of others), we were only too pleased to pack our bags and sneak off quietly to our new unit.
[line of stars]
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We had been posted to No.3. Lancaster Finishing School at Feltwell as a complete crew, for instructional duties as strange as it may seem. The unit was just setting up to convert the Stirling Squadrons that were not moving out of the Command and Mac and Paddy went off to a Lancaster OTU in Yorkshire for a couple of weeks whilst the rest of us just familiarised ourselves with the Lancaster. The ground school was just getting going so we soon learned our way around. Apart from the Pilot and Engineer's speciality it was not difficult as most of the equipment was the same or similar and a nice little challenge to convert to a different type.
As soon as Mac and Paddy returned we flew intensively as a crew and within a matter of weeks we were into the training programme and open for business.
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Actually the unit was a bit of a hybrid. Part Operational Training Unit, part Conversion Unit and part Holding Unit for despite the savage losses the Command was still building up it's strength as fewer demands were being made in other theatres of the war, and the station was soon packed to the gills.
Crews started to come in from all over. The Stirling Conversion Units were still in the business of converting people from Wellingtons and then they came to us for changing to the Lancaster until the Stirling CU's were run down. After that they came direct from the Wellington OTU's as well as those Stirling Squadrons that sent detachments for conversion as their aircraft were being replaced by Lancasters.
We became very busy with the flow of people through the unit. Some of them knew the Lancaster better than we did as they were refreshing for their second tour, and very rarely for their a third. They had come off all manner of aircraft and had been 'resting' as we were now doing. There was a great deal of experience to draw on which I was only too willing to put to practical use. There did not appear to be any 'instructors' courses as such. You just threw yourself into it and you just turned out to be good, bad or indifferent at it. In all modesty, I seemed to cope satisfactorily.
After a few months Paddy got fed up with it and eventually got himself crewed up with a pilot of 115 Squadron that was converting and went back on ops. with him. Pete found himself in a spot of bother as a reult [sic] of a little over exuberance at a party and was given an option that he could not refuse....so he went off to a Mosquito Squadron at Downham Market, but not until most of the old crew, with the exception of Hoppy and Mac, attended my wedding in the March.
The bells of St.Mary's Broadwater, Worthing, were rung for the first time since the threat of invasion had silenced them in 1940. That was a traffic stopper if ever there was one and in the ensueing [sic] celebrations the rest of Macdonald's crew left it's mark on the local area. [underlined] I think the marks are still there!!. [/underlined]
I don't mind admitting that for the first time in my life I was smitten with the uncontrollable shakes when standing before the alter [sic] . Call it what you like, fear……………..
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apprehension, whatever, it got hold of me and I shook. My eldest brother, in navy uniform, survivor of numerous sea actions and two lost ships and my best man, came in close and propped me up. All that happened was that I transmitted my shakes to him and we both stood there like jellies and did not settle down until the ceremony was nearly over. Not a pretty sight!. Nevertheless, I married my childhood sweetheart despite the circumstances; something I never thought I would ever have the opportunity to do, and the marriage has stood the test of time.
Eventually Feltwell became so busy that we opened a non-flying ground school at Methwold a few miles away and having already been promoted to Flight Sergeant I got the job of setting up that part of the school for Wireless Operators.
Rather than lose my comfortable room in the pre-war Mess at Feltwell I cycled to and fro' daily and I am sure that it did me a lot of good as far as keeping fit was concerned. I enjoyed cycling anyway having been a founder member of the 'Worthing Wheelers' cycling club and a regular cyclist...even in my job.
To have to peddle a loaded tricycle from one end of Worthing to the other twice a day was quite an accomplishment which I had done for nearly two years and prior to that I had had a job with a builder and cycled 16 miles each way daily; so what was 5 miles.
Getting my bike out from the shed in Worthing where it had been tied up in the roof was no easy task. I have vague recollections of peddling half the distance from Worthing to Feltwell, including across London to save a few pence when some station staffs insisted on there being a ticket for the bike when it was placed in the guards van..to finally arrive in the rain.
The time passed and I only flew occasionaly [sic] to keep my hand in as momentous events occurred on the battle fronts that we, or at least I, felt at times that we were missing out on. I didn't push things though....I wasn't that daft!. There was enough going on at Feltwell and Methwold to keep me busy.
Even the odd operation turned up and that is how we lost a crew and our Chief Flying Instructor. He had opted for a mining job, got together a crew and it did not present any problem in arming up and self briefing. I'm glad he didn't pick me as his Wireless Operator. He took off at the appointed time and was seen clearing
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the immediate area, climbing, and shortly after he disappeared from view there was an almighty explosion as his load blew up and the aircraft disintregrated [sic] , scattering the landscape with a thousand pieces of man and machine. What a hell of a useless way to go for another seven young people. It was a sobering thought that it could have been any one of us that might have drawn the short straw for the privilege of making up the crew.
Life was anything but dull. When the Tannoy started blaring out one evening calling all sorts of people to report here there and everywhere a few of us went up to the airfield to see what it was all about.
It was quite a circus when three B.24's, (Liberators) charged in one after the other.
Apparently these three had not only lost their formation but had also lost their way to such an extent that they had been as much as 100 miles off track and an hour late in getting back to their base arriving at the time it was getting dark.
Just as they were getting into the circuit in a bit of a panic as they were not very experienced at night flying Flying Control yelled 'bandits' as there were Luftwaffe intruders suspected to be in the area, and promptly snuffed out the airfield lights.
[underlined] Panic stations!! [/underlined]
They had been given a course and distance to fly to Feltwell but bandits or no bandits they set off with all their navigation and anti-collision and formation lights on. The bandit scare was obviously false as they arrived in the Feltwell circuit looking like Christmas trees and firing verey signals all over the place. No self respecting Luftwaffe intruder would have passed up that invitation to do a bit of damage. As it happened, they did it to themselves.
The Feltwell controller told them to spread themselves out a bit for landing but they were not having any of that as it was dark by that time. There was no way they were going to lose each other having get that far so in they came, landing lights on. No. 1 got down and was told to go to the end of the runway and follow the 'follow me' illuminated van but got disorientated so slammed on the brakes to come to a juddering halt on the runway. No.2 piled right up the back of him, his props chewing at the……………………
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fusulage [sic] , and No.3, seeing what had happened flung his aircraft into a turn and belly flopped when the undercarriage collapsed. What a mess!, but they were lucky. There was not a single casualty although it took a lot of cleaning up.
We entertained the NCO's in our Mess afterwards and it was a source of amazement at the attitude those blokes had to the whole business. They were not in the least concerned that they had written off three aircraft but it was the manner in which they entertained us to a show that was straight off a Hollywood film set.
They were mostly unshaven, cigar chewing, gum chewing, with side arms and knives slung all around them who seemed hell bent on emulating the six gun cowboys of the wild west films and on the whole it was a lot of fun listening, to their wildly exagerated [sic] stories of 'combat over Germany' totally ignoring the fact that many of us had already done complete tours of night operations over enemy territory. They were not interested but it was better than going to the cinema. Most of them had been in the UK long enough to have sampled 'Limey' beer and were not slow in telling us what rubbish it was so we plied them with it until it was running out of their ears. In the end they weren't so tough. Most of than had to be put to bed!.
As time went by and crews continued to pour through the unit it was obvious to me that my time for moving on could be getting close so I started making the appropriate noises to ensure that I would get something different next time and would not have been surprised at anything that turned up. Nevertheless, there was one big surprise; my appointment to a commission which I had been quite convinced would have been turned down somewhere along the line.
When the appointment was promulgated I did not tell Dorothy but took a few days off having arranged to meet her in Oxted in Surrey, and on the way stopped off at Moss.Bros. in Covent Garden to get fitted out. It felt good. I went in as a Flt.Sgt. and came out an hour later as sprog Pilot Officer, no doubt looking like a tailors dummy, all bright and shining, including my cap, hot foot for Oxted.
Dorothy was not at the station so I set off across the field to meet her half way.
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When we did meet there were expressions of surprise and elation and in the excitement I threw my new, expensive cap into the air. That's how it became 'operational'. It landed in a cow cake and took a hell of a lot of cleaning; in between the laughter.
Later on we continued our journey to Worthing and I was suitably 'shown off' by my proud parents but it was a very odd situation when I met one of my old school pals who was a ground wireless operator.
He was one of those who I had always kept in touch with and had been one of the group at the garden gate on the day war had been declared. He had been totally brainwashed!. The poor bloke kept calling me 'Sir' and the only way I could break him of the habit was to get out of uniform to have a drink together without embarrassment on both sides.
Shortly after leave I found myself detailed for a short course at Fighter Command HQ, Bentley Priory, Stanmore.
There was about a dozen of us and we were told that the course was to train Wireless Operators in the use of R/T broadcasts and relay work of the type that the Pathfinder Force was developing. There was also a suggestion that after the training which was part of the Fighter Controllers course we would be assessed for our suitability for broadcasting airborne fighter control as well.
The first day was spent being shown all the fighter control systems as well as seeing them in practice in the famous fighter control/plotting operations rooms and then we were in business.
The next three days were highly amusing as we worked 'aircraft' from a mock control room with the plotters moving radar plots around the table to set up interceptions as the information from the filter room created the picture. It was the 'aircraft' that caused most of the fun. They were in fact Wall's ice cream tricycles with radar reflectors stuck to a pole on the side with low power battery operated transmitter/receivers in the body of the thing. The 'pilots' of the ice cream carts provided the motive power of course and wore the usual headset plus the restrictive..................
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headgear that pilots wore when they were practicing instrument flying.
As a result we could only see a compass and our feet whilst we were in a world of our own either peddling like the 'clappers' and making turns, or in the control room.
It was a highly amusing sight to see a couple of dozen demented ice cream carts cavorting blindly about a strangely marked out rugby pitch, and the occasional crunch as hunter and hunted came together in a perfect interception. Such crude simulation did not have the advantage of vertical seperation!!!!!. It was enlightening, interesting; and amusing but nothing ever came of it.
[line of stars]
It was getting increasingly difficult to get down to the South coast at that time. It was only by virtue of wearing uniform that I got through the security screen whether it was to Worthing or Oxted. There were troops jam-packed in every nook and cranny and there was hardly a bed to spare in any house or hotel. The streets and wooded areas were gigantic vehicle parks with acres of camouflage netting in some open areas disguising the enormous build up. Both my parents and my in-laws were billeting Commando's and the nights were filled with the rumbling of tanks, guns and other vehicles.
Once or twice whilst I was down that way the Luftwaffe had a go at night reconnaissance of the area but got a hot reception every time. During the day there were standing patrols of fighters that discouraged their attentions and I remember one that tried it one night that found himself facing a daunting barrage of fire that I would not like to have faced. Everything and the kitchen sink was thrown at him as he came through East to West at about 2000ft. Every piece of ack-ack, light and heavy, and hundreds of machine guns let loose from the hills, street corners and vehicle parks with a tremendous racket. It was just too dangerous to stay out in with shrapnel and spent rounds falling like rain. If that intruder got his picture and got back home that night then I reckon he was a very lucky chap.
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As we got towards the end of May it was impossible to meet my wife or get in touch with her. She was in the depths of Montgomer's [sic] HQ scheduling convoys down from the North into the Southern assembly areas although I did not know precicely [sic] what she was doing at the time. It was not until after the HQ had been disbanded that I learned about the restrictions that had been imposed. It was little wonder that I had not been able to get in touch when 'Q' Movements staff were under guard for days and were ever escorted to the toilet!.
[line of stars]
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Back at Feltwell the training programme slowed down and everyone was crewed up into a reserve Squadron. Orders of the day were published imposing all sorts of restrictions.
Crew members were on a two hour stand-by and not allowed off of the station. I was crewed with the remainder of the old crew as Pete and Paddy had already moved on and two others joined us. We regularly ground tested and air tested aircraft to operational standard although our efforts were not always successful. There were always problems with the wicked little 'Gremlins' that attached themselves to aeroplanes. 'Gremlins' were the imaginary demons that were blamed for the many problems that aircraft suffered from.
One of them had a real go at us one night before Paddy had left us. We had landed from a night flying detail and had hardly settled on the flare-path when Mac started giving Paddy a verbal broadside for not having fixed the slow running on the starboard outer engine as it had just cut out when he throttled back. With some surprise Paddy looked at his instrument panel, borrowed my signal lamp to light up the wing and calmly announced that there was no need to worry, it would not need fixing as it had just fallen off!.
That caused a bit of a stir in Flying Control when they were told on the R/T and then something else went wrong and we could no longer communicate with them. There was a lot of choice language from the whole crew and muttering from Mac about "cheap bloody meccano sets" and "it couldn't happen to a Stirling" and other appropriate caustic things as we taxied in.
Before we got to dispersal we were met by one of the controllers on a motor bike who signalled us to stop and then he climbed aboard to tell us to switch the blasted R/T set off. Then we knew why we could not hear the tower. We were stuck on transmit...and in the meantime they had evacuated all the female staff from the control room!!!. Nevertheless, it was quite a programme to get the maximum number of aircraft fully serviceable and operationally ready.
When the big day dawned....'D' Day, 6th June, I found out at breakfast as the majority of us did. The two hour stand-by was
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changed to a one hour and we waited with our ears glued to the radio for the minute by minute news of the events of that day. There was no doubt in our minds that this was the 'big one' that we had been waiting for.
It was incredible that nothing had leaked out although the aircraft had all been tested the previous day, and had been painted with white bands around the wings and the fusulage [sic] . In addition they had all been fuelled and bombed up the night before plus there were two more bomb loads stock piled in each dispersal. All we had to do was to sit around and wait for the signal to report for briefing and we would be off, so we sat around and waited and waited, with nothing to do except go out to dispersal from time to time to move aircraft a few feet as it was not good for them to be in one position for too long with a full load on.
As it happened we were not required. The Luftwaffe were caught napping and by the time they got themselves organised they were very much on the defence. The Allies committed so many aircraft that thousands and thousands of sorties were flown. Even the Bomber Command effort had to be flown on a race-track pattern in and out of the target area for safety and there was no room for us; fortunately!. After three days we were stood down and we went back to the training programme. The rest is now history.
Bomber losses were still heavy at times as the Command reverted to strategic bombing to disrupt enemy communications, supply and fuel resources and there was always the dread thought of the possibility of a repetition of the losses that we had suffered in the attack on Nuremburg the previous March. That had been an absolute disaster when [underlined] 95 [/underlined] of our aircraft were lost. Many of them were crews that had passed through our hands a short while before. It had been a reminder that we were not out of the woods yet and from time to time the Luftwaffe were still a force to be reckoned with.
With the invasion well under way my wife was posted to Newmarket as a result of her Surrey HQ being run down. That was a very convenient arrangement when a sympathetic C.O. arranged for me to be detached to Newmarket airfield as detachment commander for a couple of weeks. Very cosy…..our messes virtually backed
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on to one another!.
It was about that time that Macdonald got himself Courts Marshalled for unauthorised low flying….it had to happen some time. He was returning from an investiture at another airfield, including I believe for his own DFC, but landed on three engines and one bent propellor as a result of low flying over Thetford Forest, and it had taken a bit of explaining.
I was not with him at the time but I remember enough of the case to know the prosecution was badly prepared and could not produce the prop. or bits of tree or photographic evidence and the case was dismissed. I also recall that although Mac was in the left hand seat it was in fact in the hands of Mcllroy in the right hand seat. A piece of evidence that got overlooked, but he was still sailing close to the wind. It was probably similar doubtfull [sic] factors that caused him to prang his car with some of the others on board somewhere out in the Fens when the road did something unexpected. Only Mac was damaged and wore a patch over one eye for a time making him look like a pirate. What hurt him most of all was that in those days before the National Health Service, even in war-time, his accident was treated as self inflicted and he had to pay hospital fees. Even in the RAF hospital at Ely.
By the end of the year the work of the unit was almost complete. Reserves were being built up and replacements could be made by other conversion units so No.3. LFS. started running down with Methwold being cleared first. That kept me busy for a while dismantling all the systems that I had put in and returning stuff to stores, and in the meantime I was pulling strings to get the sort of posting that I wanted.
By the end of January 1945 nearly everything was cleared up and to my delight my posting came in for No.9 (Special Duties) Squadron, sister Squadron of the famous 617 (Dam Busters) Squadron which was more than I had dared to hope for.
Unfortunately a change in circumstances caused the postings staff at No.3. Group HQ. to have a re-think within 24hours of issuing the posting notice.
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My posting to No.9.Squadron was cancelled before I finished packing!.
Instead, after more days of delay I was crewed with some of the remaining chaps at Feltwell and posted to XV Squadron, Mildenhall so it was back on ops. again to fill the gaps that were still decimating units.
'Gaps' was the operative word as in my period of 'rest' at Feltwell the Command had lost a mind boggling figure of around 2000 aircraft.
It would have been nice if the old crew had managed to get back together again but things did not normally work out that way. Pete was already half way through his tour on Mosquito's at Downham Market. Paddy was getting on with his second tour with 115 Squadron. The others had been crewed up and departed. Squadron Leader. F.C.Macdonald.DFC. had been appointed as Flight Commander of 622 Squadron; also at Mildenhall, and it was a whole new ball game.
I only had the opportunity of socialising with Mac once in the very short period that I was there. The hand of fate caught up with me at last.
Our first operation was the last that XV Squadron's new, all officer, all second tour, all ex instructor crew was to do and it was late June before I got back to Mildenhall again, mainly to thank the parachute section for packing my parachute correctly!.
By the most amazing coincidence when the WAAF in the parachute section went through the books to find the serial number of my 'chute it turned out that she had also been the packer!
The poor girl got a sloppy impulsive kiss and a donation to their social fund but when I went to look for Mac I could not find him. There was very little interest; no-one wanted to know as he was away somewhere and although I tried several different ways of communicating with him later I had no direct contact again until 1954.
My search eventually led me to a scruffy motor engineers workshop on the outskirts of Wisbech where he seemed to be both the proprietor and chief mechanic; there was no-one else!.
He was the same old Mac. Uncommicative [sic] and shabby, like the shabby old Triumph Dolomite that stood next to a shabby old
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caravan that appeared to be both his office and his home.
There was not much left of the old sparkle and fire in his eyes although at the time it might have had something to do with the fact that the mid afternoon refreshment served in a dirty cracked cup came from a whisky bottle rather than the tea pot, but he was just as dammed uncommunicative as ever. Never a word when a nod and a wink would do. About the only thing I can remember him saying was "I thought you had got the chop and I was going to write to your wife" but of course, he never had. He did confess to being a bit surprised that I was by that time a Flight Lieutenant and the Operations Wing Adjutant at Mareham but his comment was typical. "I never thought you had it in you". He never was complementary....just a dour Scot.
He really looked as if he could here done with some assistance but there was no way that I could do anything without offending him although I did find out that he had done another 15 ops. and had ditched a damaged Lanc. before his wings had been well and truly clipped.
Shortly after that meeting I was off to foreign parts and on my return to the area about three years later nothing had changed although shortly afterwards he did another disappearing act and it took many years to track him down again. The trail eventually led to Troon and then to Dunoon before it fizzled out once more and it was many more years before he surfaced again with the assistance of the RAF Association and the Mildenhall Register. He was in very poor circumstances in Glasgow where Paddy found him and there was every indication that he would rather not have been found. He was content to be a survivor and the past was over and done with; what he could remember of it at the ripe old age of 82!.
We had not been far out in our estimates in 1943. He must have been one of the oldest Squadron pilots in the Air Force at the time at the age of 38!.
He disappeared again for a short time but following the trail left by Paddy I made a visit to Glasgow and finally tracked him down in a home for the elderly but he was no longer the Macdonald we had known. I don't think he knew who I was. He died six years later!.
I have never regretted my 'choice' of the pilot in which I placed
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my trust and my life and those sentiments are shared by the surviving members of the crew. We look back on those days and wonder how we ever came out of it unscathed considering that in our subsequent flying after the war we nearly all had the experience of climbing out of 'bent' aeroplanes.
Pete flew in a civilian capacity with Freddie Laker as both Navigator and Flight Engineer. They were lucky to walk away from a wrecked aircraft on the Berlin Air Lift. Paddy walked away from a wrecked passenger Mk.V. Stirling in the Middle East and I climbed out of a Proctor upside down on Oakington's runway.
For the record, Mac, Pete, Paddy and Ralph were all awarded DFC's for their efforts, Mac and Pete with bars, but sadly we are no longer a complete crew.
For me, those years were the most traumatic of any life and I will never forget those occasions when we were so close to each other in that short period that seemed like a lifetime.
TO
"THE SKIPPER"
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THERE ARE OLD PILOTS AND BOLD PILOTS
BUT
VERY FEW
[underlined] OLD….BOLD PILOTS [/underlined]
Anon.
[page break]
IN MEMORY OF THE AIRCREW
OF
BOMBER COMMAND
WHO WERE KILLED OR MISSING
IN
OPERATIONS OVER EUROPE
1939—1945
[row of circles]
[page break]
[underlined] ACKNOWLEDGMENTS [/underlined]
To Michael.J.F.Boyer……. whose research and detail in his excellent books:- [underlined] Action Stations--Part-One [/underlined]
[underlined] and [/underlined]
[underlined] The [/underlined] [underlined] Stirling [/underlined] [underlined] Bomber [/underlined]
were valuable sources of information.
To Martin Middlebrook & Chris Everitt for research details made available in the [underlined] Bomber Command War Diaries [/underlined] .
To Jock Whitehouse & Spencer Adams whose energy and enthusiasm helped to correct the many inacuracies [sic] in my early drafts.
and
TO MY DEAR WIFE DOROTHY who was obliged to tolerate the many years of typing and interuption [sic] of more important matters.
not forgetting
THOSE CREW MEMBERS WHO ARE LONG GONE:
WITHOUT WHOSE SKILLS THIS STORY
[underlined] COULD NEVER HAVE BEEN TOLD!!. [/underlined]
[line of stars]
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[underlined] PREFACE [/underlined]
On the 3rd February 1945 seven aircrew were posted to XV Squadron, Mildenhall, to form the crew of a Lancaster.
The pilot was Australian, the rear gunner was an American in the RAF. The navigator and mid-upper gunner were Scots and the remainder of the crew were from the counties of Sussex, Nottingham and Warwickshire.
They had all completed a previous tour of operations and had been resting for varying periods as instructors at No.3. Lancaster Finishing School at Feltwell in Norfolk.
The school was closing down and as the staff were being dispersed one pilot had been given the option of forming his own crew prior to posting back to an operational Squadron. That is how we all came together.
Some of the new crew had flown together whilst at the school and the pilot and flight engineer had previously flown together on Manchesters and Lancasters in operational Squadrons.
The time had come for them to get back into the fray as the bombing campaign was being stepped up to an awesome number of aircraft being employed to deliver thousands of tons of bombs to the enemy as the war was rapidly drawing to a close.
The Third Reich was reeling from savage attacks from both East and West. Their Navy was just about bottled up and had lost most of their capital ships. Her Army was being lost in great chunks and the German Air Force was being severely restricted by fuel shortages and although they fought on desperately the final blows were not far off. Anyone with half an eye could see that; except Hitler. If he had not been so crazy he would have given in a long time before we had reached the critical stage, but since he would not, and the Allies would accept nothing but unconditional surrender, Germany and it's long suffering population had to bludgeoned into submission.
I was the Wireless operator/air gunner of the crew and we were part of that final effort although there was an awful lot of killing still going on in all theatres of the war.
At the time it seemed that we had a good chance of being in at the finish so on arrival at Mildenhall we got stuck into refresher training and emergency drills against the stop watch
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until it did not seem possible to trim any more time off of the procedures and the 'Skipper' was satisfied that we were now moulded into a crew and ready for anything.
For me it was quite an experience being back at Mildenhall again having been there as an 'erk' in 1941, and now I was back again as a commissioned officer and experienced crew member although I did not have a lot of time to dwell on the fact.
A lot of water had passed under the bridge and we were perhaps somewhat unique in that we were an all commissioned crew starting a second tour of operations.
That was a very rare combination and as I thought at the time we might make a name for ourselves.
HOW WRONG I WAS !!!!!!
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On the 7th of February we found ourselves on the Battle Order for an operation and subsequently the old familiar pattern of activity fell into place as we trooped into the briefing room.
The target was detailed as the oil refinery at Wanne Eikel, at the eastern end of the Ruhr industrial complex, which, suprisingly [sic] was still trying to produce something despite the hundreds of tons of bombs that had been dumped on and around it over the years.
Our job, within a force of 100 Lancasters of No.3.Bomber Group, was to try and put it out of business and further disrupt the already desperate fuel situation that was severely limiting the activities of the German War Machine.
As far as I was concerned it was going to be a change to be on a daylight raid. I figured that at last I would be able to see what was going on and that I might even get a chance to assist in doing something really useful from the astro dome. Even the prospect of flying higher and faster than I had done on my previous tour in Stirlings was something I was certainly looking forward to.
I had polished up my gunnery in the various turrets on the firing range including stoppage clearance although inwardly hoping that the occasion would never arise when I would have to put the practice into use as it would mean taking over from one of the other gunners who had become a casualty.
Even so, there was no way that I was going to be caught out in such an emergency----not when the end of my war was in sight!. After briefing and collection of all the usual paraphernalia we all trooped out to the airfield in the crew bus to get on with the pre-flight checks until the time came for us to start up and taxy out for take-off.
With the usual heart stopping lurch Lancaster ME434...coded LS(XV Squadron) D for 'Dog'; the 12th that had carried that identification, (not all Lancasters); took to the air as the end of the runway came into sight with everything straining to get up to a safe height with it's heavy load of bombs and fuel.
The load was around 2000 gallons of petrol with 1 x 4000lb blast bomb and 12 x 500 pounders. Not the maximum that a Lanc. could take but enough to require some delicacy-in handling.
4
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Everything was normal as we gained height and climbed on course following a route that took us over Newmarket where my wife was.
I was wondering what she was thinking as the thunder of up to 100 aircraft filled the air. I had only seen her the night before and had told her that I was going to be busy so she knew that something was going on.
We were soon changing course for a point on the South Coast near Beachy Head and as it came up on track my home town of Worthing was in sight, to the West as we crossed the coast with the sky clear and bright as we continued to climb to our operating height.
The rest of the force closed around us as we formed up into the usual 'gaggle' as we approached another turning point on time.
Unlike the USAAF, we did not fly in a tight defensive formation as the RAF preferred to present any attackers with a loose, weaving, inconsistent mass of aircraft with a less restrictive field of fire. The exception was underneath, which is why some of XV Squadron's aircraft that took up position at the bottom of the pack had been locally fitted with a pair of ventral guns to cover what would normally be a blind spot.
We were not one of those but a 'Gee-H' leader, carrying some special homing and bombing equipment with which to pin-point the target through cloud. The yellow bars on the tail fins identified us as such.
We crossed the French coast which was no longer as hostile as I had last encountered it and in fact it was an inspiring sight to look down from over 20,000ft in such brilliant conditions on an area that only a few months before had been wrested from German domination.
It all looked very peaceful down there but there was always that false impression of things outside the aircraft and one could easily be lulled into a false sense of security by it.
Despite the impression of a bright summers day out there and the warmth of the sun falling on my shoulders in the astro dome it was, nevertheless minus 12° out there.
It was uncomfortably hot for me so I discarded my 'Mae West' life jacket as we changed course once more to head across Belgium
5
[page break]
towards the Ruhr.
It soon became obvious that the bad weather that we had been warned about at briefing was not far ahead. In the distance a huge wall of angry black cloud appeared; from just about deck level right up to the heavens, stretching from North to South as far as-we could see.
It was a typical squall line associated with frontal conditions and the nearer we got to it the more obvious it was that the Met. people had underestimated it's severity.
The formatiom [sic] leaders still did not break radio silence with instructions and as it was obvious there was no way around it we were soon doing what everyone else was doing as the force started spreading out with maximum climbing power until we plunged into it, in an attempt to get out of the top.
At 23,000ft we were still in it and ploughing on yet there were still no instructions to change our plans but with the first of the Ruhr defences ahead of us, and the aircraft icing up to the extent that she was getting very sluggish, Geoff Hammond, the pilot, was getting concerned that we could not possibly go much higher without the risk of losing control plus the chance of carburettor icing as well.
With the sun obscured it had turned very cold inside the aircraft as the heating system was fighting a losing battle and I thought that perhaps it was time that I put my life jacket back on. I thought better of it for the very reason that I would have to take my parachute harness off to do it but with the aircraft waffling around like a drunken duck it perhaps not the best time to do it.
We were all somewhat relieved when Geoff announced that we were turning back and descending to try and find better conditions although it was some time before there was even the slightest improvement.
We could not get out of cloud completely and the ice was still not clearing although it was no longer building up so we set course for our secondary target; Duisburg, from where we could have made a dash for clearer areas. However, Dave Howell, the navigator, although he was able to place us over the target area on radar, was not satisfied that he could pin point a target so we just kept on going and descending as the cloud started
6
[page break]
to thin into layers. As the conditions improved ice started to strip off and clatter about with a great deal of noise although it was no problem and certainly better than being loaded with half a ton of ice in the wrong places.
Even-the Lancaster had very limited de-icing equipment. It was only installed on the leading edges of the wings inboard of the inner engines, and therefore not all that effective. It was policy to increase the-bomb carrying capacity by reducing such [underlined] unneccessary [/underlined] [sic] frills.!!!!!.
It seemed that it was going to be an abortive sortie and that we would be taking our bombs back home and dumping them on the range but after a short conference on the intercomm [sic] Geoff decided that our best bet would be to go back to Krefeld in a final attempt to plant the bombs on the enemy side of the 'bomb line' so we turned around again and headed East for Krefeld.
We were still in and out of cloud at about 8,500ft by the time our new target came up by which time Dave and Jim Murphy the bomb-aimer had decided on a target reference and between them the bombs were dropped in one salvo.
As soon as they had gone we started into a port turn to make for home when Jim reported that the bomb doors would not close, probably due to icing…..; [underlined] when it happened!!!! [/underlined]
The aircraft gave a violent lurch and being in the astro dome I was horrified to see the starboard wing just rear up as if it was going to wrap itself around us.
With my heart in my mouth I went scrambling towards my parachute stowage but before I got there I was brought to my knees alongside the radio compartment as the aircraft rolled right over and the next few moments were rather desperate.
We went into a spin; which way up I shall never know, but to the accompaniment of the sound track from some old aviation film we, were descending at an alarming rate as Geoff yelled "prepare to abandon" on the intercomm [sic] although no-one really needed telling. The trouble was that there was little that we could do about it.
Geoff and Des Cook the flight engineer were fighting the controls together with linked arms as the altimeter unwound rapidly but the spin had locked everyone into their respective positions.
Dave and I were both desperately trying to get to our side by
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side parachute stowages without much success and although our heads were probably only a couple of feet apart I swear that our eyeballs; out on stalks-must have nearly touched.
It has often been said that when one is faced with death one's whole life flashes before you but I do not recall any such images.
The only thing that flashed into my brain-box was "Dear God; this is it-I hope it doesn't hurt too much", and then suddenly the aircraft righted, or at least stopped spinning and we were released from the centrifugal forces that had kept us locked allowing us to get the 'chutes out of the racks as at the same time the order came from Geoff to "abandon...abandon...abandon”. Reaction to that order was automatic after the amount of time that we had spent practising the procedure in the previous three days.
Helmets with oxygen and intercomm [sic] connections were torn off. Dave and I grabbed our parachute packs on the run and slammed them onto our chest clips by the time Jim Murphy had jettisoned the front hatch and had virtually gone out with. Dave went next, feet first and I followed so closely behind, head first, that there could not have been a foot between us.
Archie Macintosh, the mid-upper gunner, was hot on my heels even though he had had to negotiate the main spar to get up front and then the way was clear for Des.
Des had already released Geoff's sutton harness and removed his helmet and connections as well as his own whilst Geoff was still struggling with the controls and he was ready to go the same way as the rest of us.
We had all thumped Geoff's arm as we passed so he got another thump from Des prior to his departure after which Geoff was able to make a dash for the exit before the aircraft went out of control again. As usual, the rear gunner had made his own arrangements by rotating on the beam and jettisoning the turret doors then throwing himself out backwards.
From the word 'go' there was a lot to be done and it says a great deal for a well practiced drill because we figured out afterwards that we were all out in 12 secs. flat, and not suprisingly [sic] , even faster than we had achieved in practice only the day before when Geoff had insisted that we do it again and
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again until he was satisfied.
It was with the same mechanical process that I counted to ten before I pulled the rip cord although I have to confess that I cheated a bit. It was more like 2,4,6,8,10 and after I had done it my heart was in my mouth as nothing seemed to happen.
I had felt some urgency to get the 'chute open as quickly as possible as we had been in cloud all the time and I had no idea of our height at the time of going out. I was just hoping that it would open before I dived into something solid; like the side of a house before it did.
I had made sure that I had put the 'chute pack on with the 'D' ring under my right hand which had been on it from the time I had clipped up. I had heard too many stories of people who had gone out in a panic only to be found later at the bottom of a hole with the right hand side of the pack half torn away by bleeding fingers; yet as sure as I was that I had done everything correctly it seemed like a lifetime before anything happened.
There was a violent jolt and I was swinging under a rustling canopy, still in cloud and preparing rapidly for a heavy landing. For a brief moment there was a tremendous sense of relief as I found myself looking down at the 'D' ring clutched in my right hand. Then the thought struck me that I had better hang onto it as there was a five shilling fine for opening a parachute; but only by mistake. What a bloody silly thought!...so I tossed it away smartly just before I broke cloud.
I estimated that I was about 1500ft and on looking around I found that I was much too close to a turbulent river for my liking, especially as I was a poor swimmer and I had no life jacket on, so I started hauling on the shroud lines to do something about it. With not a lot of time to spare I concentrated on the landing.
I was agreeably suprised [sic] that crossing hands on the lines and pulling them in opposite directions worked like the instructors said it would and with a little more heaving and hauling I soon got a fair idea of where I was going to land in an open field!.
I need not have worried about going into the river as a strong wind was carrying me away from it but if it was not bad enough that landing by parachute was the equivilent [sic] to the rate of
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descent of jumping off of a 12ft wall I seemed to be doing about 30mph on the level so I was not keen to get a busted leg at that stage.
When I was just a few feet above the ground I turned the release buckle to unlock the harness and a fraction of a second before touching terra firma I banged the release buckle and Presto!. I came out of the harness, into a forward roll over the shoulder and hip and immediately up on my feet to grab the lower lines of the canopy and collapse it. It was a classic landing-I was down safely and I could only hope at the time that the others had been as successful.
I had seen no sign of them during the descent but I was to find out all about that later. The most important thing was-where the blazes was I?. The time was 3.30pm and as we had crossed and re-crossed the 'bomb line' there was every chance that I might be on the Allied side.
The terrain gave no indication of where I was and there was not the activity that one would expect of a battlefield area but with those thoughts running around inside my head I gathered up my parachute and shoved it under the base of a tree among some roots as I decided to get away from the immediate area.
[line of stars]
10
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Continuation of “Water under the Bridge – Part II. by A.T.GAMBLE.
I could faintly hear shouts and whistles coming from one area so I scrambled off on my hands and knees in the opposite direction into an area of 4ft nursury [sic] pines towards a road that I had seen on the way down. By the time I got there the shouts and whistles had become considerably louder.
Within a few seconds of reaching the edge of plantation the road was in sight but I stayed under cover until I spotted a Jeep coming along displaying the American white circle with a star in so with great relief I broke cover, stood up and waived [sic] . I immediately regretted it.
The chap standing up front next to the driver let loose with a sub-machine gun so I promptly went to ground again.
I just had time to notice that his uniform, although a sort of blue, was not quite the familiar RAF colour and pattern, Then I knew which side of the line I was on; the wrong side. !!
I was only half aware of the sounds of ZZZtz’s as lead cut into the area around me as I did a reasonable imitation of a rabbit on my hands and knees heading for the middle of the trees wondering how the blazes I was going to get out of this situation, until l was finally forced to stop, exhusted.
I buried my identity card which I should not have been carrying anyway, plus two £1 notes, and drew my pistol which had been tucked in my tunic, cocked it and laid down trying to be very, very small.
A siren was wailing in the distance and the shouts and whistles got even louder with sounds of more local movement that was just audible above the hammering of my heart.
I did not know what to expect but what happened was very sudden. A heavy boot came down on my gun hand. The pistol went off and I was hauled to my feet facing the business end of a nasty looking machine pistol and about half a dozen grinning chaps of my own age; in Luftwaffe blue!.
There were some others behind me and one of them relieved me of my Smith & Wesson .38 and with my hands now free it seemed the most logical thing to do was to put them well above my head. With as cheerful a grin as I could muster I said "good afternoon", to which the bloke behind the pistol said, "gooten abend, fur sie das krieg ist fertig". (good afternoon, for you the war is finished) and although my German was not good enough
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to interpret, the inference in the manner in which it was said was sufficient. I was without any doubt a Prisoner of War!.
In the middle of the group, with a prod and a push I was ushered to a large house, past a battery of heavy looking anti-aircraft guns and the thought struck me that they might have been responsible for my present predicament as there was no doubt in my mind that it was ack-ack that had got us, but I didn't ask. I was not going to give them the satisfaction of an affirmative reply as they already seemed pretty smug about the whole business.
I was led into the house, and up the stairs from the baronial hall of heavy oak panelling and flying staircase and into a room being used as an office.
An officer behind a huge antique desk greeted me with a broad grin, so with very little to lose I gave him a parade ground salute which he smartly returned. So far so good….but what was running around inside my head at the time was the irony that it was just my luck to have come down in the middle of the Luftwaffe flak unit that had shot us down!.
The proceedings that followed were all conducted in German and a lot of sign language apart from one question directed to the single ribbon on my tunic. It was only the 1939/43 star as it was then, but the officer pointed to it and enquired "DFC”?. Well, a DFC was about the equivalent of their Iron Cross, whatever class, and I thought it might influence the treatment so "ja” it was. As it happened it might as well have been a VC for all the difference it made.
Everything was turned out of my pockets. Collar studs were taken from out of my shirt. (They obviously knew that we often had special one's with compasses in them). Then the cufflinks, (they often had the same use). Then all of the buttons from my jacket and trousers. (Again some buttons could be used as a matching pair with one balanced on the other to produce a crude compass). Then the stitching that secured the tops of my flying boots was cut to deprive me of the tops as they were obviously aware that often money and maps were built into the layers of fleece and silk.
A polished metal mirror that I always kept in my left breast pocket was also removed before I was handed a piece of paper
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and pencil, and it was not difficult to understand the next request. Number, Rank, Name, although it was difficult to comply right away until I had secured my trousers with my tie.
Among my possessions now laying on the table was a nearly new pack of 20 cigarettes, so I indicated a request for one but the crafty blighters handed them round first leaving just one in the pack for me. Even then they did not light theirs. They probably pulled them to pieces later to see if there was anything other than tobacco in them. I knew there was not. I had only got them from the Mess bar the night before.
Now those in the escape and evasion pack that had gone down with my life jacket were an entirely different matter but it was no good bemoaning the loss of that stuff.
It seemed that the initial procedures were finished when the officer made a few calls on a field telephone after which I was ushered outside to take my place between two armed escorts on bicycles and with a boot up the backside and "Schnell" off we went with me at the trot.
I found out later that I had come down between Veirson and Alderkirk, about 10mls West of Krefeld but we were soon away from there as was persistently prodded and booted to keep me on the run which was no easy task in sloppy shoes which used to be flying boots, and trousers without adequate support but they seemed in a great hurry and obviously 'I was of no consequence.
There were regular encouraging shouts of "rouse" and "schnell" accompanied by more kicks in the rear so there was no alternative to keeping on the move.
What surprised me was the fact chat the area we went through was devoid of all civilian population. Villages, shops, farms and houses were deserted. There was no sign of life at all. Derelict filling stations had rusty 'Shell' signs hanging lop-sided. Shops with tatty Coca-Cola signs were all boarded up. It was more like a no-man's land that I jogged through with little evidence of all the troops that I expected to see considering how close to the front line that I was. It was even more surprising since in the early hours of the next morning one of the biggest offensive's of the war was launched by the Allies
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on the Northen [sic] battle front in an attempt to break through and reach the Rhine. They must have been known that something big was about to break.
The very fact that we did not achieve immediate success is a matter of history but with great armies lined up and about to be locked in battle less than 30mls to the West I can only assume that if there was any strength of German troops in the rear they were very well hidden. The only traffic that I saw was the occasional military vehicle travelling very slowly hugging the edge of the tracks through wooded areas.
I was just about done in when we finally arrived at the Luftwaffe airfield at Krefeld around dusk.
I was duly handed over and signed for at the guard room with my two escorts still showing signs of being in a hurry to get back to their relatively isolated unit before the RAF or the USAAF started chucking stuff at what was a prime target.
Perhaps they figured they would have more chance against our ground forces but whatever; they were off as fast as they could go with their hand generating flashlights whirring away.
My first impression of the place was the similarity between their buildings and our pre-war bases at home. It all looked so familiar that they might have been built to the same plans….perhaps they were!. Even the cell block behind the guard room was identical as was the exercise yard behind it, but I was not impressed when I was shown to my room.
In the cell was the same sort of wooden dais that served as a bed, (no comfort for the wrong doers), and of course no pillow or mattress. Just a single thin blanket.
It was not long after I had been locked in and I had taken stock of the situation that I realised that it was some time since I had eaten or had a drink, about eight hours actually, so I started making a fuss to attract the attention of a guard and demanding to be fed.
The sign language conveyed the message alright but the only reaction was a great deal of laughter and sign language from them which simply meant "you have had it mate"!.
I have no doubt it was due to a typical military process which ensured
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that there would be no issue of food to a prisoner until he came on ration strength in the morning!.
Everything that I had been provided with for such emergencies (had I been allowed to keep it) had gone down in my life jacket.
I finally went into an uncomfortable and restless sleep with visions of that egg and bacon that would have been waiting for me back at Mildenhall, and grumblings in the tummy. I was also very concerned at the sort of reaction that there would-be when the inevitable telegrams arrived. There was no way, that anyone back home would know what had happened to us. We would just be 'missing' until something was sorted out.
In the morning the routine was simple. An early visit to the ablutions under guard with no means or opportunity of washing, other than splashing a little water on the face and return to the cell to find that 'breakfast' had been served.
It had been placed on the floor outside the cell door. I could have eaten a horse, harness and all but all that 'breakfast' consisted of was one slice of sticky black bread with a smear of bright yellow grease on it and a mug of some brown stuff that they called coffee.
I did not dare laugh at their reference to "cafe' and brot und butter" as there was no was of knowing when I would get anything else particularly as my insides were already protesting at not being fed for nearly 24 hours. Nevertheless, I nibbled and sipped any way through it having never ever tasted anything quite like it before.
Had I gulped it down I have no doubt that I would not have kept it down for long. It was absolutely ghastly.
There was no activity at all until mid-day and after a visit to the ablutions a meal was provided on a small folding table in the passageway and I had company.
My companion was a young Luftwaffe airman of about 17 who spoke quite good English and although he could have been a plant I very much doubt it.
Over the meal which was about a handful of turnip stew. a tablespoon of sourcraut [sic] and a thin slice of black bread without any scrape, plus a mug of the brown stuff we managed to communicate sufficiently for him to tell me his story.
Apparently he had wanted to be a pilot but his eyes were not
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up to the standard required so he had become ground crew of some sort which he had been a bit peeved about. He was in the cooler for striking an officer and what's more he did not seem too worried.
I found it embarrassing when after he had made enquiries about the various insigna [sic] on my uniform and found that I was an officer. It was he who suggested that the scar on my forehead was a duelling scar so I want along with it. After that disclosure he jumped to his feet, clicking his heels and bobbing up and down in typical German fashion until I suggested that we had better get on with our food, what there was of it, before it got cold. Especially as we were using the same utensils...his!. Then we were locked up again and for my part still hungry.
I have often wondered how that lad got on. After all, striking an officer was, and still is a serious offence, especially on active service. He was probably sent to the Russian front in a penal battalion to fight for his beloved Furher [sic] . They might as well have shot him outright. Whilst I was having visions of egg and bacon I was disappointed when supper turned up. It was a mug of a different shade of brown stuff of indefinable flavour and so to bed. It was the same routine the next day and my insides were still trying to come to terms with the 'snacks' that arrived three times a day and even the Luftwaffe airman had disappeared but things livened up the next day.
There was a terrific rattle of light ack-ack when the airfield was straffed [sic] by USAF P.51's, (Mustangs). They did a hell of a good job from what I could see through a small peep-hole in the top corner of the window, only just accessible .by climbing on the bed stood on it's end.
There were quite a few fires and explosions and a hell of a racket from the defences but I was forced to abandon my grandstand view very quickly when lead started splattering all over the outside of the building. It was too close for comfort and the window finished up with a larger hole in it that it had had before causing a bit of a draught.
Archie Macintosh had been brought in the night before but apart from one brief meeting we had been unable to communicate as
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he had been put in a cell at the other end of the block and we were fed at different times.
I was beginning to get a bit fed up with my own company when on the afternoon of the 10th I had plenty of company.
The entire crew of a B.17. (Flying Fortress) were brought in and distributed among the cells so two of them joined me.
They were a bit suspicious at first but were soon convinced that I was genuine as I was sharing their discomfort. Despite the increase in numbers we were not provided with any more blankets and only a small increase in total food, although we were being fed in the cells at that stage. Fortunately my new cell mates had only recently been well fed back at their UK base and were quite willing to forego the "Kraut junk food" so I had my fill. I am sure they changed their minds about it later on.
At least there was someone to talk to relieve the utter boredom of my four walls and I must confess that I was astonished when I heard their story.
Apparently they had lost an engine and could not keep up with their formation so before the fighters could get at them they had just force landed, fired the aircraft and that was that.
I found it difficult to reconcile such an action with what we might have done in similar circumstances but their orders were not to risk lives at that stage for the sake of an aeroplane. There were plenty of them!. Even so I thought that it would not have been difficult to have done some hedgehopping to our own lines rather than finish up in the situation they now found themselves in.
The next day we were all mustered outside the Guardroom after our morning drink and with one guard per prisoner we set off to Dusseldorf by the process of alternatively walking or hitchhiking on military transport. Archie and I were at last able to compare notes.
He had gone out just behind me but had not been able to execute as neat a landing.
He had landed in some fairly tall pine trees and after he had finished crashing through branches he finished up swinging about 20 feet from the ground somewhat winded.
He had a lot to think about once he had recovered and certainly
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did not fancy getting a busted leg by releasing himself from that height, although that is what the Luftwaffe wanted him to do as soon as they arrived on the scene.
There was a lot of shouting and a few shots to give him encouragement so he eventually got a good swing going until he was able to grab the branch of another tree, release himself and clamber down. The rest was routine so that was two of us that were OK anyway.
As we plodded along we took in all that was revealed by the countryside and the signs of the desperate shortages in Germany were even more obvious.
All the things that made up the daily life back home that we took for granted; the butcher, the baker, people, transport and tradesmen were just not there. The area was desolate apart from the odd military vehicle that picked us up and saved our legs for a few miles.
It took a long time to cover the 16 miles by those means and there was no refreshment at all-not for us prisoners anyway!, but we duly arrived at the Luftwaffe airfield at Dusseldorf to be handed over and signed for as usual at the guard room.
Then our escorts came up with an extraordinary gesture that took us completely by surprise They came down the line and shook us all very politely by the hand, with of course the inevitable heel clicking, and then we were led away to our cells. There was four in mine, including Archie.
We were not fed or watered. Only water was available when it was possible to visit the toilets although the guards were very reluctant to let us use the wash basins--but we managed.
By that time I was used to being hungry and our American friends were getting aclimatized [sic] --but getting very vocal about it. It was a total waste of time, even when we were ushered outside at 4.30 the next morning.
Naturally we were hoping that we were going to be fed but all we got was a pack of three dry sandwiches, containing some garlic smelling sausage and being told that they had to last several days. Some only lasted a few minutes as about 20 of us were packed into a bus which took us to what was left of Dusseldorf station and whilst we were waiting around for something to happen we found that Jim was among us. That made three of us accounted
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for.
Jim's descent had been perfectly normal. There had been a reception committee waiting for him and he had gone straight to Dusseldorf where he had waited several days for something to happen. At last it had.
We spent all day on that train, and the next as it clanked and groaned it's way across country. It was a painfully slow journey, and sometimes we were shunted into sidings for long periods, and on others we were just held up by the signals.
The guards were touchy and there was one outside each of the compartments all the time. The only time we were allowed out into the corridor was for the occasional visit to the toilet, still under escort, and the facilities were a bit primitive to say the least.
Drinking water was limited and was only made available twice a day from a bucket with a ladle which we all had to use, so it was not surprising that we were getting thirsty, dirty and hungry. Three sandwiches do not go far---mine went on the first day and nothing else had turned up.
Sleeping was another big problem although we dozed quite a lot as there was-nothing else to do, but ten in a compartment brought it's own problems, especially at night. We took turns for a few hours at a time up on the luggage racks but without any heating on the train it did not take long for the body to get chilled right through so it was necessary to get back into the sweaty and rather smelly huddle of bodies to warm up again.
We had to disembark several times as the train went forward slowly on it's own over either weak or hurriedly laid sections of track or where unexploded or delayed action bombs were suspected and it was all very tedious.
The next night we stopped at one station to change the train crew, I think it was Siegen, and it was another of those rare occasions to get out of the compartment.
The German equivalent of the WVS were on the platform and the ladies of the tea urn were approached by our guards with a proposal to dispense some in our direction and with a great show of reluctance they eventually obliged.
Of course, we had to take it in turn to use the tin cups provided as we had nothing and the news was relayed that the hot drink
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was 'chocolate'. I saw some strange expressions from the others that were ahead of me in the queue when they got theirs and I don't suppose mine was any different when I got my measure.
As chocolate it was more like dirty washing up water and that the average German had long forgotten what chocolate really tasted like.
It was more like the sort of brew that you would get if you dissolved a Horlicks tablet in five gallons of hot water!.
It was welcome just the same and we dare not make any disparaging remarks about for fear of being deprived of it.
I was just wondering if I should finish my ration by washing in it when the air raid sirens started wailing and there was immediate panic everywhere as we set off for the shelters.
We were herded down some steps into caves which had been hewn out of the natural rock alongside the station and some of us helped the guards with their packs. Someone else 'accidentally' knocked over the abandoned drinks trolley in the general rush and we eventually finished up in a dimly lit shelter where we were pushed well to the back as bombs started crashing down outside causing the lights to flicker and dust to start filtering from the roof onto everyone. [The raid was short but the bombs were heavy one's and are thought to have been Mosquito's on a 'siren tour'].
The rest of the occupants of the shelter, mostly civilians including children were terrified and apart from one old bloke, stayed huddled up in the corners. He shuffled across to our group and peered at us through the shield of guards for a while until it dawned on him who we were and then he went frantic.
He lunged and spat, yelling "terror fleiger" doing his damnedest to get through to us but the guards closed ranks into a solid wall in front of us and he shoved off when the all clear sounded. The guard commander was taking no chances that any further demonstration might get out of hand and we left last!.
I doubt if they would have been so protective If they had known what we had been up to. It was some time later after we had re-embarked and were clanking along once more when they found out. First one went to his pack and then another, to find the cupboard bare. Even the: wine bottles were empty!.
They got very upset about it and there were all sorts of threats
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of punishment for stealing but we just laughed it off and it came to nothing.
Their rations were not all that good anyway but by that time we were past caring. I do not remember anyone saying that they did not like garlic sausage or black bread but in that situation you soon forget about any fads and fancies you might have had.
We finally arrived at Frankfurt on the morning of the 15th and I was surprised to see so such of the station still standing. It was not until I took a second look that I realised that the broken framework of the roof had no glass and the only solid thing seemed to be the platforms, and there was a lot of those missing.
It was even worse outside!.
The roads were just avenues between piles of rubble that had once been houses, shops and businesses. What a mess. I had seen some of Coventry after they had done some clearing up in the areas that had been devastated, and a great deal of London's East End but this lot was not in any way isolated. It spread as far as the eye could see. We had seen signs of it from the train as we were pulling in but when we were actually in it was obvious that anything still standing was little more than a blackened shell.
It was not surprising that the population were showing signs of hostility as we were herded out of the station and we were surrounded by the guards almost shoulder to shoulder. It was with some relief that we were all shoved into the relative safety of an old electric tram which eventually rattled and whined it's way up the hill in the direction of the infamous interrogation camp; Dulag Luft, at Ober-Orsal, the place that most of us knew about from the talks that we had from either repatriates or escapees. We had a pretty good idea of what to expect, and were prepared for it.
The tram ran out of line after about two miles and then we were on foot again until we reached the camp at about 2pm.
This time the guards did not shake hands when we were handed over. They were probably still sore about their stolen rations and were as anxious as we were to get a meal. Nevertheless, I was glad that it was policy for the Luftwaffe to look after Air Force prisoners. They seemed reasonable enough under the
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circumstances.
Perhaps they were being particularly nice now that the stuffing was being knocked out of them and although they would not have admitted it many of them must have known that the end was near.
We queued for a long time as forms were filled in and cross checked with other papers and then finally it was time to have our photographs taken.
Most of the staff seemed to be Luftwaffe aircrew who were either grounded by the shortage of fuel or were convalescing but either way they were not very good with a camera. They had been clicking away merrily for some time with the lens cap still on and a buzz passed down the line not to tell them until they got near the end. I was only a couple from the end and it gave me great satisfaction to point it out to them. Much to their embarrassment Everyone fell about hooting with laughter and there were a few derisory remarks made in German about the efficiency of the Luftwaffe. It did mean of course that we had to do it all over again which involved getting colder and hungrier but it was all part of the scheme of things that almost everyone was engaged in. Crudely put, it was 'goon baiting', and something that they failed to see the point of.
After hours of standing around and being herded to and fro' I was eventually ushered into a room that might easily have been one of our own flight offices. It was a cleverly laid out stage set that was a perfect replica using RAF furniture, carpets and fittings that had been captured and put to use. In addition there was even one of our own Marconi TR1154/55 radio equipments sitting on top of one of our filing cabinets with an RAF flying helmet, goggles and oxygen mask draped casually over an open drawer, plus a gunners Irvin fur flying jacket on the door hook to create the right effect. In addition there was a wall map with pins and tapes showing routes and other areas exactly the same as the one in our briefing room.
I could not help wondering how many of these stage sets they had got for the various aircrew categories both RAF and USAF but it was so obvious I was immediately on my guard.
When the officer, or the chap that was dressed as one spoke from behind the desk it was in perfect English, without any accent, that it might easily have been an interview by a flight
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commander on posting; except that he was in the wrong sort of uniform!.
He asked all sorts of questions relative to target and route, the call signs, equipment, and frequencies as well as the codes, all of which I refused to answer. I stuck to number, rank, and name.
After a while he pushed over a packet of Players cigarettes and then launched into some searching questions about the Bomber Codes that we used and even showed me some copies that they had obviously recovered from pranged aircraft. Naturally he wanted to know about the sequence of use and although I told him that it was a random sequence and just issued for an operation he really did not believe it, but it was true and so simple that it was unbelievable. As a result he was not convinced and suggested that as an officer I must know more than that (which I did of course), but it seemed that the best way was to act ignorant, and I doubt if they were ever able to decode anything from any one transmission. It was that simple yet very discreet.
He started off again about the target and why we had been around Krefeld but eventually got fed up asking the same questions over and over again, and getting a blank stare for an answer.
All the time he had been questioning me he had been referring to a folder on the desk in front of him and eventually with a sigh he held it up and showed me the front cover. As plain as the nose on your face the wording was '15 Squadron, Mildenhall'.
It had obviously been put together over the years from snippets of information plus a good deal of intelligence gathering through spies and the like and they may have managed to find sufficient evidence from the wreckage of 'D' Dog to tell them where we had come from. After all, 4ft lettering on each side of the fusulage [sic] would be enough. Nevertheless, he displayed a certain amount of smugness at the disclosure and when I said "well, if you know all that why do you persist in asking damn silly questions" he went one better. He said he knew Mildenhall quite well, and that included 'The Bird in Hand', which was a local favoured pub. Then he trotted out some more local knowledge and rounded it all off with the fact that I would be pleased
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to know that all the crew had been captured uninjured which was a great relief, although it was a sprat to catch a mackerel. He started off right away again about Bomber Codes. No way. Two could play that-game so it was back to number, rank, name again.
All the time the interrogation was going on, in addition to the guard by the door there were two electricians in white overalls working on a side wall putting in electrical conduit and I was doing my damndest to show more interest in what they were doing than my interrogator and especially the materials that they were working with.
The conduit seemed to be rolled up paper' tubing with a foil coating and a crimping tool rather like a large pair of pliers was being used to shape the curves and the corners.
The electricians looked at me with puzzled interest and I grinned back at them much to the consternation of the interrogator. It all seemed a bit daft to me. With Allied ground forces approaching the Rhine for the final big blow and their country being blasted to bits and their armies in the East and the West retreating from overwhelming forces. With death and destruction everywhere wasn't it typically German to be putting in electrical modifications?. I suppose they could have been wiring demolition charges just in case but surely they would not have bothered with conduit---or would they?.
I was dragged back from my meditations when asked to complete a small white card with personal details and when he saw my home address he asked how I managed to get across London with the mess that it was in with the VI's and V2's still a pouring down the question took me by surprise The damage from those weapons had been very isolated however devastating it might have been in the precise spot of impact. At the worst we had learned to live with the things even when one had taken the end off of the London hotel in which my wife and I had been staying and another had blown up a cow in a field just across the road from where we had been staying in Surrey but life went on just the same so I told him. "No trouble".
That was not good enough and he still persisted that London was in a terrible mess so I let his have it straight. I told his that I could still cross London any way I wanted. By taxi,
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bus, underground or on foot as I had done only three weeks previously...or stay in the city if it suited, and certainly a lot easier than he could get across Frankfurt from what I had seen of the place. That was it. End of interview! Could it have been that he had heard all that before and he was soon going to have to believe it?.
I was promptly dismissed and escorted to my 'private' room. It was three paces by one and a half most of which was taken up by a bed, and of course, the radiator!.
The window was shuttered and this type of room was commonly known as the sweat-box and considered by many to be the means of extracting information from people.
Although we had been told about this I am still more inclined to think that since the Germans were generally more advanced in their use of central heating systems than we were they were also inclined to overdo it a bit; even in those days.
I had been locked up for about an hour when the rattling of keys alerted me to the possibility of food arriving but no such luck.
When the door opened it was to admit a tubby, faded civilian, in a faded shapeless suit. He looked like something out of 'Scrooge'` in his cock-eyed steel rimmed glasses, and announced himself as a representative of the German Red Cross as he produced a foolscap sized questionnaire. We had been warned about this one too!.
Red Cross he might have been but the requirements of the questionnaire seemed to be bending the rules a bit and he seemed somewhat upset when I only entered the same basic details that had gone on the white card.
We had been warned that anyone who had been careless in their disclosures would be dealt with later and I was taking no chances.
It would not be the first time that 'Lord Haw-Haw' (William Joyce) had made use of such information and mentioned the names of people that had recently become guests of the Third Reich in his propaganda broadcasts.
Another significant factor was that William Joyce knew Worthing well enough to have made the most of it having been in lodgings just around the corner from home before the war. I was very
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careful.
The little grey man got quite angry and made dire threats about not getting any food if I did not co-operate. Big deal...that was nothing new. No food had past my lips for at least 36hours!. Not long after his departure clatterings at the door suggested food again but instead an elderly guard brought in a dirty metal bowl with some lukewarm water in it and a razor with a blade that had definitely seen better days. One thing was for sure, there was no way a desperate POW was likely to cut his throat with it!.
The rest of the equipment was a dirty damp towel and a piece of 'soap' more like pumice stone which had no intention of producing a lather. It made very little impression on my seven days growth of beard or the 'tide marks' on various parts of my anatomy that had not been exposed for the same amount of time.
I felt better for it anyway even though I still had no opportunity to clean my teeth and it was probably just as well that I had not got my steel mirror to assist in those ablutions. I would probably had a fit.
Some time after that the clatter at the door was followed by the same guard with my meal. Not very much and not very nice but even a dollop of turnip stew in a tin bowl was welcome at that time which was probably nearer 48hrs since my last bite of anything.
It did not take long to figure out the routine. There was a lever by the door which when turned allowed a piece of red painted angle iron to drop on the outside indicating that a visit to the toilet was required.
On my first visit I was going down the corridor and was horrified to see an ashen faced Flight Lieutenant, his arm in blood soaked bandages, just painfully stumbling along, using the wall for support, and I instinctively went to give assistance although he feebly protested that I would get into trouble. I did!.
I got a rifle butt smack between the shoulder blades and down I went. When I struggled to my feet the guard was screeching his head off about "sprachen verbotten" and "schnell" as I was prodded along to the ablutions where another chap was able to tell me about the set-up.
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Apparently the Flt.Lt. was the pilot of a Tempest which was a type fairly near to the battle scene and as they wanted information from him they were withholding medical treatment until they did. His arm was already gangrenous and he smelt awful but there was nothing I could do for him when came back out of the toilets. He had just managed to make a little more painful progress down the corridor and that episode most certainly put all of my problems to the background. I was definitely not amused at the procedings [sic] .
I spent the rest of the night doing what everyone else seemed to be doing. Making sure there was a signal bar going down every few minutes of the night just to annoy the guard. It did!.
On one occasion when he got around to me he was very angry and protested to some considerable length in his pigeon English that "alles ist pissen unt shitzen" so it seemed worth while going without sleep. It was too hot for sleeping anyway with the radiators pinging away.
At 5 o'clock they next morning, after a drink, an untidy collection of prisoners were assembled outside with the usual shouting and shoving and then we were marched the five miles down to Frankfurt station to await a train. The weather was cold and miserable, we were cold and hungry as we staggered along in no particular order and then I was thumped on the back by Des which cheered things up a bit. He had already found some of the others are although I did not feel much like walking it certainly helped to swap experiences and pass the time.
Des had a very good story try tell.
Despite the fact that in his haste he had only secured his 'chute by one side clip and had made a very dodgy descent with every chance of the canopy 'candleing' [sic] and dropping him like a stone he still made a reasonable landing without injury. What was more important, his landing was undetected so he made some very positive arrangements to evade capture.
For two days and nights he worked his way Westward and had made considerable progress towards the front line to the point of having to dodge German patrols and guards.
In the early hours of the second morning there was gunfire all around him and he even heard American voices in the distance when he got a bit too bold.
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He had already fooled a guard earlier by grunting "gooten morgan" after the guard had shown his presence by lighting a cigarette, then strolled by him whistling Lillie Marlene but shortly afterwards made a lot of noise by falling in a ditch and was challenged. There was no way that he could bluff his way out of that and he was promptly bundled off to the rear to spend the night in a village hall before being handed over to the Luftwaffe, so here he was after all that.
It was after mid-day before a train was finally shunted in by which time most of us were just about asleep on our feet but were eventually embarked with more pushing, shoving and shouting accompanied by the liberal use of rifle butts.
The guards must have thought we were all daft by the way we kept bursting into song from time to time. We did our best with that fine old marching song 'Colonel Bogey' which cheered us up considerably. The Air Force had it's own words to that particular piece so we managed to tell them just what we thought of them without them knowing it!.
We finally arrived at Wetzlar later in the day having recovered from our earlier exertions but we were very, very hungry.
When we disembarked we were once more jostled about until the whole party, about a hundred, were ready to move off.
Then Dave turned up, although why we had not bumped into him before was a bit puzzling. Des had already met him and lost him again but it appeared that he had been at the other end of the column and this was our first chance to mingle since we had left Frankfurt.
There was a great deal of chat and it seemed that Dave had been picked up even quicker than me. He had come down in the open and the German Air Force was there to welcome him with open arms. He had been a bit concerned that the reception committee gathering below him were going to use him for target practice and was relieved when he finally touched down and rapidly divested himself of his 'chute and harness before doing basically what I had done. There was no other choice!.
We were chatting away as we trugged up the hill away from the station and eventually the boundary wire of a camp came into view looking somewhat ominous on the skyline but before the front of the column got to the main gate there was a flurry
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of activity.
Suddenly there were a couple of shots and the sounds of whistles as half a dozen guards with dogs came rushing out of the gate and we all came to a halt as they broke though our ranks and raced around the perimeter wire.
They raced out of sight and there was a lot of shouting and dogs barking for a few minutes before another shot was heard and shortly afterwards the party came back dragging a body unceremoniously by the legs along the whole length of the column. The body was that of a young American Air Force Sergeant who had a leg and a body wound in addition to a neat hole in his forehead!.
We soon found out what it had all been about when we got into camp but not until we were fed; this time with a difference.
For a start it was a well run POW transit camp run by the Americans and it seemed to have everything. It was a long time since any of us had been in a dining hall like that one. As traumatic as our arrival had been food was still uppermost in the minds of most people.
Surrounded as we had been by drab ugliness for so long to find ourselves in a clean cheery place with larger than life Disney cartoons and other such characters painted everywhere I half expected to see a Coca-Cola dispenser in the corner but what was on the tables was mind boggling.
There was Spam, beans, sausages, potato, bacon, bread, biscuits, butter, cheese, tinned fruit, dried fruit, chocolate, you name it, it was all there. All the things that came in Red Cross parcels. There was real coffee with reconstituted milk with real sugar on tap, or tea, and we hardly needed a second telling to "get stuck in". It was magnificent.
I can't remember how long we sat there just stuffing ourselves like kids at a Christmas party but eventually when we had had enough we were off to the showers, to be told that an issue of clothing would be made when we had cleaned up and for a start there was a new towel and real soap.
We all needed a good scrubbing before we were all pink and glowing once more and all the gear we had been wearing had been well and truly soaped and trampled on before we went on to the clothing store where most of us needed a complete change to
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bring us up to a acceptable standard.
Like most aircrew I had gone into the bag with just the flying gear that was being worn at the time but like any clothing it was bound to suffer from being worn day and night in all conditions for ten days. Gunners were probably better off than most if they had managed to hang on to their furs, but being military equipment most of them had had it taken from them.
There were other things that came out of the Alladins [sic] cave.
In addition to new underclothes, socks, boots, shirt, a greatcoat and a blanket there were cigaretts [sic] , pipe and tobacco, razor, shaving brush and soap. Toothbrush and paste. A comb and what military folk called a ‘hussif’, (housewife or sewing kit) which was very useful for keeping things in repair and of course for putting buttons back on things.
It was nearly all American Red Cross clothing and the like, mostly olive drab kharki [sic] but that did not make it any less welcome.
The camp seemed to have lavish supplies of everything and the fact that there were no guards patrolling the perimeter suggested that the administration had been bribed with goods to keep it that way with only the towers manned. It was certainly not beyond the realms of possibility knowing the capacity of our American friends to organise such things.
We were soon off to the barrack blocks with arms full of 'goodies' and to finish drying off those items of clothing that we wanted to keep and it was there that I finally heard the full story of the lad that had just got himself killed.
Apparently the poor chap had become very depressed since his capture mainly because as a waist gunner in a B.17. (Flying Fortress) when his aircraft had been damaged, he had panicked and failed to help the ball turret gunner out of his position. (Gunners in this very cramped turret needed assistance to both get in and out) but he himself had baled out and his buddy had gone to his death in the crippled aircraft.
It was hardly surprising that it had affected him very badly and he had been threatening to do something drastic which he had eventually done by going over the wire.
He had had the usual shouted warning when he went over the trip wire but kept going and started to climb the fence. On the way
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over he was hit by the first shot but still struggled on until the next shot brought him down outside but still crawling. There was very little doubt about the third shot that we had heard. That had been a pistol.
Whether he had begged the guards or whether they had needed no encouragement no one seemed to know although he must have been in view from the opposite side of the compound. Either way he was very dead and it was very sad to think that another young life had been needlessly thrown away.
We were not all that happy about our introduction to the POW cage but however much we had been shaken by the episode creature comforts were still uppermost in our minds and I spent the rest of the day sorting myself out and puffing away on my new pipe.
It was just as well that we had got away from Wetzlar station when we had.
I had no sooner made up my bed and was contemplating the luxury of spending the night in it when a racket started in the town as it got a pasting from USAF Thunderbolts and we had a grandstand seat as bits of the town and the station went flying in all directions accompanied by shouts and cheers from the 'grandstand'.
Nevertheless, I did get that night's exhausted, dreamless sleep in a real bed and not troubled by hunger pains. It was sheer ecstacy [sic] and I must confess that I was no longer so worried about how my wife and my family must have been feeling about my disappearance. The way things were going I was confident of getting home in the not too distant future so it was just a case of surviving until that day.
After a leisurely and handsome meal the following morning, the 18th, the whole camp apart from the permanent staff assembled with all their personal possessions and with a Red Crass parcel between two prisoners we were herded; (we refused to march), down the hill.
The station was in a bit of a mess but we were packed into a train on a side line and then left there waiting for something to happen.
What we did not want to happen was for a return of the Thunderbolts to finish off the job that they had started the day before. We had noticed that the carriages had got large
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lettering--P O W in white along the top but there was a lot of muttering about the potential dangers from roving Allied train and tank busters.
An impromptu committee was soon formed from some of the more senior prisoners and it was decided to 'encourage' someone to move the train to a relatively safer place. A collection of cigarettes was quickly organised and for the sum of several hundred cigarettes the guards, station staff and train crew were bribed accordingly. We only moved a few hundred yards into another siding, but It was certainly safer than being in the station notwithstanding the fact that we had an anti aircraft flak car at the front and the rear of the train!
Once again we were packed into compartments, twelve at a time and once more we were obliged to adopt the same procedure as before. Up on the luggage racks for a period. Limited visits to the toilet. Limited drinking water and no distribution of food at all. Fortunately we had all fed well and with the contents of our Red Cross parcels we could last several days.
W were still clanking along on the 19th and perhaps it was just as well that the POW had been plastered along the top after all.
We were buzzed several times by Allied aircraft including one cheeky chap in a Thunderbolt who braved the fire from the flak cars to fly parallel to us waggling his wings and waving from his open cockpit. It was very encouraging even if a little foolhardy but it provided for some more light entertainment.
Although we could not open the windows or the doors we crowded as many as we could into the them [sic] all waving as hard as we could go which caused immediate reaction from the guard in the corridor.
In he came and pulled down the blinds and then the game started.
As soon as he left to pull down those in the next compartment up went ours with a clatter and back he came again. It did not last long---he gave up first!.
At one time we passed through some absolutely devastated areas including some marshalling yards that looked as if a giant had trampled through them.
On one occasion we were on one of the few complete through lines, and everywhere else was a mass of bomb craters, smashed rolling
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stock and rails that were twisted into the most fantastic shapes like so much spagetti [sic] .
Repairs of sorts were being carried out by what looked like Russian or Polish women in headscarves, quilted jackets, sacking and string boots and who were wielding long handled shovels. They looked such a sorry dejected bunch that we put up a cheer but the only response were vacant stares.
One of the most incredible sights among all the mess was that of a huge circle of locomotive sheds surrounding a turntable locomotive roundhouse like the spokes of a wheel which had copped a real packet.
There were several 100 ton loco's reared up on their ends and wrapped around each other like so many discarded Hornby model trains. I don't know where it was. It could have been Frankfurt as it was not far away and we could have come back in that direction, or Wurzburg, but the effectiveness of that yard had been reduced to zero, making it even more difficult to move things about, including us. It did not seem logical to take all that trouble with POW's who were a definite liability.
We found out later what it was all about!.
Apparently Hitler had ordered that all POW's were to be brought down into the area surrounding Birchtegarten [sic] to be used as hostages and I would not have given much for our chances with Hitler in residence backed up by his SS fanatics.
Fortunately Hitler did not get out of Berlin anyway and a lot of his Generals were only going through the motions of obeying orders.
It was a dodgy situation all round and several of his Generals had already come to a sticky end in the hands of the SS.
Meanwhile we were being transported with great difficulty and at one time we passed through a hilly wooded area, still deep in snow which made it all look like a Christmas card scene. It was probably in the Steigerwald area; but at the top of one climb, with the locomotive chuffing and clanking we noticed that there were numerous little sidings among the trees with tanker wagons by the dozen stowed in them. We were to remember those later!.
It was about that time when the young guard positioned in the corridor by our compartment got himself into serious trouble
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with his Oberfeldwebel.
He was armed with an old French rifle of 1914/1918 vintage and we had been working on him for some time about his chances of defending himself when our troops caught up with him considering the numerous automatic weapons that our front line troops were armed with.
He eventually took the bait after some disparaging remarks about his antique rifle and proceeded to show us what a good weapon g it was; by taking it to pieces!.
We had got to the point where one of us had the magazine, another had the rounds and the bolt, another the bayonet until his rifle parts had been well distributed among us and with the train going slow enough to make jumping possible, he was within seconds of being clouted when the NCO on his rounds could not see him in the corridor and burst in on us.
He was blue in the face, waiving his pistol about and of course, shouting.
The guard got a great grand-daddy of a dressing down as he stood stiff as a ramrod and then, sheepishly re-assembled his rifle as the bits were handed back.
After some shouting, with the assembled rifle at the high port the NCO, having said his piece stomped away to a fair bit of tittering from us which turned to laughter as the guard had the last word.
As soon as the NCO was out of earshot, he said, out of the corner of his mouth, "oxen scheissen", which needed no interpretation so we finished up having a damn good laugh with him. For him it probably ended alright but little did he know how close he had been to getting his head bashed in.
In the early hours of the 20th we arrived at a suburban station on the outskirts of Nuremberg. ‘Lagerwasser’ was a dreary little wooden platformed affair and immediately the old routine started. Shouting, shoving and pushing to keep us all grouped together in the darkness we eventually walked about three miles to the camp. Then we walked back again as they were not ready for us!. That episode caused a bit of an argument as we did not know how long we were going to have to wait and it was damn cold. In fact it was actually freezing and eventually we were allowed back into the relative warmth of the train but those negotiations
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cost us almost all the remainder of our precious cigarettes.
Eventually detrained again when it was light enough and we moved down the road in small parties, strung out, until we were well away from the station and with a lot more slow, slow, quick, quick, slow stuff we were all inside the camp at full light.
In the dark and confusion I had lost Archie but had picked up Jim again but the most important thing was that we were more or less in the same group, and that was the only satisfaction that we got out of entering a grim looking place that did not get any better as we took stock of our surroundings.
The board over the main gate said Stalag X111d, and what a dump it was after our experience at Wetzlar.
Apparently it had been recently cleared and was filling up again although at that time we had no idea where the previous inmates had gone. Wherever it was they appeared to have stripped the
place before leaving.
We were counted off, 150 to a barrack room which was actually a very largo hut. Barrack Nr.69 was no different from the others. The bunks were triple stacked and by the state of them most of the wooden slats; (no spring beds or mattresses in those places), had been used for fuel which was the only type of fuel available for the two empty stoves.
We found ourselves places to sleep; and that included the floor as very few of the top bunks could be used after the available slats had been re-distributed to make up as many of the lower bunks as possible. There was not much point in having more gaps than slats up top and doing a balancing act all night with good chance of crashing down on the chap below so everyone co-operated without any fuss.
It goes without saying that the floor was favourite at that time although later on the rats made a bit of a nuisance of themselves. We were obliged to secure our rations very carefully in something they had difficulty getting into.
Shortly after 'settling in' we were called to a room at the end of the hut for a check to be made on our identities by some of the permanent POW camp staff and I was amazed at being interrogated by our own people but these boys knew what it was all about.
They had been in the 'bag' a lot longer than us and knew all
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about 'ferrets' and 'moles'.
Some had come from Stalag Luft.3. in Upper Selesia [sic] and had had the most awful experiences marching through the countryside in the depths of the Winter leaving many of their comrades frozen solid on the road-sides where they had dropped through sickness, starvation and fatigue, many of them having been shot as stragglers.
As 'sproggs' we were very fortunate to have the benefit of their experience but I was suprised [sic] to see a map of Europe spread out on the table and to be asked if there was anything we had seen en route' that might be of any use to our advancing armies.
I got Archie called in and we gave them enough information on the fuel tanker wagons that we had seen up in the mountains for a plot to be put on the map. I still do not recall exactly where it was though.
It was heartening to think that somehow we were actually able to pass on that information and the tankers might go up in smoke. It was not beyond the realms of possibility.
There was a radio somewhere among us. There had to be as we got regular BBC news bulletins after we got settled in. But to imagine that there was a transmitter as well was mind boggling. It must have been a remarkable piece of equipment with it's numerous components concealed in all manner of things with wiring connections and aerial secreted in belts, braces and tin cans. It is worth bearing in mind that a lot of earlier Air Force prisoners were highly trained technicians who could build such equipment out of basics.
I was never privileged to see anything of it. That was the province of the veteran POW brigade and the fewer people that knew about it the better.
It was still freezing and we did not dare use any more bed slats to get fires going as there was always the chance that some might be needed to line a tunnel.
That was only a thought at the time but I found out later that there really was a tunnel linking us with the next compound.
Of course, the toilets were frozen although still in use, and other parts of the ablutions were also locked in deep freeze.
The only running water available was in the compound kitchen where it was used sparingly for producing hot drinks and later
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on some sort of food.
It is understandable that creature comforts were still our primary consideration in such primitive conditions so the first cup of 'hot stuff' that was dished up was very welcome even if many of us had to go to the end of the line and wait until the owner of a drinking utensil was prepared to lend it.
We had been in the camp several hours, when an air raid hit the city, starting with the wailing of sirens in the distance and then the camp sirens.
Then the roar of hundreds of B.24's, (Liberators) reverberated and shook everything as they came in from the South with mass formations glittering in the weak sunshine but they were surrounded by enemy fighters like a swarm of bees around a jam pot.
The fighters must just about have met them head on and they wheeled in and out of the formation. Flak peppered the sky and they still droned on as one fell out of the sky with flames pouring from it. Then the smoke markers and streams of bombs from the lead aircraft was followed by clouds of bombs from the rest of the formation with the most spine chilling whistling rushing sound as they descended followed by the steady roar of explosions they plastered the city in great swathes.
Some went wide, perhaps jettisoned as aircraft got into trouble, and the station that we had only recently vacated collected one or two!.
What was most vividly imprinted on my mind were the numbers of crippled aircraft falling out of the sky at one time. There must have been at least a dozen. Some breaking up, others on fire or exploding with bits and pieces raining down and all the time the continuous roar of the battle with the crackle of machine guns, the thud-thud of cannon mingling with the heavy crack of anti-aircraft guns. It was a savage battle.
There was an awful lot of killing going on up there as well as down below and there were a lot of parachutes too.
The luckier one's fell clear of the city, and I would not have given much for their chances if they had come down in it.
We added to our numbers by one that day and he did not go on the ration strength. He came right down in camp and was promptly hidden before the guards came out of their 'funk' holes where
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they invariably dived with their tin hats over their back-sides.
We learned later that the B.24's had come from Italy and were going though to UK bases, hence they had run into the defences instead of having to fight an extended battle right across the country.
The fires in the city burned all of the rest of the day with the occasional explosion of delayed action bombs which made it very difficult for the fire fighters as well as the inhabitants.
When that bit of excitement was over the rest of my day was spent sorting myself out. I was lucky enough to salvage an old tin can from a rubbish dump and as soon as it was cleaned and polished with sandy soil I was able to join the drinks queue a bit nearer the front.
I had also found a piece of barrel hoop that looked as if it might be turned into something useful so I started working on it. It took two days of hammering and grinding with stones and lumps of concrete before it eventually finished up as a combined cutting tool and shallow spoon to make me more independent.
Ever the optimist, there was never any need for a knife for a long time as most of the food we were getting was easily dealt with a spoon; or the fingers!.
The first night was cold and rough, but we managed to get through it, as usual, fully dressed, rolled up in a blanket and anything else that was available. Even wrapping paper and cardboard was useful; either as cover or to provide some sort of insulation underneath. It was a noisy night too as a few Mossie's turned up and stoked up the city with cookie's.
It did not take long to finish off the Red Cross parcels that we had left Wetzlar with and the food provided during the next few days was very basic.
The day usually started with the ersatz 'coffee', without milk or sugar of course. There was a slice of black bread at midday and the thickness varied according to the number of people sharing a loaf. Sometimes there was a pat of ersatz margarine about the size of a ten pence piece, or a bowl of vegetable stew was a luxurious alternative; if you had a bowl to put it in, otherwise it was handful. In the evening there was a mug of ersatz 'chocolate'. No milk or sugar of course, and that
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was the basic ration when there was no supplement from the Red Cross parcel.
The mid-day 'meal' was quite a performance as there was no mess hall. When the rations came in there was a whole crowd of 'observers' who followed it's progress to the cookhouse and the division and supply to the huts to ensure that there was no pilfering along the way. Considering that we were a mixed bunch of RAF and USAAF, Officers and NCO's it was all done quite amicably. The final division of the bread was usually done by the chap with the sharpest knife under the eagle eye of more 'observers'. He had to be very careful when it had to divided between nine or nineteen people!.
The next day brought another devastating attack on the city. Again they were B.24’s but this time coming from UK bases on their way back to Italy but the concentration was not the same.
They would have spent a lot longer running the gauntlet as attack after attack had been met and probably many losses had been incurred. This time we went for cover as a lot more bombs went very wide of the target and in our direction. They were not quite in the camp but when one or two holes erupted within a few hundred yards of the wire in open ground only the foolhardy would have stayed to watch.
The next day was just another cold and miserable day. The city banged and burned but there was no heat for us. Not that we expected it after what had happened just a few miles away.
It was well below freezing at night and Jim and I found it warmer to do what others were doing by just wrapping ourselves up together to utilise a bit of animal warmth. It was either that or freeze.
I shall never understand what rats found to scavenge for in that place but they were always busy at night and could often be heard in the vicinity. Perhaps they were cold and hungry too and were looking for a warm place but we very soon learned that it was not a good idea to take one's footwear off at night unless you wanted something gnawing at the toenails!.
On the 25th the city was still burning and another batch of prisoners came in. Some more huts were opened up and as we stood there looking for familiar faces among the new arrivals we found one. Lynn Clark, the rear gunner. We soon had him billeted in
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our hut and it was not long before his story came out. After the order to abandon came he had already managed to put his 'chute on and rotated his turret on the beam so all he had to do was jettison the doors and chuck himself out backwards. The snag was that his bulky flying boots got stuck between his seat and the guns as he had not depressed them sufficiently so he found himself hanging out of the back watching us go one by one underneath him and disappear into the cloud.
It was no time to mess about so he pulled the 'rip'; the 'chute deployed and yanked him straight out of his boots. It's a wonder that he didn't break his legs considering that it was all happening at speeds somewhere between 150 and 250 mph but he was lucky and made a good landing, albeit without any footwear!. Unfortunately he too was soon picked up after he had spent some time improvising some foot covering out of his parachute that had served him so well. Later on he was provided with some well worn second-hand boots but certainly better than lashings of parachute silk/nylon. Nevertheless, he had not seen Geoff either and we were beginning to wonder if he had been able to get away somehow and that what we had been told at Ober-Orsal was all 'bull'.
The city still continued to burn all the next day with the occasional crump of a delayed action bomb going off but the highlight of the day was the mid-day meal when real potatoes were dished up.
We knew they were real as there was still a great deal of earth attached to them that had not come off in the boiling. At least it showed that none of the goodness had been lost in the cooking!.
There was even a smear of evil smelling semi-liquid French cheese in lieu of the coal based margarine that in better days would have been condemned for human consumption....and possibly animal consumption!. But we eat it just the same!.
The RAF stoked up the city again that night with a few more 'cookies': Those 4000 pounders certainly did go off with a crump that shook the dust off of everything and that was from three to four miles away!.
Another day dawned and with it good news. A large consignment of Red Cross parcels had come in with more people and lots more
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rumours. Even the rumours were a heartening charge from the daily dose of 'bull' that we were getting from the OKW (German High Command) news bulletin which was always good for a laugh when it was read out by an English speaking guard. I wonder if he ever listened to the BBC London news broadcast.
Every evening now we were getting a summary of that compiled by our own sources, inclusive of information from new arrivals that were not being processed by Dulag Luft. There was a great deal of difference between the two bulletins.
We even got another blanket issued on the 28th so that at last we could manage to keep warm without going into a huddle at night but the most important issue was the distribution of four Red Cross parcels between [underlined] five [/underlined] people. There was a lot of good stuff in those....including cigarettes!. I don't think I was the only one going around puffing happily and blowing smoke all over the guards as if to say "that's real tobacco".
I got real satisfaction out of that as a couple of days before I had traded some soap for a couple of their's and an enamel spoon; but only once.
Theirs tasted like a mixture of dried oak leaves. old tea leaves and pulverised straw-perhaps they were, but like a lot of other things in Germany at the time it was ersatz, (substitute), and tasted like it.
The pattern of each day did not vary much. A bit of a thaw during the day allowed a little more water to come through although it all froze up solid again at night.
The food issue was still the same old rubbish but it was safest to eat it first and then top up with something from the parcel. It would have been so easy to have gone for one big blow out and be done with it and it exercised one's self control to the utmost. It did not always work!. Scrounging and bartering with the contents of the parcel was an occupation undertaken by some with the mental agility of the street trader but it was not for me. Some went around trading in such a way that they doubled their stock but I confess that I was one of those who helped them do it as my stock diminished. It takes all sorts and I soon packed it in when I found that I was being outsmarted. If we all had that sort of ability for success we would probably all be in the stock exchange.
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We did get a little light entertainment on the Ist March that also gave an insight into the plight of the Luftwaffe.
We had often noticed activity at an airfield a few miles away to the North East and on this particular day we observed a couple of FW.190's tail chasing which was the standard procedure for a fledgling to learn new tricks but it was obvious that it was a very inexperienced pilot that was doing the chasing by the way he teetered around every turn at about 3000ft not far from the camp.
We watched them for a while as they went through some very basic manoeuvres. The trainee wobbled around every turn very gingerly and after a short break they had another go. They went on to some more advanced stuff and at one point when the turns got tighter and tighter I think we must have all been willing the outcome when he wobbled and side slipped, wobbled some more and then lost it.
He stalled, flipped, and dived earthwards out of control and wallop, in he went with a plume of smoke to mark his grave.
A great cheer went up from the camp but the guards were most upset about it and we were confined to barracks for two hours. As far as we were concerned that was one FW.190 that would not have to be shot down so we indulged in a little community singing, bawling at the top of our voices everything from 'Abide with me'. 'Colonel Bogey' and 'Lillie Marlene' liberally sprinkled with RAF words, much to the bewilderment of the guards who had been stationed in the doorways of the huts.
On the 2nd March the day dawned much the same as any other until some more prisoners came in and as our compound had filled up the next one became active. We were soon at the wire making shouted enquiries about this that and the other when Geoff appeared; looking a bit pale but otherwise fit and well.
It transpired that he had made a reasonable descent but he also had landed slap into the arms of a reception committee although that did not explain his late arrival at Nuremberg, but that was soon explained.
He really was at Dulag Luft at the same time as us but he had been out of circulation for seven days after his interrogation.
It seemed that towards the end of the interrogation, when presented with the little white card and pencil he told the
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interrogator precisely what he could do with it...in Aussie terms,....sideways; so he got seven days solitary confinement for insulting a German Officer!.
According to Geoff, "Ve haff vays of delink vis you" is not so funny when you are the one being dealt with. But now we were all accounted for. Years later, as a solicitor, practising in Australia, I am sure that he was more careful in his selection of words in difficult circumstances.
As a matter of interest it was the small white card that triggered off the Red Cross reporting procedure that notified all and sundry that so and so was a POW so he could have saved himself a lot of trouble.
Between the 3rd and 7th there was not a lot going on. It did start to get a little warmer during daylight hours on occasions and it soon became neccessary [sic] to find ways and means of filling in the time.
There were a few scruffy packs of playing cards about but unless one was good at poker there was no point in taking a hand unless you were prepared to lose your shirt. The stakes were usually items in short supply and our American friends seemed to have the manopoly [sic] of the schools.
I was of the opinion that I had lived rough enough already to risk my meager [sic] stocks which had already suffered from my attempts at wheeling and dealing especially as I saw a few who got the bug and were going down the drain fast for promissory dollars or pounds in the form of I0U's to be redeamed [sic] later.
Draughts,(or checkers) was favourite with most people, using home made boards and pieces made from cardboard and soot from the still empty stoves to distinguish black from white and it did not take long for regular afternoon and evening classes to get going on all manner of subjects in one hour sessions. It certainly filled in the time with subjects as diverse as music, fishing, maths and agriculture.
I found considerable interest in the German classes which were given by a Flt.Lt. who I suspect was one of the Luft.3. boys and he was as interesting as he was fluent. It is highly probable that he had been partly educated in Germany before the war and apart from the introduction to the language he told us a great deal about their history, the people and their culture.
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There were rumours that he was a 'mole' or a 'stooge' but if he had been I am sure that we would have known about it and not tolerated him for long, but then we thrived on rumour at that time.
Later events were to prove his credibility but there was always a little suspicion about who was who so we generally stuck to people that we did know and bit by bit accepted others on recommendation and found oneself accepted. I even found a Flt.Lt. who came from my home town and who's home was no further to the West of my local pub than mine was to the East. He had been in Wg/Cdr. 'Willie' Tait's crew on 617 Squadron at one time and had helped to make a mess of the battleship Tirpitz before he too had run out of luck.
The days just went by with very little to mark one from another and although I had started keeping a diary using cigarette packs there is a long gap without note after the eighth as things became rather desperate.
The Red Cross supplies were running out. The bread allowance became less and less. At one time twenty two people shared a loaf and sometimes we only got one ancient hard tack biscuit instead.
The days and nights just blurred into each other and there was a general feeling of helplesness [sic] as we became weaker and weaker. People had got into the state where they were falling all over the place especially when going from the horizontal to the vertical. One had to be very careful to let the world stop spinning before attempting too much.
On the night of the 11th RAF Mosquito's made another noisy attack on the city but most of us were too far gone to get very excited. More than half the hut had gone down with the flu' and the limited supply of Asprin did very little in the way of relief. They were only dispensed to the most seriously ill who had complications and the only way was to try and keep warm relying on friends to bring a little nourishment as it became available.
Certain things happened during the period that I cannot put a date to but I know they happened.
Some Red Cross officials toured the camp and the Camp Commandant lost his dog.
The Commandant, in elderly silver grey haired Hauptman, always
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smartly dressed, used to walk around with his staff and his Dacshund [sic] until one day it disappeared around the corner of a hut on his own personal inspection for something to cock his leg up against; [underlined] and did not come back!. [/underlined]
He was very upset over the loss of his little 'Fritz' but he had underestimated the skill and determination of our cooks so our stew that day had a little more 'body' in it. I’m glad I did not know at the time!.
In the same period the civilian contractor who used to bring the rations in by horse and cart was distracted long enough for his horse to disappear in the same way as little Fritz and he made a terrible fuss. Not so much about the horse but the harness and the blanket!.
He eventually stopped hollering when the items were returned plus an additional blanket but there was a lot more fuss when the cart was towed back to the gate by hand and then a search party was sent in to find the horse. All they found were a few nasty bits and pieces down the toilet pit. Everything edible had gone into the pot and was stewed and diluted for several days before it ran out.
As a result of this latest escapade all starts of reprisals were threatened with Courts Martial for theft and with shooting; the lot....but it all fizzled out. It might have come to that if things had been normal but they were anything but normal.
Towards the end of the period I was getting over the worst of my ills and I eased myself from my bed in stages into the vertical position for my daily constitutional and tottered out of the hut.
I had not gone far when I started a nose bleed so I was staggering along, head back, my one and only handkerchief in use to stem the flow when there was a blinding flash, a searing pain in the back of the neck and the next thing that I remember was that I was face down In the dirt.
When I climbed to my feet blinking in pain with a few angry words welling up inside me I was facing a full blown inspecting party comprising of an SS General and his staff which included two giant sized troopers, one of whom had bopped me with his rifle butt.
I think it was astonishment that stopped what might have been
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some ungentlemanly language but was halted in my tracks when the Generals Adjutant or his ADC stepped forward and barked "you must salute a superior German officer".
I was in no condition to argue so he got his salute. It wasn't the parade ground sort though. It was a very sloppy afair [sic] in which two fingers were more prominent than the others and I was shoved out of the way whilst they continued their inspection. After that I staggered back to my bed feeling worse than when I had got up.
The days and nights continued to blurr [sic] into one another and then ran the 13th came the devastating news that President Roosevelt had died the day before and an impromptu memorial service was laid on.
It was difficult to take it in and the guards crowed a bit as if they had somehow been responsible and suggested that it could mean the end of the war without appreciating that that was not the way a democracy worked. It seemed such a tragedy that the great man had not survived long enough to see the end of the war than was obviously not far away.
The following day we were still feeling a bit numb but there were some rumours of parcels coming in that cheered us up a bit but it was very difficult to show a bold front when we were all so cold and hungry....but we tried.
It was not until the 15th that things showed real signs of improvement. The toilets at last came out of deep freeze and then some fuel came in so the boilers were stoked up for the first time in a long while. We had hot showers and made full use of the water that was available and washed some clothes.
Drying them was the problem so there were a lot of people just wearing a blanket for a while, not that anyone cared about that when Red Cross parcels were distributed. One between two!.
Apparently they had come in by truck the night before and during the day some more arrived. Thank God for the Red Cross. What sort of a shape we would have been in without them I dread to think and at the time few people, including myself had any idea of the vast operation that the International Red Cross had going.
The RAF had another go at the city on the night of the 16th yet despite it all some more fuel came in and there was more hot water for a while to continue the cleaning up process. The
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place was turned into a laundry, and like most laundries things got 'lost' but no-one cared much. The most important thing was that we could clean up and that there had been no sign of lice. On the 17th there was another surprise. I suppose it had something to do with the recent inspections that some of our deficiencies were being made up. We were issued with new enamelled spoons and bowls and by way of payment the city got another pounding during the night.
It was followed by some excitement the following day when long columns of prisoners arrived at the main gate. They had all come from Wetzlar...new POW's and the old permanent staff as they evacuated the place and brought all of their accumulated stores that they could manage.
It seemed as if Nuremberg was becoming an assembly point for POW's but it was getting very difficult to absorb the numbers. It did not seem possible that any more could be crammed into the place, but somehow they were.
There were over 200 in our hut by that time and all of the top bunks had to be brought into use by re-distributing the bed boards plus the clever use of all sorts of materials such as string, strips of fabric, and cardboard plaited and replaited and finally criss-crossed to serve as webbing. It was suprisingly [sic] strong especially as some of it had a centre core of fine wire that had been stripped after some of the lighting had been re-routed!.
The new arrivals had brought a large quantity of food parcels so there was a generous issue which led to a bit of a party later in the evening which was rounded off with some community singing. It was all going quite noisely [sic] until the sirens started to wail and the lights went out as another raid fell on the city.
The days started flying by as things improved; especially the weather. There was no longer that bite in the air that seemed to cut right through you, made worse by the fact that you were not getting adequate food.
The showers were no longer permanently frozen so when there was water it was at least possible to have a drink or to have a wash.
Rumours were rife but usually the jungle telegraph managed to
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pick up something from the outside and one rumour of even more food parcels coming in raised our spirits some more. So did the sound of heavy gunfire in the distance on the 25th. That really was a good sign.
There were some French parcels distributed on the 25th but most of us thought that the contents were very inferior although welcome. It was hardly likely that they could have been anything else considering the conditions that the French had been living in for years. They were the bulk version similar to the British ones we got sometimes and were divided between 13 men or went straight to the cookhouse.
The American pack was the most favoured as it was based on the 'K' rations that were liberally distributed to their troops, and were made up of several packs about the size of a 200 cigarette pack. They came in three variations. Breakfast, dinner and supper, and were complete with cigaretts [sic] , matches, can opener and that most civilised item; toilet paper!. Nevertheless, the Americans were not all that keen on them. Too much Spam and coffee powder!. They should be so lucky!.
I got to wondering if the German POW's in our hands got Red Cross parcels and what they would to like. Not that they would need them as desperately as we did, but at that stage of the war with transportation in Germany at breaking point food supplies were probably worse than they had been for years and everyone suffered accordingly.
We were more keen to get out of the wretched place but with the end so near there was no point in trying all the normal escape methods. We had in fact been told by our own administration not to do anything risky. It was only a matter of time.
There was a lot more speculation when definite news reached us that 30,000 food parcels had somehow arrived by train which was possibly just as well as not even basic rations had come in for days. Supplies had been very spasmodic since the dog and the horse had disappeared.
Even more important was the news that Allied forces were less than 100 miles from Nuremberg but what put a slight damper on that was that we received instructions to prepare for a long march so with an issue of parcels was advice on how we should
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turn the contents into 'marching rations'. There being a limit on how much we could carry.
The veterans soon passed the ward around and everyone was soon busy, and trying to avoid the temptation to have what POW's referred to as a 'bash'. A real feast. It was not practicable. The idea was to process as much as we could into convenient and lightweight food. Everything other than the tinned goods had to be considered. Tinned food was to be consumed first but the biscuit, fruit, (raisins and prunes), peanut butter. powdered milk, flaked chocolate, coffee and sugar was all to be pounded together with as little moisture as possible so that when it dried out it could be cut into bars about the size of Mars bars and then wrapped in anything suitable. It made good sense and on the basis of one bar per meal, three times a day there was more nourishment in that than we had been coping with for same time.
Then there was the problem of carrying it all along with blankets and other personal bits and pieces. Trying to carry a parcel as some people seemed prepared to do would have been back breaking so I set myself the task of making a rucksack from the lining of my US. army greatcoat with the aid of my 'hussif'. I put a lot of time in on that and as far as I was concerned it was a masterpiece and copies were being made by others.
It had padded shoulder straps, waist straps, draw string, blanket roll straps on top and other ties on the bottom. I washed and darned my socks ready for the off but I was not in all that much of a hurry. My mind was concentrated on other things.
Every night I dreamed of a shoot out down the road so that we could all get out and go home. But it was not to be.
The 28th came and even more prisoners arrived and were squeezed in. Tents were put up on the spare ground between the huts and the latest news was that armoured forces were only 70 miles from us. So near, and yet so far!.
The longer we hang about the nearer our forces got to us and in the meantime it was just a case of hanging on to our marching rations and eating up any surpluses from regular issues of parcels which everyone was getting. No other food was coming in.
On the 29th more prisoners were squeezed it somehow The place
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was bulging at the seams.
Some of them had come from an Army camp at Hammelburg, 170km. North West of Nuremberg and same very interesting stories came out of that lot.
Apparently an American armoured column had blasted through the German lines with the express intention of releasing the prisoners of Hammelburg but it had all gone disastrously wrong. Although some had been released the Germans reacted very quickly to block their escape route to a safe area and there was all hell let loose. A lot of casualties had occurred and some of the escapees found safety back in their barracks but the Germans took more prisoners and only remnants of the raiding force got back to our lines. So the story went although it seemed too far fetched to be credible.
Each time the story was told it became more and more lurid until we treated it as what the Americans would call "scuttlebuck' or we would call 'bull' despite the protestations of "on my Mother's life' etc.
Eventually it turned out that basically the story was true although officially not a lot was said about it but it did tie up with an OKW news bulletin that a couple of days previous had reported an American armoured column approaching Wursburg was counter attacked and had suffered very badly. Certainly some of the new prisoners had been taken on that raid so it was not all 'bull'.
April 1st brought more parcels and as by that time most of us had our marching rations set aside so we really did have a 'bash'.
With parcels had come another suprise [sic] in the form of even more prisoners. Thirty two members of the Serbian General Staff, also from Hammelburg!, although the normal compounds were by that time so chock-a-block that a temporary compound was set up with tents alongside ours. Then things changed dramatically.
The guards no longer patrolled the compound from the inside but only the outside of the perimeter fence which had been extended, so down came the trip wire and the inner fence which normally we were forbidden to approach at the risk of being shot. Even a stand-pipe was set up to provide then with running water so it was a free for all as ours was still limited. Of
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course there were protests from the guards as it seemed that just about everything was 'verboten'. They just could not understand why we would not obey the rules and it made them very angry.
The very fact that the internal fence on one side had come down saved us from the daily ‘apel' (role call) which had become an obsolute [sic] farce. The guards never got it right anyway.
If a head count did not produce the right answer they tried all sorts of methods but we had all sorts of ways of adding and subtracting people. What gave them most trouble we found was having more people than they should have done so then they would try an identity check which was a bit daft anyway. It always worked out simply because our own administration drew up the nominal rolls anyway. As long as it tallied they had been happy. Now they had given up the whole charade, and left it to us.
A strange phenomena occurred whilst I was attending an open air Easter Sunday religious service. Just at the end of the closing hymn and with many people kneeling in private prayer, there appeared, it seemed, just to the North and very high, an enormous V shaped cloud in an otherwise clear blue sky. I have no idea what caused it but many theories were put forward.
The most popular one was that it was a very high flying aircraft doing a photo recce' of the battlefield but we could see no sign of the aircraft itself. The cloud hung there a long time before dissipating like a cigarette smoke ring. To me. and others no doubt, it was another sign of hope, and so unusual that I just hoped that a little miracle would happen and that somehow we could just walk out of the main gate and go home, but no such luck. Such thoughts were becoming an obsession it seemed.
The next day we were warned to be ready to move out at 7am the following day so there was feverish activity to get everything prepared.
One of the veterans who had already had experience of one of these marches tipped me off that cigarettes, soap, and chocolate were the most useful currency for bartering with the guards and the German population and I had already observed that soap was being thrown away wholesale down the toilet pit.
There was so much of it, still packaged, under the twenty seater
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'thunderbox' that It was not difficult to recover several dozen unspoiled packages of soap. As much as I wanted to carry anyway. The following morning we were up bright and early and the dream came true as we started to evacuate on time.
It was just after eight o'clock when our compound started to file out of the gate and it was a wonderful feeling. Even the air smelt different.
In all there was about 9000 of us with several hundred guards, many with bicycles, and in a long snake column about four abreast we were on our way. Naturally there was a lot of speculation as to the prospects of getting away if and when the opportunity presented itself; it would not have been difficult but our own administration had thought of it first and issued orders that we were not to attempt any chancy breakaways as the escape committees had everything under control.
That order absolved the officers at any rate from their duty to resist and/or escape so there was nothing more to do but to go along with it however frustrating it was.
I knew what it was all about as we had filed through the gate when I saw the Flight Lieutenant who used to give the German lessons, in civilian clothes, and carrying a small suitcase tucked up very tightly in the middle of a group so I tried to keep my eye on him as it was very suspicious.
In the melee I never saw him go and I never saw him again but I'll bet he was home long before I was, with a great deal of information which would help the advancing Allies.
y
TO BE CONTINUED..........................
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One or more pages is missing.
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party went for cover.
There was no cover so everyone scattered as the parties started laying out the markings after the first burst of firing and by the time the Thunderbolts came back for a second pass we had been identified. It was too late for some though. Our casualties were one killed and two injured and for a long time after that everyone spent a lot of time looking over their shoulder. The casualties were sorted out by a small party that was left behind with a guard and the rest of us just ploughed on, and on, and on, and although most people had made some attempt to get fitter by walking around the compound for an hour or so a day we had not reckoned on doing mile after mile without a break.
It was not surprising that by mid afternoon there were lots of complaints about blisters and aching bodies but we were just prodded on by the equally disgruntled guards.
By late evening we were still going; albeit slower than when we had started and finally after it had got dark it started to rain. Nevertheless it was about 10pm before a break was finally called.
I was absolutely shattered as were most people and I took shelter under a railway wagon on the temporary railroad that had been laid at the side of the road and then gorged myself on a large can of stewed steak from my ‘heavy’ rations.
We were not allowed to rest for long. Before there was time for a nap and with the rain still coming down in buckets we were the move again but not before I had investigated the wagons with a view to hiding in one for a few days but found that they were all full of coal and had no covers so that was
that. Nevertheless, a liberal handful of fine ballast from the track into the axle grease boxes made sure that they would not move it very far without finding the odd problem.
Finally, soon after midnight the word came down the line to stop for the night and most of us just flopped where we were. We had done some 22mls, it was still pouring down and as there was very little cover not many had the energy to go any further to look for any.
All I did was to dispose of another can of something, curled up in my already wet blankets at the foot off a tree and went
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out like a light.
It was dawn then I woke, to a clear steamy morning and like most people I was soaked through. I had been sleeping in a puddle several inches deep which had accumulated from the steady downpour, and the prospects were not good until we saw signs of a cheery blaze a bit further up the line.
The whole column had virtually collapsed where they were when the halt had come and some more fortunate characters had been near a saw mill where there was a mountain of off-cuts which they used for shelter. That was until someone set fire to them!
It had of going nicely and it did not take long for us to take full advantage of the situation. The sight of hundreds of naked bodies dancing around getting warm and drying out their clothes whooping away like a tribe of Red Indians was more than the guards could cope with.
They tried very hard to put out the fire and get us to assist but it seemed that we were pulling in opposite directions, and they were losing the battle. We were stoking it up!.
They had not a hope in hell, not even after threatening to start shooting someone after loosing off a few into the air. Right from the start every one was marked by half-a-dozen prisoners and they would have been flat on their backs immediately they had pointed a rifle at anyone:
We kept the fire going as long as we could and most people got dried out and comfortable again as the enormous pile of glowing embers was reduced to little more than charcoal; then we were ready to leave!.
We understood that the mill owner was still going on about compensation as we left and how the poor old Hauptman dealt with it we would never know but he was looking very grim about it having wined and dined at the mill owners home for the night. Once we got ourselves sorted out and got going again we plodded on through the day for another 16mls before a halt was called for the night.
That time, to avoid a repetition of the previous night we were all to be billeted in large enclosed buildings such as churches, church halls, village halls, barns, etc. I was in a party of about 300 who were packed into a small village church around
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which they placed a guard. No doubt they had noticed a thinning of our ranks since the previous night but they would not let anyone out for any reason whatsoever.
It was not surprising that the place was defiled. I was not proud of the fact that someone had used the pulpit as toilet but it was the one place that no-one could sleep and they were lucky that the altar was respected.
The guards made a terrible fuss naturally and I was glad that I was not among the cleaning up party that was left behind, but that was the last time they bothered to confine us at night.
The main party had started to move out at about 9.30 and the pace was steady although slow before we got to Birching about mid-day to find a great deal of activity.
There were dumps of Red Cross parcels along the main street in front of the Town Hall and they were being distributed as we passed through...one each!. Even the guards were getting them but I suppose there was a good deal of sense in that, if only to keep them off our backs.
There were Red Cross trucks, (American and British Army types) and a couple of ambulances going up and down the column, and beyond, picking up stragglers and bringing them back to the fold. Some of them should have been to hospital and were really in poor shape but they had cleared all the hospitals of the walking wounded as well and everyone that could stand on two feet was having to hike it. The Red Cross took some of the worse cases further along the line of march so that they could rest up before we caught up with them.
Nothing else was provided and water had to be scavenged from where it was available in order to have a drink of something. I even got used to instant coffee being made up cold...it was wet!.
We moved off later in the afternoon and stopped for the night at Belingries where Jim and I found a warm corner in a stable where we spent all the next day and night before we were on the move again. I suppose we could not really complain about our conditions as there were two guards in the next stall sharing the same facilities and making the most of the contents of their food parcel.
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It must have been like a Christmas present for them the way they were going on and like us the only thing they had on their minds was survival, food and shelter. They were only Grade 3 troops and were looking for an end to all the discomfort and misery just as much as we were That's what made it all so damn silly!.
Things got better and better as we plodded into Bavaria. The countryside looked lush and green with well tended fields and the early signs of crops was heartening The weather was fine and most of the civilian population treated our progress kindly. We treated it like a Sunday School outing, waiving, smiling and cheering the population. No doubt they thought we were daft but we were not downhearted.
On rare occasions Allied aircraft flew along our line of march waggling their wings so it seemed that they were monitoring our progress.
Some of us eased out of the column from time to time to do a little trading and on one occasion I was able to add some fresh bread and garlic sausage to the stores of our little group comprising most of the crew and I occupied myself happily after being elected cook.
We picked another barn for the night and found a good supply of mauve dyed potatoes of the sort we had at home for animal feed. The farmer was a bit concerned when he found us with them. He made it quite clear that they were for 'swine' only and that it was a criminal offence to use them for human consumption. It was a continual source of amazement to me that whilst their country was being torn apart with the utmost disregard for human life and property there was still so much regard for common law but I suppose that they had been conditioned by years of shortages and regulations.
I had first noticed the tendency at Nuremberg when we did have fuel for the stove and we were toasting the black pumpernikal [sic] by sticking slices on the side of the store and in came a guard who became very angry when he saw what we were doing.
Toasting bread was ‘verboten’ by law as it destroyed the nutritional value of the bread and we were breaking the law!
As prisoners we were well aware that they could impose civil
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as well as military law if necessary. They had made the same threats for the same reason when we had our bonfire but as there was no time for that sort of nonsense there was precious little that they could do about it. In any case, a few gifts of cigaretts [sic], soon overcame the problem.
We finally got on the more again the next day about mid-day but by now we were doing little more than just strolling along enjoying the freedom and the weather. I had the opportunity of selling a spare blanket to a Polish farm worker for 6 eggs but he could not understand that we were mixed British, American and Commonwealth POW's. Nevertheless, there were a few more exchanges after a lot of sign language and I was better off by 30 Reichmarks which caused a spot of bother as the transactions had been witnessed by a straggling guard who wanted to confiscate the goods. Again it was 'verboten' to sell German military equipment. It was easily resolved. He got 10 marks and was told to "getten ze stuffed" so he wandered off somewhat bewildered.
There was a distribution of Belgian Red Cross parcels, and a large wedge from a round Bavarian loaf at one point and eventually we caught up with the main column again to find a comfy spot in another barn and a good night's sleep with a handsome meal tucked under the belt.
I suppose that now we had put a fair distance between us and the battle front there was no longer the urgency to force us along so we continued to stroll through open farm lands and cross a lot of main roads and the Danube; which was not blue. In fact it was quite mucky.
At one point shortly after crossing the river we crossed a bridge over a closed off section of either dual carriageway or autobahn and there was some interesting activity in the road through a deep cutting which had been closed off to traffic near Seiganburg.
To our amazement the road had been turned into a temporary airstrip with Focke-Wolf 190's lined up and being serviced under a great deal of cables and camouflage netting. I wondered how long it would be before our chaps identified it as camouflage and gave it a good pasting even though we did not see so much of them quite so often as we had previously.
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There was plenty of evidence that they were still busy not too far away though.
We continued to plod on past decorative Bavarian farm houses which, with their high pitched roofs and fancy gables looked very attractive. We were close enough to some of them to see into their fine big kitchens in pine and stainless steel where women in crisp pinafores seemed to be up to their arms in tubs and flour. We did not get more than a passing glance though. The guards were catered for with steaming hot canteens of soup and hunks of home made bread cut from big flat round loaves, supplemented by thick slices of farmhouse cheese. It is understandable that all we got were dirty looks!.
We found accomodation [sic] that night in a barn at Swienbach and once again contemplated the possibility of doing a runner but when we made enquiries we also found out why the column was thinning out!.
It appeared that our administration had been organising parties of 25, each with two guards, to do an about turn during the hours of darkness to find a route to our own lines.
How the selection was made I do not know but it was understandable that those who had been in the bag the longest had first choice and if anyone deserved priority it was them. It was also interesting to learn that the guards were being provided with safe conduct passes which would ensure that they would get preferential treatment when they were finally picked up.
We were still told not to go it alone as there would still be many pockets of fanatical resistance and it was just not worth the risk. Geoff had already tried it once and he had a close shave. He had only got a little way beyond the fringe on a daylight attempt when he was apprehended by a couple of trigger happy SS field police. He had been sent back with a warning, but there was a very good chance that those blokes did not send any of their own back to the line if there was any chance of them being deserters. A little on the spot summary punishment was likely to be meted out without having to justify the action. With our guards it was different. Things were so slack that on one occasion one of them sat on the roof and placed his rifle between us. I just could not
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resist the temptation when a hare appeared in the field and I grabbed his rifle that I had been eyeing anyway, quickly worked the bolt to 'put one up the spout', aimed and fired, but missed, so I hurriedly handed the gun back to it 's owner as the Oberfeldwebel came running up to see what the shooting was about. That turned out to be another big laugh. What else was he to think when he found the guard with a smoking rifle in his hands?. The guard must have figured that he would be in less trouble if he admitted to the use of his rifle for sporting purposes than to admit to allowing a POW to get the better of him so he got a good dressing down for wasting ammunition and I got a dirty look. It all helped to pass the time and keep up morale.
The next day we received the news that we were heading for a camp at Mooseburg but although we started off fairly early we soon got the message that Mooseburg was not ready for us. That immediately started the 'go-slow' process again.
At one time we were lounging around at the side of a track that led across the fields when we heard the skirl of pipes and from over a rise to one side of the main column came a small formation of Scots troops in full marching order with a piper in the lead. What a glorious sight they were with kilts swinging, brasses glittering. It looked damned silly to see half a dozen guards marching with them!.
The sight was enough to inspire some of us to drag ourselves to our feet as they converged on us. Some of us even saluted but they just ploughed on ignoring the Air Force rabble. Good luck to them. They were still going strong as they disappeared from view over another rise. Good luck to them. It looked good and it no doubt made them feel good but there was no doubt that they would be back behind barbed wire long before we were.
We just flopped a bit farther along the track and found ourselves a comfortable billet for another night of relative freedom.
The next day I got organised with another group for scavenging and the like.
Things had been going so well that like others I had already got through my marching rations and generally had lightened my load. No-one was hungry any more but I was approached with an offer that I could not refuse.
The offer was made by a Captain of the US. Infantry who wanted
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fourth to complete his team. The others were two American Air Force Sergeants so I left the crew to join his outfit. It was hard luck on the crew though-they lost their cook!.
The Captain was very interesting and enterprising character. It was his third time as POW, having escaped on two previous occasions, but this time he was no longer going to stick his neck out as there was a state-side ticket waiting for him as soon as he was out of his present situation. He was a very shrewd and tough bloke and it did not take us long to decide just how we were going to operate.
At the first opportunity we scavenged some bits and pieces from some farmyard pumping machinery and rebuilt a broken down 'dog-cart' on which we dumped all our kit and went into action immediately.
Two did the pulling whilst the other two went off scavenging. Within the first half day we had done so well at the butchers, bakers and farms a few km. each side of the column that to were soon re-trading among the others at a 'profit'. My carefully hoarded stock of soap was proving to be most useful currency although coffee and cigaretts [sic] were sill the most valuable.
It was too good to be true. We had not gone far with our cart getting piled higher and higher when the owner of the bit’s and pieces that the cart had been built from discovered they were missing. He rapidly caught up with us on a broken down horse and demanded the return of it.
There were more dire threats of punishment for stealing which of course never came to anything but it left us with having to carry, eat or trade the fruits of our transactions, and the two with the column just had to carry that much more. It was worth it though.
Part of the plan was that it was this pair that staked out a comfy site for four when we made camp and generally the scheme worked well.
The Red Cross trucks were still going to and fro’ but with a difference. They were coming from the South East, loaded, and discharging their loads at various places, loading up the sick and lame and actually [underlined] backtracking our route to the Allied lines [/underlined] to deliver them to safety before loading up again and refuelling for the return journey to us, mainly with ‘K’
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rations.
It still was a source of amazement that the Red Cross trucks were nearly all British or American types that had been re-painted accordingly, loaded, and transported from Italy through Switzerland with neutral drivers under the International Red Cross Organisation.
We were told that some 2000 of them had set out and split up near Munich, one column going in our direction and the other North Westerly to meet other POW's converging on us from the North.
If that produced a farcical situation then it was no more farcical than the latest method of communication that had been adopted between our administration and the rest of the Germans to keep us informed of what was going on.
A sort of HQ. unit had been set up by the more senior officers and their selected staffs who were up front and they never missed a chance to harass the guards....and that included their CO!.
Right from the outset the guards bicycles had come in for a lot of attention.
With monotonous regularity they had lost tyre valves, and chains. Tyres had been slashed until constant canabalisation [sic] of what was left had reduced the original number to only a couple of serviceable bikes, and we had reached the ideal solution where they no longer had a pump between them. We had!.
It was not suprising [sic] therefore, that the last bikes were allocated to the Commandant and his Adjutant....but on conditions imposed by us!.
It was agreed that if we had equal share of them there was a good chance that they would no longer be vandalized but the daftest thing of all was when our own Adjutant went up and down the line on one to pass information it still had a machine pistol on the handlebar clips!.
On the 6th we only moved a few km. and there were more food parcels distributed The awful French one's again but anything was welcome in the food line, if only for bartering.
One of the team and I slipped away one one occasion and crossed a railway line to a group of cottages where we made enquiries for eggs.
At one cottage we called at we were received by an obvious
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1914/18 veteran who was minus one leg but who was quite philosophical as we discussed the terms of the deal in a mixture of broken English and German and he seemed friendly enough. When the terms were agreed he shrugged his shoulders and indicated in the direction of the chicken house and then left us alone with two teen-age girls, possibly his grand-daughters, to collect the eggs.
He was either very trusting, or taking no chances and possibly very relieved to find the eggs were all we had helped ourselves to even offered to give them a four minute boil before we departed. Again, after the difficulties of conversation it was the shrugg [sic] of the shoulders and the well worn phrase, “you soldat-me soldat”.
These eggs went down very well with Spam, beans and fresh bread that someone else had aquired [sic] .
Every day brought the sound of gunfire and battle closer well as Allied aircraft sweeping over us on occasions as they plotted the movement of the long snake of people. There was no doubt that that is what they were doing as our identification process had not been needed for a long time.
That evening we were quite close to Mooseberg and we made camp in a sheltered part of a farm with beds of hay and camp fire was set up with bricks and ironmongery that we had accumulated.
As usual as soon we were all together I planned the menu around the spoils of the day, particularly as our team leader, Capt. Dunkleburg, (a good old American name), had just knocked over a plump farmyard hen.
I don't know if he had been a horseshoe throwing champion back home but he was adept at throwing a short length of wood up to twenty feet with deadly accuracy and he had brought the chicken down by catching it across the neck and it was ready for the pot in a few minutes.
After that it was my responsibility as I had been the team cook on joining, and had been able to make all sorts of dishes from anything that became available including nettles and turnip greens, wild berries and even watercress from the streams where most of our water was drawn from.
Everyone seemed to be happy with this arrangement and our chicken supper was simplicity itself. I must admit that I felt a little
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guilty when others drifted around our site sniffing the aroma like Bisto kids but it was a matter of survival, although I did feel a little sorry for those who could not cope with looking after themselves.
Lashings of coffee was consumed and dispensed to others who wanted to make use of our fire and we were off to sleep like babies.
The morning of the 17th started with a leisurly [sic] breakfast which was still in progress long after the time we had been told to be ready. Then the farmer and a guard arrived making a lot of fuss and accusing us of stealing again. I suspect that more than one chicken was missing but nevertheless we pleaded innocence. They threatened us with all sorts of consequences for our actions as we started to clear up bones, feathers and damp down our fire so they eventually called in the Hauptman.
When he arrived on the scene he let rip with a very good immitation [sic] of Hitler and as we took very little notice he worked himself up into a fine old state until he was just about purple with rage. We didn't understand much of it, but Dunkleburg did, and he knew what he was getting at before he got a little calmer and reverted to English. Then he gave us an ultimatum. He was going to count ten and then he was going to shoot someone if we did not get moving.
By that time the situation had got decidedly dodgy but we took our cue from Capt.D, and started to spread ourselves out as the count started.
Ien...drie...swie...by which time he was spluttering again and by the time he had got to ten he was clawing at his pistol holster which was a beautifully polished leather affair with a fancy-lanyard disapearing [sic] into it.
Capt.D. had gathered himself into a crouch like some old gun fighter from a Western, poised as if to try and beat him to the draw..although of course totally unarmed. The guards looked alarmed and backed off as the pistol was withdrawn seemingly in slow motion as Capt.D. prepared to charge.
On the other end of the lanyard appeared a fancy pearl handled ladies handbag model of a .22 which was pointed skywards and fired.
Putt, putt, putt, and everyone relaxed immediately and rolled
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about laughing as we carried on clearing up. The old boy's face was contorted in anger and embarrassment as he stomped away. I think that was the last I ever saw of him.
I imagine that as he was just about to hand us over he was getting the wind up and was going to have to do a lot of explaining about how he lost 2000 prisoners and half of his guards on the way from Nuremberg!. That is always presuming that anyone else was still worried about such things.
We finally reached the camp, Stalag V11a, Mooseburg, by mid-day and then began the process of sorting ourselves out. Eventually we had a hot shower and a meal of sorts and then sat around most of the afternoon whilst the administration figured out what to do with the 1700 strong RAF contingent now that we all been segregated. It was goodbye to all the friends we had made outside RAF circles so I was back with the crew again.
The time spent lounging around was not boring anyway. There were Yanks all over the sky around us, knocking hell out of anything anything [sic] that moved now that we were within the safety of the camp.
We had news that Prauge [sic] had fallen. The Yanks were reported to be only 20 mls from Berlin and the Russians virtually had the city surrounded, so what was there to worry about.
All we had to do was sit tight and survive and eventually we were given an area of huts for the night although they provided little more than just a roof over our heads.
The 19th started with a roll call, with promises of hot water and food which did not materialise. All that happened was that we got moved to another compound with huts in the same condition as those we had just vacated, lacking everything except the bed frames.
I got very fed up with the whole deal. My shaving gear was just about used up. Like others I had over two months growth of hair falling all over the place. My boots were falling off of my feet....they had not worn at all well. There was a long queue at a single tap and no ablutions. There was no heating and precious little fuel for cooking fires. The remaining bed boards were carefully guarded by those who had managed to get a few together. Issued rations were a couple of potatoes, a hunk of
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bread and some mouldy cheese. I went into a nasty fit of depression so I turned in to sleep it off.
The floor was the best place with the shortage of bed boards so it was a matter of just curling up in a corner wrapped up in anything to keep warm.
Over twelve hours sleep cleared the air a bit and the next day I felt a lot better. All the crew except Jim had got together again for parcels and food share out as for some reason Jim had gone in with another group but the waiting game was not improved by a change in the weather so any cooking or brewing up had to be done in the hut. At times it was like 'smokey Joe's'.
The change in the weather did not stop the air activity all around us but fortunately it was mostly ours. The Luftwaffe was rarely seen.
The next day was the same but supplies were improving a little and carefully hoarded stores were opened up. I got a replacement pair of boots; not new but at least the soles were not flapping and I was able to replenish the shaving gear.
The following day looked like being a repetition until an order came through to prepare to march again. The burning question was "where the hell can we go from here?.
The Russians were already through Poland into Czechoslovakia to the East and the North of us, and were coming up through Austria to the South and not all that far away. Even Italy was suggested although the only obvious way was back and perhaps that was not a bad idea as I was not partial to the idea of the Russians over-running us.
There had been lots of stories already concerning the Russian way of life and from what I had seen and heard of the Ruskie POW's on the far side of the camp there was no doubt that they were a strange lot.
Of course they had had it very rough and had no protection under the Geneva Convention as non-signatories which had a lot to do with it. They were very badly treated and their food rations were even worse than ours….and they had to work for it, officers and all.
As a result they had become a desperate band of brigands with little more than survival in their minds and they were up to
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all kinds of mischief.
Only the day before they had been bearing a coffin out of the camp for burial and the German gate guards made sure it was a corpse that went out. They plunged a bayonet through the flimsy coffin and the corpse screamed!. They had buried the original in the compound and although it might have been interesting to have got mixed up with them I don't think it would have been exactly pleasant.
We got back to using the bunks again after a load of rough boards had been dumped in the compound for the purpose of making them up although a number got sidetracked for fuel, mainly for brewing up.
Brewing up was something of a ritual and when fuel was short it was foolish to be extravagant with resources. The most economic were the tin can arrangements that had come down from Luft.3, although some copies had been made.
Usually mounted on a small board they consisted of hand wheel driving a metal fan in a perforated lower chamber with a fuel chamber on top. All driven with a string or bootlace drive. It sounds very crude but the gearing was such that it worked like the bellows of a forge furness [sic] . They were very economical and would burn anything from a handfull [sic] of twiggs [sic] to lumps of tar off of the road. There was always a great deal of whirring going on at brewing time. i
The owners of these masterpieces would usually brew up a can of water for others if a handfull [sic] of fuel was produced and it was amazing how bits of fire was transferred from one to the other rather than use a seperate [sic]match for each start up.
The 25th April dawned a beautiful day and there was considerable relief when we were told that we would not be marching after all as it could only be a few days before we would be free.
The sky was getting thick with aircraft at times, mostly ours, but the odd German Air Force fighter was seen invariably high tailing it for safety to their temporary landing strips, often trailing smoke, with a swarm of stars and stripes after them.
These were exciting times and the guns seemed even nearer as the excitement increased when we had a news flash that Augsburg, about 45mls to the West of us had fallen into our hands.
It seemed to us, and it proved to be the case, that it was a
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race between the Americans and the Russians as to where the gap would be closed, whatever may have been previously agreed. The thrust between us and Munich, and onward to where they finally did join forces did solve one very important point.
It prevented what might have been the fulfilment of Hitler's original plans to surround Birtchesgarten [sic] with his SS fanatics and at least 40,000 POW hostages for a fight to the finish.
Everything was going so well that we were no longer bothered about keeping a reserve of food or conserving fuel supplies. Part of Geoff's bed went into preparing lunch and some of mine went at supper time.
The 26th was another beautiful day. We had a bit of a surprise when a large party of guards marched through the camp to the boundary wire at the edge of the compound, then downed arms, cut the wire and rapidly filed through leaving their rifles behind. It is quite possible that they just went off to somewhere quiet and then sat down waiting to be picked up.
They got out of sight rapidly after I dashed out and picked up one of their rifles to send a couple of shots after them but I only fired over their heads.
That's all there was time for as our administration collected all of the rifles and took them back to camp HQ.
It was not long after that news came through that we were taking over the running of the camp and we were one more step nearer home.
A bread ration came up. The interior fences were torn down. Where the guards had cut the wire we strolled out into the open as if it was a Sunday afternoon along the prom. Along the river bank, chatting to a couple of pig-tailed giggling teenage fraulines and even picked up some firewood which had been our main purpose for going outside.
It was not long after our return that the PA system instructed us not to stray too far if we were outside and although there was a tremendous sense of freedom in doing so it really was not neccessary [sic] for obtaining fuel.
Warning notices, air raid shelters, fence posts and the like were all available to us by that time. It was a change not to hear the PA blasting out 'Achtung' and OKW rubbish but we were being kept informed almost hourly by
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relaying BBC and AFN programms [sic] .
There was an announcement that our documents and personal possesions [sic] were available for collection from the admin office if we wanted them.
After all that had gone on since 7th February I actually got back my mirror and cuff-links that had been confiscated but it would seem that someone had aquired [sic] a very nice white silk scarf that I had been wearing at the time. Perhaps it had been considered service property, which was fair game. I was just surprised that anything was returned under the circumstances.
News came later that Regensburg had fallen and our forces were encircling Munich, and although the weather turned very nasty in the night and the hut leaked like a seive [sic] no-one was concerned about such minor discomforts.
Even the, following day when there was no let up in the downpour we did not worry about it. Even the natural water supply was a luxury!, and a visit to the clothing store gave us the opportunity to change some more of our tatty clothes.
On the 29th P47 Thunderbolts buzzed the camp and then did a bit of straffing [sic] in the local area. Perhaps it was just as well that the cut wire had been repaired and we had been confined to camp until further notice!.
By 11 o'clock there were all the signs of a battle starting to the North so there was another good reason for staying under cover.
Geoff and I had taken cover under our hut and in fact I was brewing up whilst the battle was going on and one or two people who were foolish enough to still be wandering around were hit by stray bullets but fortunately not seriously.
By 11 o'clock the sounds of battle had gone right round the camp to the South of us, giving us a chance to venture outside.
There was still a lot going on almost on our doorstep. Some big guns were firing over the camp from the hills and shells could be heard rushing overhead followed by a 'crump' as they landed between us and the town.
Then one found it's mark when the church steeple and a sniper with it disappeared in a cloud of dust and debris.
News in those conditions travelled as fast as a bush fire and
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we next heard that the senior Allied POW officer and the local German Commander had been out the previous evening under a white flag to confer with the American Commander, but the German was adamant in his response to the ultimatum. He refused to surrender the area without some sort of fight so that was why it had all started up again but it did not last long.
There seemed to be a bit of a lull and then on the top of the hill, along the ridge, dozens of tanks appeared and just took up position menacingly. About mid-day another party went up the hill under a white flag to parley once more and I can only assume that enough people had died to satisfy honour and to find terms on which to end the slaughter especially when faced with that threat.
By 1 o'clock all firing in and around the area ceased. The Stars and Stripes flew in the town and in the various compounds national flags of all kinds were flying.
Those flags had been hidden for a long time at great risk and at last they could be proudly displayed. As far as we were concerned it was all over, and we could look forward to going home.
We were nearly all bursting with excitement wondering what to expect when later on in the afternoon a convoy that was a sight to behold came in through the main gate.
The lead Jeep had a General saluting all over the place. Some said it was Patton as it was the US. 7th Army that had relieved us but there was so much going on with the bustle and the noise it was difficult to take everything in.
Behind the Jeep came a Sherman tank and a whole convoy of armed troops who toured the camp as we shouted and cheered, and cheered some more, and cried a bit too until we were just about drained of emotion.
The PA system belted out cheerful music and then the circus was in town.
Another convoy came in and news reel camera crews set themselves up as Red Cross trucks, ambulances, mobile hospital, mobile bakery, mobile laundry and trucks with mountains of goodies followed.
There was everything from chewing gum to fruit juices and even fresh fruit that some of us had not seen for months and in some,
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cases, years.
Everything was eventually set up in the central compound and we marvelled at quantity of the goods and the generosity with which it was all being dispensed. There was even a Padre' tossing packets of chewing gum into the crowd.
It was announced over the PA system that we could go outside again but only through the main gate, and then only after we had been processed by the general office and provided with a repatriated POW document. It was worth it, although at that particular time I found plenty to occupy myself in camp and did not venture out.
Although we thought that the fighting was over it started up again not far from our compound as dusk fell. No doubt some brave German still trying to defend his Fatherland but it did not last long.
We had already been warned not to try and make for home on our own as some had attempted. There were still some fanatical pockets of resistance in areas that had been encircled and had yet to be secured.
The most noise that night came from the Russian compound. Although they had had their share of all that was coming into camp they had been conditioned [deleted] but [/deleted] [inserted] to [/inserted] such hardships that they were still out for anything they could get and went on the rampage. They raided the camp bakery and having carted off all the bread and the flour that they could carry they finished up by smashing all of the equipment. It took some time to round them up and try to convince them that there was no need for it. It didn't work.
It all flared up again the following morning. They had their freedom, as we all did and got into town but it was not long before they were smashing the place up, pillaging and looting and generally being a damned nuisance until something happened that I though I would never see.
The limited number of Military Police in the area had to be backed up by deputies drawn from the POW ranks and included Officers and NCO's They were armed with the rifles that had been left behind by the departing guards and were needed to guard German shops, homes and the population against rape and downright vandalism.
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As one Welshman who was involved said to me at the time, "There's daft for you. Yesterday the Germans were our enemies and today we are protecting them from certain elements of our Allies". There's no answer to that but I think the Ruskies eventually got the message.
Some of the excitement had died down by the next day until the circus got going again.
The camp had another visit from some top brass and there were more news reel camera crews shooting just about everything in sight.
American Forces Air Mail blanks were distributed and collected again but that is one area where the Yanks did not get top marks. Mine never got home. Probably they were shipped to the States first and then they were dumped on the assumption that we would have got home first.
The mobile bakery was going full blast now that the camp bakery had been ruined but some of the veteran POW's were having problems with the fluffy white American bread. One chap was stuffing great lumps of the stuff into his mouth and complaining that the 'cake' did not fill him up like pumpernikal [sic] . There was plenty of everything else anyway and no doubt by the end of the day he would have tried everything that was on offer and like me, the pains in his tummy would be from eating too much!.
The camp PA system continued to broadcast AFN and BBC relays. The BBC gave news of 32,000 liberated POW's in the drive for Munich and that had to include us. That would be good news for the folks back home who would be getting the same news and were no doubt feeling very relieved that they would soon be hearing from their loved one's.
It was not all good news though. What the army found in places like Dachau, between us and Munich was a very different story, and the world was soon reeling in shock and horror at the scenes of the almost indescribable conditions that were found there.
By comparison our situation was a picnic.
Those that did venture into town could not be stopped entirely from a little 'souvenir' hunting.
They came back with bicycles, radios, weapons, motor bikes, and all manner of household goods but although it was a free
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for all I do not remember that it got too far out of control as it did at the time of the Ruskie's excursion.
One group near us came back from a hunting expedition with a deer that was soon given the treatment. It was barbicued [sic] on a spit over a pit that used to be an air raid shelter and there was everything that one could wish for.
It was open house and became a communal feast. People just contributed anything that they had. There were chickens, eggs, rabbits, ducks, fish, you name it. It was the biggest, most hilarious barbicue [sic] that I have ever been to or ever likely to go to, and of course some alcoholic beverage found it's way into the camp as well.
During the proceedings one American came back from visiting a nearby tank unit and he was absolutely plastered.
He was teetering all-over the place, hanging on to half a case of Champagne on his shoulder and every time he looked like capsizing and people went to help he he [sic] , fought them off. He was very protective of that 'champers'. Even when he fell into an old air raid shelter it could not be prized from him so we left him with a happy smile on his face. There was plenty more.
Although we were getting a little restless at the delay in moving us it was understandable....there was still a war going on!. But on May 3rd. parties started moving out and leaving their surplus goods behind and we spent a lot of time walking around the area inspecting the staggering amount of transport, troops and armour that we came across. We only had to show our identity slips and everywhere we went we got first class treatment with the utmost generosity, but there was the inevitable sad story to remind us that for some people the war was not yet over.
One of the tank crews was suffering from a traumatic experience, the memory of which was still fresh in their minds.
Apparently, when they had been confronted, not far from the camp, by armed school kids in cadet uniform they had tried to discourage them by firing over their heads but it had not been successful. The youngsters still showed defiance and continued firing. The tank crew had no choice but to fire on them for the benefit of their own infantry who were just behind them, and of course some of them had been injured before they gave up.
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In it's way it was very sad but it just showed that it was no picnic out there.
When the next piece of news came it was difficult to take it it [sic] in.
Berlin had fallen to the Russians and Hitler had killed himself in his Berlin bunker. The German High Command had collapsed and a cease fire was imminent.
The excitement reached a new high when that news had sunk in.
The call forward of people for evacuation was speeded up and those called were taking messages for us as well so I was looking forward to being home for my wife's birthday on the 8th, but the days were slipping by rapidly.
We were bathed and de-loused, (the first of many de-lousings) on the 6th for moving out on the 7th only to be frustrated by another deferment.
We were interviewed by an American female War Correspondent and were photographed charging around on bicyles [sic] and yet another frustrating day went by. Some people had got totally fed up by that time and were having a go on their own despite the regular warning being given. I played it safe and was rewarded on the 8th when our party was called forward.
All of the parties were of 28 people and Geoff was in charge of ours when we finally moved out at 5.30am. when we boarded a convoy of trucks, that set off for an ex Luftwaffe base at Straubing to the North of us.
It was a rough and dusty journey, but eventually we rolled into the place and again I was struck by the resemblance to our own pre-war airfields. I could have found my way around there as easily as Marham, Mildenhall or Stradishall but we did not have chance to go far. It was not worth it anyway as we were likely to be called forward at any time.
We were off-loaded on the road leading through the camp with the hangars dead ahead and told to stay put.
There was very little sign of damage so either the Luftwaffe had evacuated smartly or surrendered, but there we were, at the side of a tree lined avenue waiting….and …waiting!
Des and Lynn had been left behind at Mooseburg but they turned up in a later convoy and were not far from us as evening came. Still stuck on the road!.
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Fortunately the weather remained fine and although there was a NAAFI type building on the opposite side of the road none of us wanted to be confined. We had had enough of that.
We relieved the NAAFI place of a small stage about 8ft by 8ft and about a foot high which we set up between some trees. Several parachutes from the stores were used for bedding and a canopy and we had a neat little camp site that was the envy of many.
A metal grid was set up on some bricks to serve as a fireplace and we were able to dispense hot water and coffee to all and sundry as well as being a meeting point. I
We were just about to settle down for the night when the bomb shell came. Germany had capitulated…the war was over at last! As if there had not been enough excitement for one day.
There was still a little light left when there was a flurry of activity up at the airfield and troops were charging in that direction from all over. Curiosity got the better of us and no sooner had we got to edge of the airfield than a half dozen Ju.52's approached from the North East firing red verey signals
as they went into line astern for landing.
As soon as they had landed they were surrounded by armed troops and then the doors opened.
The occupants were mainly women and children, obviously families of Luftwaffe personnel being evacuated from Chechoslovakia [sic] out of the path of the advancing Russian forces. They looked very frightened as they were hustled away but I am sure that they would have been taken care of by the local population even if the military got different treatment.
We were not allowed to get too close but the airfield attracted us like a magnet and we soon found it to be a very busy place. No wonder they did not want us in the way.
There were mountains of stores dumped all around the perimeter.
There were dozens of Mustangs and Thunderbolts in another area and the remnants of dozens of German aircraft of all types piled up in another area.
Then came the next surprise when about twenty Me.109's and Fw.190's appeared in the circuit...all flying white streamers from their wingtips in the act of surrender. The sight of those brought just about everyone up to the airfield as they circled and landed, finally taxying into a neat line in front of the
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hangars.
The pilots hardly had time to switch off before the 'reception commitee' was up on the wing and the elegantly turned out pilots in their No.1. uniforms were unceremoniously whipped out of their cockpits, frisked and relieved of any Iron Crosses around their necks, and watches, binoculars, pistols and holsters were removed before they were lined up and marched away.
I suppose they did try to surrender with some dignity but they were not allowed to do so and neither was the next group that came in.
We had had the families, then the Staffel, and the next arrival was a Ju.52. carrying the unit commander and his staff. It included his female secretary, filing cabinets and all....plus...the pig!.
The latter was no doubt the product of the unit pig farm and an insurance against going hungry at a later date. So here was an almost complete unit apart from the poor old ground staff who were probably having to hike their way back from somewhere just inside the Chech [sic] border about 60 miles away.
The volume of gold braid on the senior officer did not save him from going the same way as the others, so he was bundled off one way, no doubt protesting about his rough handling....and the pig went the other. To the cookhouse!.
One of the last to land in the fading light was a Feisler Storch light communications and spotting plane and the pilot demonstrated it's capability by virtually stalling it into a very short landing run and …..plonk, stopped.
The pilot got out, like an entertainer in the circus, grinning, as if to say "who's a clever boy then", until a huge coloured American airman grabbed him by the collar and he was put through the mincer like the others.
We loved every minute of it and wandered back to our camp site very happily not expecting anything to climax that but the finale came shortly after daylight went completely.
The day was finished off with a giant pyrotechnic display that must have used up everything that could be mustered from all of the combined stores plus stuff from wrecked or surrendered aircraft.
The way some of the stuff had been put together to blast off
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some 200ft into the air must have made the excercise [sic] near lethal but I am sure that there was no shortage of the necessary explosive and technical skills to put on such a show at such short notice.
The night sky was filled with star shells and flares of all colours and enormous explosions for well over an hour before we retired to our communal bed with stars in our eyes, and hope for what the next day would bring.
When May 9th dawned we were up early, washed, shaved, breakfasted and the site tidied up in case anyone else wanted to make use of it after we had gone, all ready standing by long before 7.30 as we had been told to be.
About 8.30 a flock of DC3's (Dakota's to the RAF) started pouring in, landing and taxying into the park directly ahead of the road we were on.
We had seen these depart on the previous day and it was a well drilled procedure by which they took up position in five ranks of ten nose to tail so all we had to do was to was [sic] for the call forward. It did not come!. Instead, truckloads of GI's came rumbling into camp straight past us and out to the aircraft which taxied out as soon as loading was complete and away they went…..all 50 of them!
We did not know whether they were front line troops who were in need of a rest or even walking wounded but it got us a bit steamed up to think that someone seemed to be jumping the queue but we knew that they would be in again in the afternoon so we continued to wait impatiently.
By mid afternoon the flock were back again and after landing formed up with the same precision and then another convoy of Americans arrived, again going straight out to the airfield. Fortunately it was a smaller party and some of our groups ahead of us were called forward but leaving us still sweating it out.
There was nothing more to but to open up our site again and brouse [sic] around the rest of the camp to occupy the time.
There was another firework display but we could not work up much enthusiasm for it. All of our thoughts were concentrated on what might happen the next day.
Again we were on call to be with some of the first away so once more we prepared ourselves and then watched in dismay as another
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convoy came sweeping in and went straight out to the airfield. When the aircraft came in they were promptly loaded and were away again leaving us still stuck on the side of the road. There were some angry mutterings.
Eventually the group leaders had a conference to elect a spokesman who went forward to speak to the load masters and whether it was that that did the trick or whether it was the luck of the draw I would not know but all of the RAF roadside gipsies were moved up to the airfield for the afternoon shuttle.
In came the aircraft as before and as soon as they were parked each party was allocated a specific aeroplane from which they unloaded jerrycans of petrol and other stores which included 'K' rations from which we got an issue and then we boarded....at last.
Like a well oiled machine the 50 aircraft started up, rolled out in sections of ten, took off and in loose formation headed West at about 4000ft.
The precision of that operation made a lasting impression on me as it was shifting about 300 tons of fuel and suplies [sic] in and about 2800 people out each day. With over 40,000 repatriates to get out of the area it was understandable that it was going to take time however frustrated we might have felt at times.
We landed at an airfield near Rheims, France, and were trucked to a huge tented encampment in the grounds of some Chateaux. We got de-loused again, had a label tied on and were then provided with vouchers to exchange for cash, shown the accomodation [sic] and told to be ready by daylight next day..
To someone like myself who, had only been in the 'bag' a short time it was a short step back to reality but for those who had been behind the wire for years it was the start of a long period of adjustment.
The bright lights, the incessant broadcasting of AFN (American Forces Network) and the delights of the tented city with it's cafateria [sic] tents, beer tents, cinema, magazine stalls and one-arm bandits was a different world. Obviously American servicemen (and women) did not expect to be cut off from their home comforts just because they were fighting a war in foriegn [sic] parts, whether they were in our [sic] out of the line. i
Whilst I was having difficulty in deciding what to spend my
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money on…and a beer was one of the first things, others were very reluctant to spend at all. I found that those who had hoarded for years in order to survive could not easily break the habit but we all mucked in together until eventually we had had our share of everything that was going and then it was early to bed, a real one, in preparation for an early start on the next lap.
We were up at 5 o'clock the next morning, piled onto trucks and commenced another bumpy, noisy and tiring drive, seemingly in the wrong direction, to an airfield at Juvencourt, which I found out later was between Troyes and Chaumont. I did not hear any complaints. If everyone was like me they were too pre-occupied with their own thoughts at the prospect of getting home soon to be concerned about a such a journey. Even if it was about 100 miles!.
We expected to be going into another camp but there was great excitement when, on arrival, we found a flock of waiting Lancasters on the airfield and we loaded 25 to each aircraft ready for the off.
The Lancaster was not built for passengers so we were distributed all along the fusulage [sic] and my diary records that I was in one of 514 Squadron's aircraft, from Waterbeach, Pilot, Flying Officer Tasker. His W/Op turned out to be one of my old mates from training days, Tommy Gookie.
There was no opportunity for chat though. Anyone who who [sic] has ever flown in a Lanc. without a helmet will know just how noisy they were but it was a terrible racket when those four beautiful Merlins started up and we taxied out and took off, setting course in a bit of a gaggle, heading West. I did have the opportunity of a few minutes in the top turret but there was quite a queue for it.
I lapped it up but it was a bit nerve racking for some of those who's flying had been cut short when they had been flying 1939 vintage fighters and bombers. Those chaps were going to need quite a lot of rehabilitation that was for sure.
After about an hour's flying all the changes in engine note and attitude suggested that we were preparing for landing and after touching down and taxying in we scrambled out of the door to find ourselves on the tarmac at, of all places, Tangmere.
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Just 18 miles from my home town!. Then the inevitable occurred. First we had to go through a very rudimentary customs check and then we were deloused again. There was no way that anything illegal or catching was going to be allowed into the country but I was beginning to get a bit fed up with having a hose stuffed up trouser legs, sleeves, down the trouser front and back and in the hair dispensing clouds of strange smelling itchy powder. Then it was tea and sandwiches in the hanger served by WAAF's who for some reason seemed to treat us as if we were something from outer space. I did not realise it at the time but that is probably what we looked like.
For the next part of the programme we were bussed to Barnham railway station to board a train that was sitting in a siding, but not before I had attended to one most important matter.
I was sorely tempted to slip away but thought better of it. Instead, I dived into a phone box, called the operator, but before I could tell her that I wanted a reverse charge call she asked if I was a returning POW, so obviously I was not the first she had had on the line.
Having been assured that I was she said that there was no charge and got a number for me in Worthing. In a flash I was talking to a local Chemist who I had been in the Home Guard with. He took a message to my parents, just up the road and on the way met my father-in-law so the whole jungle telegraph got going to spread the news.
Quite a few used that phone but eventually the locomotive whistle brought them back on board and we were off.
The trip was a long one and at times very slow as we wound our way all round London making occasional stops at stations for the ladies of the WVS and the 'Sally Ann' to dispense tea and sandwiches, whatever the hour, until eventually, somewhere around midnight we arrived at the reception centre at RAF Cosford, near Wolverhampton.
The train ran right into the camp which had it's own internal railway system being a storage area and maintenance unit and we dissembarked [sic] almost directly into a well lit hangar.
There were lines and lines of tables creating avenues which were alphabetically indexed; and from then on it was every man for himself for a while.
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The first part of the process was an identification check. There were boxes of Records Office duplicate I.D. cards with photograph after which there were a few questions and once past that check we were back in the Air Force. Some who had not worn too well in the 'bag' took a bit longer but all were eventually filtered through perhaps after calling an officer to verify or a Doctor to advise on suitability for immediate clearance or a spot of R & R. (Rest .and Recuperation) first. Cosford also had a very large hospital so it was ideally suited.
After that we were provided with a temporary I.D. card and authorisation chits for this, that and the other. Leave warrant, ration card, advance of pay, clothes coupons, petrol coupons, cigarette and confectionary coupons…..all taking time as we worked our way down the line of tables until we were further directed towards another hangar which was a monster clothing store for an issue that would at least allow us to change out of the odds and ends that we had been wearing for so long. Half of mine by that time was American drab olive so it was back to blue.
The clothing issue was very basic. Airmans battle-dress and cap. Underclothes, socks and boots. Shirt, collar and tie.......separate of course, and nothing to hold them together, and finally a. piece of braid or a set of stripes appropriate to rank and..........the sewing kit!, plus a new kit bag to put surplus stuff into. Goodness knows what time it was before the process was complete and then we were off to a barrack block, a steaming hot bath and to bed.
We had been told that the Mess dining room was providing a 24 hour service and very few people overslept. We were up and about gathering everything together and I forget how many peices [sic] of braid and collars I sewed on for others before the need for breakfast was calling.
I felt a bit like a fish in a bowl wandering around the Officers Mess again among others dressed much the same as myself. The permanent staff were very helpful and the stewards could not do enough but there had to be a limit to how much one could eat in one go. There was only one thing on the minds of most people, and that was to get home as soon as possible. One of us had already gone. Jim only lived at Coventry and I was told
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that he had ordered a taxi and was off…..and to hell with the expense!.
Buses had been scheduled to run to Wolverhamptan [sic] for main line connections for those who were cleared to go and other nationalities, including Commonwealth personnel were being assembled to go to clearing depots that had been set up in various parts of the country to prepare them for repatriation. For me it was a quick call to Newmarket and I was on my way.
I must have got quite used to the scruffy character reflected in the shaving mirror without realising that there was a lot more of me that I had just taken for granted. When I first looked in a full length mirror it took some time to realise that the wild man from outer space was in fact me. If clothes maketh the man then I really looked like a rag-bag…..but a clean one!.
Clean I might have been but I had over three months head of unruly hair which was almost white from the liberal use of de-lousing powder that would not wash out. My ill fitting serge battle-dress had come straight from the stores and looked like it and although I could have delayed my departure to make myself more presentable I didn't. And I do not know anyone who did!, but as soon as I was back in the public eye it not surprising that I was getting some funny looks.
There were a few more to come before I finished my journey but one incident imprinted itself on my mind.
I have no idea where it was exactly but after changing trains and we got under way, I was lost in thought and the other person in the compartment; a member of the bowler hat and brolly brigade, went to some length to point out that it was a First Class compartment and that I appeared to have made a mistake.
Normally I would have treated it lightly but as his expression suggested that he had a nasty smell under his nose I'm afraid I was in no mood for that sort of nonsense. I cannot recall exactly what I said, but it certainly was not complimentary, I do remember that it was he that moved out and not me....after all, I did have a First Class ticket!
I finally arrived at Newmarket where it seemed that half my wife's HQ had turned out to greet me but why they were on the down-line platform when I arrived on the up-line platform I
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don't know and there was an awful lot of running about before we fell into each others arms. Then it was back to her office for a whirlwind of activity and excitement as a leave pass was arranged.
There was of course a very lively party in the evening before we finally retired to our room with some people that we had often stayed with on previous occasions. It was ironic that the lady of the house was the German wife of an old jockey of some repute.
Old "Willie" Warne had been the Kaisers jockey prior to the 1914/18 war and had been too late to get out of the country when that war started. The result was that he had been interned in Germany throughout the conflict. We had a lot to talk about!.
The following morning we were off to Worthing for a reunion with my parents and the rest of the family with the exception of two of my brothers who were still away in the forces.
My uniform and other clothes were waiting for me, all cleaned and pressed; although a little on the loose side and eventually, after lots more soaking in the bath most of the signs of the de-lousing powder disappeared. Nevertheless, a haircut was necessary, before I could get my cap on. The old barber that I had used for years nearly had a fit when he saw the state of my hair until I told him how it had got that way. That was the only free hair-cut I ever had out of him!. After that it more or less resumed it's natural colour and I was reconciled to a more civilised routine even though a touch of jaundice limited activities for a while. Something was bound to happen when the diet was undergoing that sort of change.
It was another twenty six years before I left the Air Force. I will never know why I was one of the lucky one's and it never ceases to amaze me. Sometimes I have thought that I have lived on borrowed time since those days.
If I had been a cat I would have run out of my nine lives a long time ago and I have always considered myself very fortunate to have enjoyed a longer period of relative peace than the older generation had experienced between two dreadful wars.
My youthful ambition to fly had been fullfilled [sic] ; even if it had been the hard and dangerous way. The war had finished and our country and our society seemed safe and secure at last.
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It had been achieved at the most dreadful cost in human lives and suffering. There were a lot of my old school friends and others that I would never see again.
Historians have since put forward many academic arguments on the conduct of the war as they have done throughout the years over long and bloody conflicts to try and prove points and discredit theories as well as personalities which is easy enough to do in hindsight.
The fact remains. Hitlers evil Third Reich was destroyed, and only just in time before the introduction of a new generation of weapons might have prolonged the war or even given Germany the chance of recovery. Then the pages of history would have been written somewhat differently and I doubt if todays armchair strategists would be in a position to express themselves quite so freely.
The overall number of casualties was appalling and the Royal Air Force had it's share as it wielded one of the most powerful and flexible weapons ever forged.
Bomber Command alone lost 47,293 aircrew killed or missing on operations over Europe, and another 8000 were killed in training and non-operational flights between 1939 and 1945.
A staggering 9000 bombers of all types were lost in the same period and at the peak of the air war 40% of Britains [sic] war production was concentrated in the manufacture of aircraft and supporting services.
Between them the Allied Air Forces devestated [sic] 70 cities and manufacturing centres severely curtailing production.
The Hamburg raids of 1943 disrupted U-boat building and caused the terrible fire-storm that resulted in more than 40,000 deaths. Altogether 3,600,000 homes were destroyed. 7,500,000,people were made homeless and there were 1,000,000 casualties caused by the bombing on the European front alone.
The costly raid on Peenemunde in the Baltic gave us breathing time to develope [sic] a defence against what could have been devestating [sic] damage from the V1's and V2's.
Sea and Air co-operation effectively swung the balance of the U.Boat war and a steady flow of war materials and food was assured from the vast resources of the USA.
The German Navy got bottled up and was no longer an effective
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force. The Luftwaffe was being depleted as their bomber force declined in favour of fighter production. Although in 1943 their production of fighters actually increased they were faced with the fact that experienced pilots cannot be produced, at the same rate as machines and the bombing was starving them of fuel.
Once Germany was forced onto the defensive as was Japan the writing was on the wall.
Towards the end of the war Germany had committed enormous quantities of some 20,000 anti-aircraft guns and vast quantities of ammunition to the defence of the Third Reich, tying up 1,000,000 troops and another 1,500,000 people in fire fighting, clearing up bomb damage and re-housing.
The destruction caused by Allied air raids affected German war production to such an extent that it was estimated by German sources that in 1943 alone, it cost, in terms of production, the [underlined] equivalent [/underlined] of 10,000 heavy guns and approximately 6000 heavy tanks. If the resources that those figures represent had reached the battle fronts the outcome of many a campaign might well have different.
Those figures are just some of the grim statistics on the balance sheet of a war that need not have happened if Hitler could have been prevented from embarking on his plans of world domination.
The overwhelming Allied air power was a major contribution which helped to reduce the casualty figures of the ground forces who eventually squeezed the discredited leaders of the German nation into surrender, giving Europe a chance to sort itself out and lay plans for a more peaceful future.
History will show that the transition into an uneasy 'peace' and the rebuilding of shattered countries and communities was not easily achieved but I am proud to have been part of it.
Alan.T.Gamble.
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"NIL DESPERANDUM”
[underlined] PREFACE [/underlined]
My war came to an end with Victory in Europe, when, after returning from German POW camp I was sent on leave to await further instructions.
For some time I expected to be called for duty in one of the areas of either Europe, the Middle East, India or the Far East where there was still a great deal of conflict going on, but it seemed that there were still plenty of people around to cope and it was many weeks before something was found for me to do.
I was content as long as my pay and allowances were being credited to my account, so I sat back waiting for something to happen and enjoyed being with the family again. My wife Dorothy was still in the Army and soon used up her leave entitlement to be home with me at Worthing although I managed several periods up at Newmarket where she was still stationed which was not too far away so I had a comfortable time rehabilitating myself until a telegram from the Air Ministry requested my presence at Whitehall to determine my future.
Meanwhile I had had plenty of time to contemplate both the past, present and the future. At least I still had a future of sorts which was a lot more than some of my old school friends whose short lives were about to be recorded on the memorial tablets.
My youthful past had been humdrum until joining the Royal Air Force and I could not see it getting any better by doing what so many were doing by getting `demobbed' and back into `civvy street' as soon as possible to pick up the threads of their previous occupation. Apart from anything else I was not even sure that I wanted to resume my previous occupation.
I had made the grade from the ranks to commissioned officer more by luck than anything else and despite some bad moments I had been introduced to a different sort of life; and it attracted me.
I had asked myself time and time again; should I throw it all away or capitalize on it? The answer always came out the same, whichever way I looked at the situation. I really had nothing to lose as I had very little to start with, so I approached the postings department at Air Ministry with an open mind and tongue in cheek.
I was kept waiting for a long time after I had presented myself, and bit by bit I progressed from the main reception to the clerks office then to an outer office until finally being called into the inner sanctum to be asked by a chap who simply asked what I would like to do.
It was such a surprise that I was barely able to splutter out "anything you like" and no doubt if I had not already given some thought to my future I could easily have blurted out "civvy street" and that would have been the road that I would have gone down. Nevertheless, my remark produced a contemplative "hm" and a lot of paper shuffling. I just looked at the ceiling and shuffled my feet!
The next question was "what about administrative work?" and I recall that my reply was something to the effect that "if that is what you would like me to do I will have a go" although my insides were churning. Me! administrative work! What the hell did I know about that, but the die was cast and I was sent off for a few more days leave to await further instructions, which took the form of a telegram instructing me to report to No. 47 Group. HQ, Hendon, for disposal.
I duly reported to the HQ which was in a group of huts, which is still there behind barbed wire in front of the Restaurant of the RAF Museum and by adopting the philosophy of leaving my destiny in someone else's hands the cards were shuffled once more. I was earmarked for administrative duties and sent home, once more to await further instructions.
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It was not long before, they arrived and then I was en route to Lyneham, in Wiltshire, all shiny, new and refreshed for the beginning of a new era.
[line of stars]
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[underlined] CHAPTER ONE [/underlined]
Lynham [sic] was a flying station of No. 47 Group, Transport Command so it made a change for me to be outside Bomber Command but I did not have a lot of time to contemplate the Yorks and Stirlings that were being flogged to and from many parts of the world. The arrival preliminaries were soon over and I found myself being employed as assistant to the Adjutant of 511 Squadron and was soon up to my ears in routine paper work, a lot of which was processing claims for campaign medals but it seemed an easy way to earn a crust for the ten days that I did the job and I learned a lot more about the running of, a unit like a flying Squadron which had not changed a lot since I had been a 'sprog' airman at Mildenhall in 1941 where I had started my first stint of admin in the orderly room. There was something else that had not changed. Stirlings being Stirlings, whatever the mark, could still get into an uncontrollable swing on take off and landing as I found out from the signals that were coming in reporting aircraft all the way down the route to India having swung and busted the undercarriage in some God forsaken place and I had not been flying a desk very long before one did the same thing at Lyneham which finished up careering into the operations block causing a number of casualties among ground staff.
It had previously entered my mind that if I could keep away from flying for a while it would not do me any harm but after that episode it did not seem to make any difference. I think that I would have been most upset at being pranged by a runaway Stirling whilst sitting at a desk; especially after successfully completing a tour in Bomber Command on them without damage to myself.
However, I was whisked out of that job overnight and flung straight into a properly established job in Station HQ. That of Station Assistant Adjutant although the job title of the appointment was a mis-nomer as far as I was concerned. It really was personnel administration and I inherited a staff of twenty headed by a Flight Sergeant Chief Clerk. All of a sudden I was an Admin Officer!
The reason for the sudden move requires a little explanation as I did not physically take over from the previous encumbant [sic] , a WAAF officer who apparently had got herself and the job into one hell of a mess and had been moved out smartly before things could get any worse. My brief from the Senior Admin Officer was to get stuck in and sort things out as quickly and as quietly as possible so I took over everything completely blind. Office, staff, ledgers, account books, cash and inventories. It was difficult to know just where to start so I familiarised myself first with the orderly room procedures and the staff who handled the details of some 2000 airmen and airwomen and then came the process of sorting my own office. It did not take long to find out that things were far worse than they appeared on the surface.
I started checking the inventories as I had signed for them subject to check and although some small one's were fairly easy but when it came to the bedding store, oh dear, oh dear. My heart missed a beat. It showed up a flaw in the system that been exploited for a long time by people quite prepared to make a few bob out of surplus blankets, only they were not surplus! Even in the stock room half blankets suitably folded had been counted as complete blankets to deceive the checkers for a long time. I had to have a long think about that one. There seemed no point in enquiries and chucking charges about. I had a feeling that it would bounce right back into my court. Quickly and quietly the boss had said, so I did it my way and worked at it steadily over a period of several weeks whilst dealing with other day to day matters.
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I had the station scoured for blankets that were being misused as curtains, table covers etc. and a few billet inspections with the aid of the Station Warrant Officer produced a considerable number that were in excess of entitlement and more than a few exchanges were made at the main stores until I was satisfied that the deficiencies had been reduced to a modest number that I could subsequently declare for write-off. War time methods of writing off losses were no longer in force so I was aiming for the minimum possible before asking for an independent check to be made with me in attendance. Such matters absorb a great deal of time and at the same time I introduced a completely new system of accounting for the issue, receipt„ storage and stock control of bedding without adding extra staff although there was a change of staff. The Corporal in charge of the bedding store! who I am sure was very pleased to go without a fuss. I found a place for him in the sanitary squad! In the long run quicker and quieter than the more formal way of doing things. I followed it up with a multi page paper on the subject, with recommendations for the changes that I had already made and submitted it through channels to Air Ministry, as I was sure that there were considerable savings to be made if my scheme was implemented officially. I can only assume that someone, somewhere along the line put his own name to it and nearly two years later an Air Ministry Order appeared almost word for word so it must have had some merit. It was still in force 40 years later!
I did get something out of though!. Nearly six months later after I had moved on and after an enquiry into the deficiencies that had been disclosed, a Board of Enquiry found me responsible for the losses and invited me to pay £5 toward the value of the losses. One learns the hard way and so it seemed that everyone was covering their backs, and they had to have their pound of flesh. £5 was a lot of money in 1945. About 25% of a weeks pay for a Flying Officer!
Had that backhander arrived whilst I had still been at Lyneham I might well have decided that Air Force Admin. was not for me but by then I was engaged in numerous other problems and learning to cope with them without compromising myself. It did not always work but I was getting better at it. In the meanwhile Dorothy had left the Army and was back with her parents in Worthing awaiting the arrival of an addition to the family.
Among other things that were under my jurisdiction were the issue of clothing coupons, tobacco and confectionery and petrol coupons and it did not take long to find out that the system of accounting for those items were far from satisfactory. Of course, they were all issued, or were supposed to have been issued according to entitlement as laid down in the relevant orders but I found it impossible to reconcile the stocks and book balances. I burned the midnight oil balancing, (or to be truthful, cooking them) until I had resolved the petrol and clothing coupons sufficiently to satisfy a snap audit which was always a possibility although obviously no such audit had been done for a long time.
In hindsight it would probably have been to my advantage to have asked for an independent audit when taking over, if it had occurred to me, but I was new to the business and without formal training it could still have gone against me in the same way as the blankets episode. I doubt that it would have gone against the departed WAAF officer who no doubt had left the service very smartly which was the normal practice for someone in her condition. There did not seem any point in making waves so in my ignorance I just pressed on.
The tobacco and confectionery coupons were a bit of a headache although I had not placed any priority on them but the first time I attended a Station Commanders conference the subject came up as the local and area NAAFI managers had apparently been tearing their hair out for some time as their monthly stocks were all being taken up in the first few days of the month and supplementary stocks were having to be put up to supply the demand for the rest of the month. I came directly into the firing line although my predecessor had previously been
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instructed to do something about it and of course the inevitable occurred. The finger was pointed at me with an instruction to "fix it ....and quickly". It did not take long to find an answer.
The blank coupons were initially issued by the NAAFI to units for distribution and generally coupons issued by one unit were valid at another and therein lay the problem. At Lyneham everyone other than the Officers and Sgt's messes seemed have about four times as many coupons as they should have but the work involved was not easy and I burned a lot of midnight oil personally setting up a system to get it right first time. I made all old coupons invalid as new coupons became valid from a certain date. They were all serial numbered and distributed to internal units and departments against nominal rolls There was no leeway or overlap. Any cases that would have previously been arbitrated by the Naafi staff were referred to me and only coupons bearing the Lyneham stamp were valid. All new arrivals got a new issue on surrender of their old one's with a limitation of only two weeks back issue. I did get it right first time!. The rot was stopped dead in it's tracks within the first few days of it's introduction. The Naafi managers were happy and despite the success of the operation that was the only area from which any compliment came and I was presented with an enormous box of chocolates for my wife with their compliments. At least I had the satisfaction of knowing that I had some aptitude for the work that I had been thrown into and had so far I seemed to have done it a bit better than someone with formal training.
There were other matters that needed a nudge in the right direction from time to time to bring them into line but eventually all the serious problems had been attended to and I was able to relax slightly as the job ticked over as it should have done in the first place. I even managed a few more week-ends at home instead of working right through but at that time people were still revelling in the euphoria of the cessation of the war and there was a lot of partying going on, and that of course meant too much drinking as an outlet for pent up emotions. There was one rip-roaring party to which I invited my Petty Officer Naval brother, (with temporary promotion to Lieutenant. RN. For the occasion) and it was the great granddaddy of all binges. We were in a very sorry state the next morning when we went down to the flight office as I had arranged a trip in a York for him. He had never flown before, and it had been no trouble to lay it on although it was in a freighter on air test that we found ourselves in. No seats. Just a load of loose covers on the floor with a few straps to hang onto.
I suppose it's something you are trained for and you grow up with so it was second nature to me. My poor brother felt differently about it with the thunder of the engines, the unfamiliar smells and a skyline that would not stay in place, and neither would his stomach as he was obliged to make use of the paper bag supplied!
His final thoughts on the matter were that he would sooner take his chance in the bowels of a ship than fly or have to chuck himself out of an aeroplane if it got into trouble although I am sure that when he was later obliged to fly back to the UK on compassionate leave on the death of his daughter he had more things on his mind than his own personal discomfort.
Bit by bit I attacked all of the accumulated problems and new one's as they arose and life began to jogg [sic] along quite nicely. I was able to spend time studying the activities and the rules and regulations of the personnel department for which I was responsible, although it was run very efficiently by a Flight Sergeant Waaf. Even so, I began to take more notice of what I was invariably signing for. At that point in time I seemed to have been launched in a career in Admin so it seemed logical that I should learn all that I could about it.
It was too much to expect that I would be left to settle for long. In early Spring of 1946 I received the reward for my efforts when I was notified that I was posted to Holmsley South in the New Forest, Hampshire, for Admin duties, so a quick hand over followed a handshake from the C.O. and to my surprise a "well done" and I was ready to go. One of my
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first thoughts was that I would be a lot nearer Worthing and things seemed to be working in my favour especially as Holmsley was another Transport command station with a Stirling squadron. The prospects were good and I had no reason to make any preliminary enquiries so off I went and waved goodbye to Lyneham.
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[underlined] Chapter Two [/underlined]
I completed the arrival formalities by eventually arriving at the C.O's office and that's when I received a nasty shock to be told that he was very pleased to see me as a very special job had been reserved for me. I was to take charge of 50 German POW's who would be arriving by train [underlined] the following day [/underlined] and the Senior Admin Officer would tell me all about it!
He did. A dispersed Nissen hutted site had been allocated. Beds and bedding had been set aside at the stores and an inventory opened ready for my signature. Cooking facilities had also been arranged on site "so off you go and the best of luck and keep them out of my hair" was the brief.
[underlined] Dispersed [/underlined] was the operative word. Typical of war time airfields it was well spread out and I was to find that the site that I had been allocated was nearly two miles from the main camp area but I was thinking very hard about the prospects and wondering if my reputation had preceeded [sic] me as they must have decided at the last moment to appoint an officer in charge. I must confess too that I rather liked the idea of being a POW Camp Commandant which was the title that I gave myself. After my recent experiences as a POW in Germany it would be interesting to have the role's reversed.
Most of my first day was spent checking out the site and supplies. The electricity was on, the plumbing was working and coal had already been dumped on site but it was the `cooking facilities' that intrigued me. It was no more than an old soya boiler and a Spitfire packing case but I was not going to worry too much about that. One thing was for sure. At the very worst the conditions could never be described as rough by comparison with the way we had been treated as prisoners so after reading up the limited amount of information that been handed over to me and making a few arrangements for the reception of the POW's I settled in the Mess and turned in that night with a clear conscience. The next day could take care of itself!
I duly met the motley crowd at Brockenhurst railway station the following day without too much ceremony having mustered a couple of hefty, armed Service policemen to make an impression and there I was handed a package of `bumph' by one of the two RAF (aircrew) Warrant Officers who were going to be my total staff for the indefinite period that they were going to be with us. As soon as we got back to the main camp I was able to dispense with the policemen and the POW's did a lot of waiting about whilst I poured over the documents with the Senior Admin Officer (who really didn't want to know), but I was determined to keep him in the picture before being told once more "get on with it". By that time I had got the impression that as far as I was concerned I was on my own!.
The POW's were all ex Africa Corp and had been incarcerated in working camps in Canada. They had been well fed and documented and were in the pipeline for repatriation, and they knew it and the best part was that they were to be reminded regularly with the added threat that if any one of them absconded, or even attempted to, then the whole lot would be put back to the end of a very long list.
That solved a lot of my fears and it was with a much lighter heart that I paraded the lot, read the riot act through their senior NCO `interpreter' although most of them knew enough English to understand and then we were off to the site where I paraded them again and explained that it was to be their home until further notice. I also explained that any comforts that they might enjoy would be achieved mainly by their own efforts which soon put a stop to any complaints that they might have thought of voicing. There was the inevitable roll call and familiarisation of faces having formally introduced myself and then we got down to work setting things up.
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The next few days were hectic as I scrounged, scavenged and borrowed all the necessary equipment to make life tolerable and there was a lot of earth moving, hammering, sawing and considerable industry as the days went by. The kitchen and mess room layout was built from the Spitfire packing case and sited in a partitioned end of a hut adjacent to the ablutions block to make use of the plumbing, and the remainder of the hut was turned into sleeping quarters for the duty officer and the site office.
There were few restrictions. By the very nature of our staffing arrangements it was an open camp apart from morning and night roll calls with one of the Warrant Officers or myself on camp throughout each 24 hour period. The daily routine was soon established. I was allowed a small cash ration allowance to supplement the daily ration issue and the prisoners were allowed a small basic pay in script as they were not allowed real money. They spent their script in the small canteen that we set up and it's value was converted into real money under my control (more book-keeping), for purchases from the Naafi main distribution centre in Southampton.
I was also allowed to employ them on the station in a variety of trades that they were suitable for and give small pay increments accordingly, so it was not long before some of them were being employed as drivers, fitters, cooks and butchers, cleaners and baggage handlers with a pool of refuse collectors. My message to them was very simple. "Screw up a good job and you go straight to the garbage detail". (There was no extra pay for that job!)
A bout of very wet weather made life very difficult as the entrance to the site was uphill and impossible for motor transport so that supplies had to be man-handled in but in my travels I had spotted a considerable supply of used and new PSP, (Perforated Steel Planking) of the type that many war time hard standings and even temporary runways were built with which had been more or less abandoned by the Americans, who had used Holmsley for the invasion of Normandy so several tons were transported to the site in the next spell of good weather and we got cracking. There was a lot more earth moving as the surface was prepared and we worked it out as we went along. I got my shirt off too which raised a few eyebrows among the troops.
Like any other body of men there will always be those who will hang about on the fringe of activity trying to look as if they are busy. Germans are no different! But I felt that if I could demonstrate that I could work as well as any of them then I would be justified in putting my boot behind anyone who seemed reluctant to flex his muscles so we toiled like an army of ants the whole of one week-end when I was the duty officer. At the end of the day we straightened our backs with the satisfaction of having done a good job in record time with a firm driveway leading up to a level turning area at the top.
I had a few crates of beer brought in later on and had the additional satisfaction of being told by one of them that it was most unlikely that a German officer would have applied himself in the same way. By that time I had bathed and was back in uniform and once more and `The Commandant' was feeling rather pleased with himself, so the reply that came from me, almost without thinking was....."possibly, and you lost"! Touche!.
After that things began to tick along quite nicely which was just as well as I was beginning to be drawn more and more into the routine work of the station. Nevertheless, the POW's took up most of my time and I had to argue my way out of doing station duties like Orderly Officer on the grounds that I was spending every third night and every, third week-end in the POW compound. I was excused station duties...but not for long!
I had to take fairly swifty [sic] action on one occasion when I had a report from the civilian accountant officer who came to work on his scooter that he just passed one of our two tonner's being driven by one of my POW's on the Southampton road, and he did not appear to have a load! I was off like a shot on my recently aquired [sic] motor cycle and chased after him.
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I was flat out for several miles before I caught him up and flagged him down. The driver was the one that I thought he might be. He was reputed to have been a pre-war racing driver mechanic and it appeared that he had been doing some unauthorised tuning of the truck's V8 engine as well. His argument that he was road testing the vehicle cut no ice as he had no authorisation to do either that or his journey so it was about turn and back to camp with me tailing him. I think he knew what to expect when I had him on the mat. Like everyone else he knew that Southampton was not many miles down the road and my own view was that he was making a dash for freedom although there was no way I could prove it. For him it was the loss of his trade pay and on the back of the refuse lorry instead of driving it! They had been warned!.
My motor cycle was a great help to me and allowed me to get between camp and Worthing in less than two hours giving me much more time with my family especially as I would normally have caught an early Sunday evening train to get back. With the bike I was usually driving into the compound on the dot of eight o'clock on the Monday morning to be received by one of the Warrant Officers and the Feldweibel. The bike was then taken to be cleaned up as I changed and had breakfast before going through the reports and morning inspection. The bike was then taken to be cleaned as I changed and had breakfast, before going through the reports and my morning inspection. [sic]
I had learned enough about Germans to know that they understood and respected that sort of routine so there was some satisfaction in having the bike cleaned and polished, very often by the chap who I had suspended from driving after his misdemeanour but I was too trusting. I should have remembered that once you give a "creegie", (an abbreviation of the German word for POW); an inch, he would take a mile. We used to!
On one fine day I decided to take run to Bournemouth and on the spur of the moment took the head man with me on the pillion but we had barely done a couple of miles when the bike went into a violent, almost uncontrollable wriggle on a bend which resulted in us being thrown onto the verge, on the wrong side of the road, somewhat shaken, when the back wheel locked up!
When had got our breath back it did not take long to find the cause of the trouble. A loose back wheel which had caused the wheel to go out of alignment and the chain to jump the sprocket! That had also upset the brake control but it was soon put right and the outing was abandoned. There was some more sorting out to do. I was quite adament [sic] that wheel nuts do not loosen themselves and I had already decided that the bike would no longer be cleaned by a particular prisoner and the same person found that he never did get back driving, or for that matter on any other job that might have restored his trade pay. There were no direct accusations but I think everyone was aware just how close `Sir' had been to a very nasty prang. It was just one of the many problems to be sorted out where my charges were concerned and it was not unusual for the local village policeman to be hauling one of my `boys' back into the compound in the early hours of the morning having found him sneaking around the village. It was an open camp after all and my staff was not large enough for anything else. Neither would the administration consider giving me a guard patrol at night so all sorts of things were known to be going on after roll call and lights out and I was obliged to turn a blind eye to such goings on provided that nothing desperate occurred. It was impossible to stop the forces of nature and if some of the local lasses preferred the company of German prisoners then that was their affair.
Another problem concerning the motor-bike nearly deprived me of it when I received a letter from an H.P. company advising me that the machine was the subject of an H.P. agreement between them and a third party and as Dorothy had opened the letter at home it really caused a storm in a tea cup!. The bike was costing me about four months pay on an
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H.P. agreement with another company! In the end it was not difficult to sort out. I threatened to sue the dealer that I had got the bike from and told the first H.P. company that the bike theoretically belonged to another HP company and then let them sort it out so in the end the bike remained in my possession.
It very nearly got bent on another occasion when a group of about five of us who had motor-bikes, (including the medical officer), went out for an evening's tour of the local area which included a few stops for [underlined] light [/underlined] refreshment. Perhaps that was what caused a little excess speed as we swept into a bend, line astern, with the Doc. in the lead, but he couldn't quite make it round the bend. Off the road he went whilst the rest of us made our own arrangements to keep control and come to a stop as the Doc. disappeared up someone's garden path. When we had turned around and investigated there was the Doc. bike and all, extracting himself from a flower bed. There was no real damage done except for the loss of an area of skin from his knee and a hole in his best trousers.
The lady of the house had just come out to see what all the commotion was about and seeing a pranged person discharging a quantity of blood on her path asked if she should get a doctor and with great solemnity the Doc. said, “thank you madam, I am a Doctor but I would very much like a cup of tea", so we all got tea and patched him up althoughfor [sic] some reason we did not indulge in that sort of escapade again.
Our little camp matured and blossomed and I thought that it was enterprising of the inmates to have achieved some colour in the place when flower borders appeared. I put it down to the generosity of the locals until I had a telephone call from a retired Colonel living in a pleasant old Victorian house next to the compound. It didn't take long to find out from a visit and a couple of sherry's that as our our flower beds blossomed his had thinned out. Actually he was very reasonable about it for a man with a name like his. It was BASTARD, so I naturally pronounced it Bas-tard, to be put well and truly in my place when he insisted that it was BASTARD by name and BASTARD by nature; but his bark was worse than his bite.
It was all simply resolved by the return and replanting of most of his plants and by the allocation of a regular POW gardener to him for two half days a week. Couldn't be fairer than that! We benefited from the deal as there was no further need to raid his garden. We apparently just appropriated surplus plants from his greenhouse!
I had a few days leave after our first daughter was born only to find on return that there had been a near mutiny among the prisoners when someone had upset their comfortable routine.
I had made arrangements that whilst I was away the Duty Officer would include certain daily checks that would normally have been done only at week-ends when I was not there. It had all been resolved by the time I got back but it had resulted from the actions of one officer, himself an ex POW, deciding that they should have a taste of what he had been subjected to resulting in numerous restrictions, parades and roll calls. Nothing too drastic but quite unnecessary in the circumstances when they were safe in the knowledge that all they had to do was behave themselves and repatriation was certain. The net result was that they had refused to go to work until the status quo had been restored. Just to show them that they were not going to get it all their own way I imposed a fine of one week's pay for everyone although it really need not have happened. It subsequently turned out that the officer concerned had been in Stalag X111b and V11a with me and we continually bumped into each other at various units over the following years but that's another story.
One highlight was our camp concert. News had been filtering through of the closing down of the whole station so I thought we should do something special without thinking too much about what the implications were for me, like what, when, where? so after a tentative enquiry the repatriation authorities suggested that if it did happen then my lot might well be
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moved up the repatriation schedule rather than re-locate them. I thought it wise to leek [sic] this information to them to act as an incentive to good behaviour and it did not take long to get things going. I did very little except to beg, borrow and scrounge stuff for them, including instruments and did not even vet scripts or attend rehearsals. I left that to my two Warrant Officers. It would have been a useless exercise anyway.
When the show was finally presented, the CO. and other Senior officers who had been invited seemed to enjoy themselves anyway although I suspect that many of the jokes were at our expense. Nevertheless, they all laughed in the right places; as I did, even if we did not fully understand what was being said. It was an interesting experience and there were no repercussions although their [sic] was an air of excitement creeping into our daily lives as this particular element of the vanquished Africa Corp. considered the pending return to their homes, or what was left of them, and as for me. What next?
About that period I was in the Mess one lunch-time when a noisy visiting aircrew were attracting a great deal of attention in the foyer and my eyes lighted on one of them. None other than Macdonalds Flight Engineer of my Stirling days, 'Paddy' Martin, now in the rank of Fg.Off, but we only managed a few minutes chat before they were all boarding a crew coach with I suspect, a little more than just their lunch on board, going out to their aircraft which was a Mk.V. Stirling no less.
When we met up again umpteen years later he swore that we had never met on such an occasion; but then he also swore that he had never attended my wedding in 1944 until I produced a photograph to prove that he did. The last information that he could recall of me was that `Tommy' Gamble had got the "chop" early in 1945. Close--very close, but not quite.
One very interesting event took place just about that time. A Courts Martial came up. That of a case of alleged rape of a WAAF by an aircrew Warrant Officer, and I found myself sitting with the court as one of the officers under instruction. All part of the training scheme.
The WO had engaged the services of a K.C. barrister whilst the prosecution had produced a relatively inexperienced officer, not of the legal profession, who had just been detailed for the job and the case lasted two days during which time I studied the form very carefully as it customary for anyone to be detailed for such jobs; either for defence or prosecution and my only experience of court procedure was in my youth when I had appeared before the magistrates for some minor cycling offence and this was very different.
We were in fact treated to some of the finest court arguments that it has ever been my privilege to witness as the barrister ripped the evidence of the prosecution to shreds in the most expert fashion and the case was not proven. It made me feel very uncomfortable to think that one day I might be detailed for such a job and find myself in the same invidious position as that unfortunate prosecuting officer so at that point I made two resolutions. One, to keep my head down when they were looking for someone to make a fool of himself in a court room, and Two, to dissuade anyone from accepting my services should I be so detailed. Needless to say, after it was all wrapped up I think we were all rather pleased to put our medals back into storage.
I then became heavily involved in the arrangements for the Squadron's move to Lyneham and followed the normal procedure of working with the RTO (Military Rail Transport Office) to move the remainder of the personnel that were not flying or going by road but when I submitted my part of the planned move of the movement order to the Station Commander he was not impressed and instructed me to cancel them and arrange for a fleet of coaches so that the move could be accomplished, taking a third of the time and with the bonus that the Squadrons would be non-operational for only a very short period. It made sense and having cancelled the RTO arrangements they were no longer concerned so I duly hired the coaches through a Christchurch firm and all went well. Shortly after the aircraft departed the
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transport baggage train convoy followed and a silence descended as the airfield was closed to active flying.
In due course the bill arrived for several hundred pounds and I passed it through accounts for payment thinking no more about it until an irate Group Accountant Officer came on the phone demanding to know why we had not used the RTO for transport and who had arranged it all. My insides went into a turmoil of panic as I thought of the consequences and the effect that it would have on my already overstrained finances particularly after he said that it was all very irregular and that he would send the bill personally to me for payment. That's when I dug my heels in and pointed out in no uncertain terms that it was the Group Captain's (who was no longer in command); decision and I had only carried out his instructions then the line cooled a little when he said he ought to send it to him instead.
In hindsight I suspect that he felt that he had to make a fuss under the circumstances but I think I chewed my fingernails down to nothing whilst I waited for the outcome. Thankfully I never did hear any more.
Meanwhile there was the problem of the shrinking station. I had been absorbed into the station HQ for all manner of duties and then in a twinkling of an eye I was unit Adjutant with a Squadron Leader CO. With all that on my shoulders it was time to place the full responsibility for the POW's onto the WO's. The senior was placed in charge and as the camp medical centre had already been closed I re-opened it and transferred the prisoners to it from the dispersed site which was closed. As far as their conditions were concerned they were now positively luxurious with all that a complete medical centre had to offer including constant hot water and a superb kitchen. That got them off of my back whilst I tackled the deluge of responsibilities that came my way.
We soon compressed the unit administration into one HQ building as bit by bit activities closed down and brought their own problems and although certain posts were disestablished there were some that had to remain and most of them fell into my lap. Almost every day another crop of posting notices arrived and more people were on there way leaving behind various duties for which they had been responsible and the one quick way was to concentrate that responsibility into the hands of some-one who would discharge the final act to terminate the job. With only a few officers left and with myself being one of the nominated seven to stay I would go so far as to suggest that I got more than my share being the junior officer.
All non-public accounts were concentrated under one control; mine, and although the monies were at the bank by the time I had collected seven accounts to the value of several thousand pounds I was beginning to feel somewhat uneasy particularly as I was delving into the mysteries of double entry book-keeping. There was more burning the midnight oil to study to try and work it all out and I tried desperately to take it in my stride without admitting that I knew very little about it in the first place. Now what would a Secondary schoolboy trained as a carpenter and subsequently a Wireless Operator/Gunner know about such things? Fortunately there was only one active account and although they all had to be audited by the accountant officer monthly who certified the balances I must have done it correctly as there were never any problems.
It was inevitable that among the various hats I was wearing I became the M.T. officer but only as the nominal head of the section which was as usual ably run by an experienced senior NCO. But the Air Force had this thing that only a commissioned officer could take the can back for anything that went wrong and I barely had time to sign for everything that I had become responsible for as it was so most of it was done tounge [sic] in cheek and fingers crossed. I had already crossed that bridge when I was at Lyneham so it was nothing new.
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One of the jobs for early elimination was that of Entertainments Officer as it was not an on-going thing but then it occurred to me that one of the accounts that I was managing was the PSI fund which was particularly healthy. The PSI fund is the equivalent of a Regimental Fund which when all was finally wound up would have any balance transferred to Group accounts. But it could be used for financing other projects-provided that it was not drained and I could not think of anything better than the concentration of the best of our remaining local talents into a final farewell party. It didn't take long to find someone to mastermind the production side and I developed it into a two hour music hall programme with some very accomplished and enthusiastic people. The hall was laid out along the lines of a German beer cellar with barrels of free beer being dispensed by real German waiters (my POW's) in white aprons in the time honoured fashion with free food laid on as well.
Maybe I pushed my luck a little but as I was also in charge of the few remaining service policemen I issued instructions to keep it cool with further orders to the POW's to the effect that none of them were to fall down until they had completed their jobs as barmen, cleaners and general handymen. As far as I know none of them did but no doubt because I was so heavily involved I could not have seen to everything and towards the end I was not far from falling down myself. I do know that when I did my rounds in the morning everything was back in place and cleaned up. If there had been any bad behaviour or punch-ups there was no evidence of it and the cells were empty. All I had to do after that was pay the bills but that was one hell of a party'
As the unit continued to thin out even more business came my way including the dreaded inventories and by that time I had already received the outcome of the Lyneham enquiry so although I was a bit peeved about it I felt safe in the knowledge that having started up my POW inventory from scratch it was a model of correctness from the time I opened it up. Nevertheless I was more than peeved when I found that I was required to take over dozens of depleted inventories from departing people and transfer the stocks to one holding inventory.
A job like that can only be done with a mountain of vouchers and although I tried to get the hard pressed storemen to do it internally I found myself stuck with it but it involved a lot of work including stock taking before taking some of them over. I had learned my lesson!
Numerous problems arose of course. Like the occasion when a bicycle found in the village pond was brought in by the local policeman. Identified by it's [sic] serial number the books showed that it had already been written off so no more paperwork was required. It was consigned to the scrap dump which was yet another of my responsibilities.
Naturally there was a lot of useful scrap in the yard as well as the rubbish and it was my job to see that a contract was let to a local merchant whose outgoing loads had to be inspected and approved by me at the Guard room and the price agreed on a signed invoice which went to the accountant officer who subsequently collected the money. It was all done according to the regulations so it was with some surprise that on one of my tours of the airfield I investigated the contents of a large packing case in the area of the old bomb dump. I found that it contained a brand new, still sealed, Wright Cyclone aero engine with American markings that had obviously been left behind by the USAAF prior to `D' Day.
Perhaps it was too innocent but at that time it seemed that my biggest problem was how to get rid of it as it was definitely not on charge. It was a completely surplus item until enquiries through the supply people resolved it. You simply took such an item on charge by filling in the appropriate vouchers and once it's on the books that's it. You can then transfer it so Engine, Aero, Wright Cyclone, Mk. ?, serial no. ? Port, One, was dealt with and I thought that was the end of it. Within an hour of having it picked up and conveyed to stores the scrap contractor was knocking at my door. He claimed that he had `discovered' same, but had not said anything to me whilst he was looking for a home for it, which he had only just done.
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I have often wondered if [sic] would really have known-anything about it's departure as according to him he had found someone running a one man airline with a Dakota who could have done with a spare engine and £500 was the price he was going to put to me but it was too late. (and hard luck Freddie Laker!). I certainly could have made use of that sort of money at that time and I might have been tempted but as the RAF was still using Dakota's it no doubt found it's way into one of them at a later date. There was never such another lucrative opportunity but there was no time to cry over spilt milk either. I was up to my ears in stores vouchers and posting notices as I had become the Personnel Officer again as the unit got smaller by the day and we got nearer our dead-line date. Then the time came when the POW's were warned to be ready.
When the day finally came there was no ceremony. All the hand shaking had been done before they were paraded. There was just a quick salute and "goodbye and good luck". That was that. Some of them had been receiving mail via the Red Cross and they had had access to UK newspapers so they knew what to expect. Those who had lost touch with family for various reasons did not have a lot to celebrate knowing that they were going back to a land that had been ravaged by a war that had destroyed so much. I knew what it was like; I had seen it, so there was no cheering and I was glad to see the back of them. As they marched off there was one thought that struck me that the WO's had not mentioned; the radio that I had been permitted to purchase on their behalf had not been handed back and I had to account for it. It was "Halt, about turn" and it didn't take long to find it when I told them that it had to be returned, even if they missed their train. One of them had it under his greatcoat!!!
It didn't take long to clear up the paper work after they had left then it was nose to the grindstone again as the next major job had to be attended to. That was the disposal of all non-public assets, mainly PSI funded, that had already been collected and an inventory drawn up which I then had to dispose of by public auction for which I engaged a firm of auctioneers. In all the book value was just over a thousand pounds and shortly before the sale which had been advertised I had a visit from a retired Air Commodore representing the Bournmouth [sic] Branch of the Royal Air Force Association who was prepared to make a cash offer for the whole lot at half the book value. I managed to negotiate the addition of the auctioneers fee if it was acceptable. It seemed a good deal to me but when I put the idea to the Group Accountant he was horrified. Oh dear no! It was most irregular and the regulations stated quite plainly that it had to go to auction so despite considerable pleading and argument he had the final word. Whilst my sympathies were with the Air Commodore and the RAFA there was nothing I could do about except apologise to him and let the sale go ahead.
I did not attend the auction and was quite happy to leave it in the capable hands of the experts but subsequently when I got the proceeds, less commission and handling fees it did not amount to much more than £100 for the lot! I was hot foot down to their offices for explanation but it was all above board although the receipts showed that most items had been knocked down at quite ridiculously low prices but I did find out that a certain Air Commodore had been in attendance and he and his cronies had done most of the bidding. As far as I was concerned the RAFA had got the stuff much cheaper than they would have done by private sale although I had a sneaking feeling that a certain Group Accountant was not going to be very happy so I obtained a complete breakdown of the sale prices and the purchasers before I left their office. Just as well. When the Group Accountant did spot it it really did 'hit the fan'. The line was red hot as we discussed the pro's and cons and it was perhaps my suggestion that in hindsight we should have accepted the cash offer in the first place. That brought forth accusations of collusion and conspiracy. That did it. I was on a short fuse anyway flogging my guts out and with more than my fair share of responsibility and there he was, up in his ivory tower counting paper money so I let him have facts and figures, not forgetting to point out that I was after all a lowly GD(General Duties) Flying Officer doing my best in a job that
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I had received absolutely no training for. Then he simmered down, huffing and puffing, "it's still all very irregular". I began to get somewhat fed up with Admin duties that was for sure but had no option but to "press on".
Fortunately the unit accountant had been the Accountant Officer at Chedburgh when I was there in 1943 and only dealt with the day to day financial matters at Holmsley but knew enough of our experiences there at the time was very sympathetic and supportive and assured me that the Group A.O. was only making waves in case anything went seriously wrong and he got the blame for it so I learned a few more lessons about human nature. He was very helpful in many ways.
On one occasion he arrived at the office from Lyndhurst on his scooter and related the story of how he had just seen a pig clouted by a car down the road and how it had finished up head first in a ditch looking very dead. The driver had not stopped and obviously would not be reporting it as the bye-laws of the New Forest gave right of way to animals. But `headfirst' sounded good to me. I don't know if it was the 'creegie' still in me or just the thought of all that good meat going to waste but in no time at all I had a two ton truck and two kitchen hands with carving knives on board scorching down the road where we spotted the animal, still headfirst and no longer bleeding. Many people must have passed it and there no doubt in my mind that if it was left a great deal of fresh meat would go to waste even if the owner of the animal were to be found within the next few hours so we cruised pat [sic] the corpse and cruised back again keeping a good look-out in both directions. As we came up to it there was nothing in sight arid within a matter of seconds it was on board and we were off. It certainly supplemented our rations for a few days and I had no qualms about my action which were quite illegal and would have caused a few embarrassing headlines if the law had been tested.
Fortunately for me it never was.
The unit finally dwindled to three officers and a handful of airmen and we all finished up in a large house that had been the CO's official residence. I claimed an enormous room, en-suite, as I was the only one living in so I had a little luxury that compensated to a degree for the enormous amount of paperwork that was involved. Even moving has it's problems like decommissioning this that and the other, re-arranging the staff, and getting phones transferred as we no longer needed a switchboard. I was still doing about 16 hours a day to keep on top of the work so that I could have my week-ends free to get through to Worthing when a bombshell arrived in the form of a posting notice detaching me to Hereford, on an [underlined] Admin course!!!! [/underlined]
At the time I thought that perhaps my career was being advanced by that development so I didn't make a fuss although the duration of the course was three weeks. I [sic] would mean nearly a month without visiting home as it was too far on the bike and too expensive by train. My fellow officers thought it would do me good to take the course so I was off.
Perhaps I would have benefited from it if it had not been a course specifically designed for young aircrew officers to teach them the inner workings of the Air Force although at first I decided to go along with it. Within a few days I came to the conclusion that it was not for the likes of me who was actually doing such work. It seemed more of a disciplinary course to occupy idle hands and mine had been far from idle for a long time. I became more and more resentful as the days went by as I was shown how to use a rifle and a pistol and a Sten gun and engage in all manner of field craft including escape and evasion techniques which involved crawling around in long wet grass which at one point I strongly objected to only to be told that I might find the experience useful one day! What does one say to that? Matey, I've done it, and a fat lot of good it was when in the end I was surrounded and had a Schmeisser stuck up my nose. It didn't cut any ice. Then there was all the drill and parade procedures which were not entirely new to me either although I can understand the needs of some who for some reason didn't know one end of a rifle from the other and were
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somewhat unwilling to pull triggers and throw grenades. I wondered what they had been doing in their very limited careers!
The classroom work was mainly forms, forms and more forms and their use therof [sic] as well as stores procedures and of other things like how to write letters, command structure and a lot of other stuff that was old hat. By the end of the first week I was fuming I was not learning anything new and there was a lot of work piling up at Holmsley just waiting for me to deal with. Only the most essential would be dealt with by the others and I could visualise many hours of binding graft before I was likely to have broken the back of it.
I must confess that my attitude toward the course as we started the second week was not going unnoticed by the course commander who quite naturally took me aside to point out the error of my ways. That is when the real reason for the course was confirmed. Not only was it intended for surplus aircrew officers to find something for them to do but it definitely was a disciplinary course as well so I was being assessed accordingly--------and I was not doing very well! It seemed that we had gone back in time to "Yours is not to reason why etc" and I had had enough of that as an airman. For a start I wondered why I had been sent on such a course anyway so I promptly made a request to phone my parent Group HQ `P' Staff which brought forth howls of indignant protest. Despite the fact that I was normally in touch with the chap on an almost daily basis I was told in no uncertain terms that such lowly types as myself were not allowed to communicate direct with the higher echelons. It was only the prerogative of senior officers to the `top brass' and that is what I was on the course to learn about. As far as I was concerned it was utter nonsense and I had serious doubts regarding the background experience of this Flight Lieutenant of the A & SD (Admin & Special Duties) Branch who seemed unaware that the `top brass' were only people like ourselves holding staff appointments. Not only that, a lot of them were like myself of the GD (General Duties-Flying) Branch. Expected to do anything that was thrown at them------including flying!
Suitably chastised I was dismissed with threats of extra orderly officer duties and the inclusion of some appropriate remarks on my course and confidential report so I simmered down a bit as I waited for an opportunity to use his phone whilst he was out of his office a few days later. There all hell let loose when he suddenly burst in, very angry and rightfully indignant at the audacity etc, etc, at performing, in his eyes, an almost criminal act. Not that I was unduly worried as by that time I had already done what I set out to do and the threats went over my head.
Within four hours a signal arrived from Transport Command HQ. recalling me to my unit urgently and naturally I was called to his office immediately to have the signal waived under my nose. "Explain this!!!! So I did, in detail that he had not been prepared to listen to previously and I think he understood my action even if he could not approve of the manner in which I had dealt with it. As far as I was concerned I was off the damn silly course and I was on my way.
As soon as I returned to base I plunged into a mountain of paper work and after two days and nights of frenzied activity I came out on top ready for a long week-end at home.
During that burst of activity there was an unannounced staff visit from Group HQ and all the visitors could find was one junior officer slaving away, whilst the others were out hunting, shooting and fishing around the area and that put the cat among the pigeons. That and my absence for nearly two weeks seemed to solve the problem of the numerous delays that occurred in the closing down procedure. Hence a snap visit! And although I could only explain the absence of the others by saying they were on tours of inspection, when they did turn up there was a lot of muttering behind closed doors and I was only too happy to bury myself in paper again.
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A few more weeks went by until at last we were run right down to a C & M (Care & Maintenance) party. At last I had got my head above water and I could relax a little-----but not for long.
A telephone call from Group, followed by a posting notice gave me advance warning of my posting to Oakington in Cambridgeshire for --------Admin duties, to report in a few days time, but as far as I was concerned, not before I had another long week-end at home. After just thirty months I was a bit of a stranger at home, especially to the baby but I felt that something had to be sacrificed if there was any chance that I could make a career out of the Air Force. At least, I thought, Oakington is a well established station so I should slip into the same sort of job that I had done at Lyneham without any hassle. I had had enough challenges for a while-------but I had overlooked the fact that so had Lyneham been well established and what a mess that had been in. There was more to come.
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[underlined] CHAPTER THREE [/underlined]
The journey up to Oakington was nearly a disaster. After a few days at home I set off on the motor bike on a cold and frosty morning, Loaded to the hilt, wearing full flying kit over my uniform and greatcoat which included a bright yellow immersion suit and flying boots, helmet, goggles and gloves, looking like something from outer space but warm and well protected I had just cleared the London area when the front of a blizzard caught up with me and my speed was drastically reduced to a few miles an hour with my feet stuck out like out-riggers to prevent me sliding all over the place and in those conditions I pressed on until I got to Baldock.
By that time there was between three and four inches of virgin snow covering everything and every sensible traveller had got off of the road. There was very little other traffic so I ventured down the hill very slowly with my aching legs still propping up the bike and found myself gaining on the only other vehicle in sight which was a fairly high standing two ton truck, and I was desperately trying to slow down when suddenly the truck driver braked and slithered along fishtailing to a stop. I knew that my brakes were not going to stop me as I slid gently towards the back-end of the truck and when it quite obvious that the tailboard hinges were going to spread my face I took the only option open to me. I flipped the bike on it's side and went underneath. It was just as well the truck had a good ground clearance as I went right underneath the back axle and came out between the front and rear wheels with my tail in the gutter. The driver had obviously been completely unaware of the incident as within seconds of my coming to rest he started to move off, with my front wheel right underneath his rear wheel so I reached out and pushed on the truck wheel and the bike and I slid out just enough to avoid serious damage to the bike. The truck wheel just squashed over the front number plate and mudguard and then he was gone before I could get my breath back. There was not another vehicle in sight and the only other person around was an elderly lady, who might well have been the cause of the drivers urgent braking; who, observing the situation, was concerned enough to ask if I had had an accident!! What she thought I was doing there, laying in the gutter with a motor-bike I don't know but I think that I said something suitably facetious as she tottered off and I started to sort myself out.
I was very glad that I was wearing so much gear rather than having tried to pack it. I was not even bruised and apart from a slightly bent number plate and tip of the mudguard there was no other damage to the bike but it took a while before I recovered sufficiently to get going again getting more than a little concerned as it had started to snow quite heavily. However, with traffic clear roads I was able to make progress and eventually outran the weather front, coming out completely in the clear and completing the last ten miles completely free of snow. Oh, blessed relief…..until I ran out of petrol just in sight of the camp!! I had overlooked the fact that I had been using it up at a much higher rate than normal doing so many miles in low gears. Fortunately an Air Ministry Works Dept truck came along and with the aid of a length of rope I was gently towed the rest of the way. After an eight hour journey I had at made it to Oakington and I was only too glad to book into the Mess and leave the arrival formalities until the following day. A bath, a change of clothes and a meal and early to bed made all the difference.
I soon found that the job was to be the same as Lyneham and I was looking forward to free-wheeling for a while until I met the C.O. I could hardly believe my ears after the introduction. "Ah" he said, "you are the very man I have been waiting far. My Central Registry and internal communications are in a bit of a mess and I'm told that you the man to fix things. The last chap couldn't sort things out and I've got rid of him so off you go and get stuck in". Oh no........not again!
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The only consolation was that my previous efforts seem to have been recognised and that maybe, just maybe, I might be able to find a career in the Secretarial Branch ultimately as I always seemed to be sorting out jobs that Secretarial types had made a cock-up of; so off I went and "got stuck in". There was no-one to take over from so once again I started from scratch: At least there was not the panic to get things squared up and the routine work went smoothly enough whilst I conducted a searching enquiry into the main problem that I had been instructed to sort out.
At that time my own personal problems needed sorting out as well. Now that I was a family man the household at Worthing was getting a bit crowded particularly since Dorothy's brother-in-law had at last been de-mobbed after being abroad with the 8th Army for four years and there was family expected in that direction. I was frantically looking around for suitable accommodation and although official quarters for married personnel was beginning to come back on the scene the points system that determined one's entitlement suggested that it was going to be a long time before I qualified for one. I was just one of millions of people who were desperately trying to re-settle and in need of accommodation. The story was invariably the same when one enquired. "Sorry, no children" and it all added to the frustration.
Eventually I did find a place just to the North of Cambridge on the Huntingdon road and plans were made although I must confess that I did not tell Dorothy the exact arrangement of the accommodation. The kitchen was in the basement. The living room was on the ground floor. The bathroom was on the second floor and the bedroom on the third floor! I didn't dare, but I hired a car and drove down to Worthing in a clear gap in the weather pattern that the Met. Man assured me would last a couple of days.
Apart from the occasional sortie in the Flight pick-up van when I had been at Newmarket two years previously I had never taken a car on the public highway before but I don't think that I gave it a second thought. The family needed something picked up from near Leighton Buzzard `on the way' which created a fair sized `dog-leg' but did give me a few more miles to come to terms with my lack of experience, and it avoided London so somehow I made it to Worthing.
Travelling by car those days was generally a fairly slow business as there were few major roads that allowed high speed cruising and one just plodded on but there was no time to mess about as we loaded up the car the following morning and off we went, having arranged that the pram, fully loaded, was to follow by rail. There were tears on our departure and I think that perhaps the most ironic thing was the remark from my sister-in-law that there was no need to worry as "Alan was a good driver" and that we would be OK. I don't know what gave her that impression. Little did they know, but I had managed 200 miles without any problem......so what was another 140! The journey was not uneventful! That would have been too much to ask for.
The hire car had been a reluctant starter at the very outset but we had got as far as Kingston when in the dip under the railway by the station the engine packed up and so did the battery. Not the best place to fizzle out but eventually we were pulled clear and towed to a garage a little further up where I purchased a new battery and we were an our way again. The fact that the cost of the battery had to come off the hire fee did not please the hire firm when the car was returned but a compromise was eventually reached. The main thing was that we had taken up residence in a place of our own for the very first time and much to my surprise Dorothy accepted the arrangement of the flat although we soon made alternative plans to avoid going right to the top of the house to a cold bedroom as I had already installed a convertible settee in the living room. That was soon put to use.
The met. Man's forecast was absolutely spot on. The day after we arrived the weather that had been expected hit us with a vengeance when about a foot of snow fell. The basement back door was unusable with a drift of snow filling the door well right to the top and massive
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drifts along the road due to cross winds were up to six feet-high. Cars were already stuck. It was impossible to get the bike out from the bottom of the garden and a colleague who lived in the same building joined me in walking to camp across country. It was a long way and our situation was not improved when we came to the edge of the airfield and in making a direct approach to a gate he disappeared through the snow cover up to his neck in a ditch but we made it in the end. I'm glad it was him in the lead as he was nearly a foot taller than me. I would have completely disappeared!
We struggled back home in the late afternoon as life on the station virtually came to a standstill. There was no flying and with more snow forecast the whole airfield was blanketed although an energetic but useless snow clearing operation was initiated which at least kept us warm. There was a slight spell of thawing when some areas of the road went a bit slushy but then a `deep freeze' hit the whole area and everything was locked up solid. People got to and from work the best way they could. The main Cambridge to Huntingdon road was impassable due to buried frozen in vehicles. The C.O. issued an order of the day allowing any type of clothing to be worn to cope with the extreme weather and we just battled on from day to day. At home of course there was no central heating but fires just had to be kept going on the fuel supplies I had stocked up although it was difficult to get at and it was supplemented with anything else that was to hand but it thawed and froze alternatively for weeks before a general thaw finally set in and vehicles could be released from their icy cocoons, many totally ruined. The A604 (now the A14) was still difficult to negotiate through ridges and ruts of ice well into March.
Meanwhile I had had all the time I needed to complete my survey and draw up my plans accordingly. I placed a brief outline of my proposals before the C.O. and although he gave me cart-blanche to get on with an added word of warning such as "cock it up and you will follow the last chap" so I worked my way right through the plan once more to look for problems before drafting the final order. Meanwhile, I had collected two more responsibilities. The Post Office as Postmaster and that of Mess Secretary which meant that more of my precious time would be used up but the day came when the plan that I had circulated to all users was put into effect and on that day there was absolutely no problem with it's introduction. I had expected some hick-ups but it all worked like a charm.
I decentralised the Registry to cut down the appalling wasteful duplication of just about everything that was going in and out. That in itself was causing delays and was a self generated work load. New index cards and registers were brought into use and the system updated to ensure that files were booked back in as well as out! As daft as it may seem that had not been the case so files could wander around between people and departments and the Registry had no knowledge of the whereabouts of a file if it was not in it's cabinet. I have often wondered what 'mastermind' had set all that up in the first place as it certainly did not conform to the Manual of Office Administration. However, new index cards and registers were brought into use and when it got under way the staff had no difficulty in handling the new system so within days a few sub-registry's became redundant and number of active filing cabinets was reduced from twenty to four, all cross referenced to the old registry. The bumbling circulation of paper was at last reduced to manageable proportions. The C.O. spent less time than he had done previously handling his daily correspondence and when I found that too many people were now sitting around doing little more than making tea a quick establishment review reduced the number of Registry clerks from ten to four. It made my life a little easier too as long as I didn't collect too many other jobs on the strength of my success.
I was certain by this time that it could only do me good as far as my confidential report was concerned. I had already applied for and been granted two extentions [sic] of service that had taken me beyond my normal discharge date and that's, as far as I was concerned, was what it was all about if I was going to be noticed. Any ambitions that I had at that time were
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mainly concerned with holding on to a relatively well paid job as a lot of my school chums were not finding 'civvy street' all that easy. I had no other qualifications other that of cabinet maker/polisher, [underlined] lapsed, [/underlined] and wireless operator, almost lapsed, so I just hung on to what I had got.
Like a good many of my age group and background, politics were not my strong point but it was not long before there was an awareness. Some very odd things were happening. The first post-war elections had shaken a lot of people when our remarkable war-time leader's party had been rejected for a different administration with an overwhelming majority. It did not make sense to me but the daily routine had to go just the same although some very subtle changes were taking place. Naturally I was shielded from a lot of it by being in the Armed Forces but it was difficult not to notice what was going an as the main effort was being channelled into `Nationalisation'! That meant roads, rail, steel coal, electricity, road transport, health care and a lot more that was in the pipeline. It was one of the great bloodless revolutions of the age. It was of course jobs for the `boys', the party members, who were often elevated to manage their previous employers businesses for the benefit of the state. History will show whether it worked or not but a lot of new ideas were filtering into the Forces.
One of those was the formation of a Station Committee made up representatives of all ranks from all departments, elected by ballot and not by appointment, which was to sit weekly to air grievances, discuss working arrangements and conditions and in fact anything other than pay, appointments and promotion. The unit Commander chaired the committee but thank God he had the power of veto and most commanders voiced their indignation at having their time wasted with such nonsense. Like mine did when he was on his way to such a meeting at which I was to take the minutes. "Come on Gamble; lets get along to this bloody silly union meeting". What a funny way to run a military establishment. It was a complete turnaround from the normal well established command structure and had all the ingredients to undermine discipline. It did little more than waste time but I had the distinct feeling that the tail was beginning to wag the dog!
I ran into a union problem sooner than I expected when we had two steward posts in the Mess disestablished. The disestablishment notice came straight out of the blue and the Mess Manager and I agreed that we would could [sic] do without the two least useful members of the staff who were duly served notice. Immediately there was a great deal of protest about being contrary to trades union practice etc, and that their representatives would be taking up the policy of disestablishing jobs without union consultation as well as giving notice to people to terminate their employment without the same consultation.
I turned a blind eye to it all but within a few hours I had a trade union rep. From Cambridge breathing heavily in my ear and telling me that I couldn't do it. That was red rag to a bull so I dismissed him with a flea in his ear but it was not over. A few hours later a chap from an Air Ministry department for civil relations or something was on the phone telling me that I couldn't do it, and quoted chapter and verse from the newly drawn up trade union rule book so I had no choice but to bow to that although I insisted that I had it in writing. Meanwhile the two men were re-instated as we were forced to apply the last in first out rule. As far as I was concerned it still was not over. Two could play that game.
I got hold of a copy of the union rule book and studied it at great length with the Mess Manager before we took our next step. Within a few days two people got their cards by reason of incompetence. (They had had plenty of verbal warnings over a period of time, and a written one as soon as they had been re-employed)......and immediately afterwards the two men that we wanted to keep were re-instated. Of course, there were immediate screams of protest from the union officials so I invited them to a face to face confrontation with both the Mess Manager and myself where they used every argument they could accusing us of `collusion',
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`unfair treatment' and `victimisation', but what they couldn't say was that it was illegal. It was right out of their own rule book but I was never entirely comfortable about the incident but I was damned if I was going to be told who and who not I could employ in certain circumstances. I quickly briefed the C.O. in case of repercussions but nothing further came of it.
It was about that time another incredibly wasteful practice came to light more or less by accident.
We were continually being exhorted to use less stationary and in particular duplicating paper and I had already done quite a lot to reduce the consumption by the registry arrangements. I had followed it up by reducing the supply to sub units and at the same time allocating more to the central registry for printing on behalf of the sub units although every job had to be vetted by my chief clerk. That had helped but we were still going through our allocation rather quickly and as H.M. Stationary Office were not always prepared to meet supplementary demands WE had to do something about it. WE equals ME in those circumstances as it fell into my lap once more as unit commanders complained to the Senior Admin Officer that they were being starved of certain stationary items. It was just about that time that Bourne, on the Cambridge to St.Neots road, for-which we were the parent unit, was in the late stages of closing down so I went over to see if they had anything in the stationary line that would be of any use to us. What I found was an Alladins cave as the stationary store was opened for me!.
There was an assortment of exotic stuff like the pale blue embossed pre-war paper for the exclusive use of unit commanders. Beautifully bound ledgers, some indexed. Note books, log books and all kinds of stuff that must have accumulated over a long period. It was stuff that if you were to order any of it in the present conditions you would be very lucky to have got any of it without putting up a special case. I was bugg eyed and it did not take long to transfer that lot to a three tonner and convey it to Oakington. Our stationary cupboard had to be re-arranged with the assistance of most of my staff and re-stocked until it was virtually bulging at the seams... ...and I held the key and a newly drawn up stock book!!
I think that I know how it was all accumulated. The same half yearly demand must have gone in as regular as clockwork irrespective of stocks but times were changing and so were the figures that showed that the Air Force was using even more paper per flying hour than ever before but no-one could say Oakington was not doing it's bit although there were still some items that we were short of so I phoned H.M. Stationary Office and did a deal. I don't think such a thing had ever happened before. There was a lot of huffing and puffing and expressions of "highly irregular" but they went along with it. We sent them a large packing case of what I considered was surplus to our requirements in exchange for a supplementary issue of items we were in urgent need of and everyone was happy but I just wondered how often that sort of wastefulness had been repeated by the hundreds of other units up and down the country during the war when every commodity was so precious to us and had often cost lives to import the raw materials. It was mind boggling.
Bit by bit life became a little more regulated although it was never without it's share of excitement and on occasions I even managed to tour around various other parts of the station including the airfield and the aircraft; Dakota's no less! It was not long after the snow and ice cleared and things started to warm up that the unsettled conditions usually associated with the end of April brought some savage weather including the most violent thunderstorms that I have only ever seen on one other occasion since.
In the late morning the sky darkened by degrees until it became as black as night and the wind increased by the minute to the point where it started to howl with the most savage gusts.....and then the rain came! It slashed and swirled and in no time all the roads were like rivers as the drains overloaded and I stood in my office window at the front of the HQ
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building thinking how lucky I was that I was not out in it. Anyone with any sense had taken cover and as I contemplated the violence of the storm I was astonished to see the striped pole barrier in front of the Guard Room suddenly whip into the vertical, snap off like a matchstick and disappear over the building. It occurred to me that that would be a job I would have to see to when the storm abated when the little Austin Seven which was parked outside and had been rocking about as each gust hit it; suddenly flipped on it's side. Oh well, I thought that can wait too.......then the phone rang.
Above a great deal of noise on the line an almost hysterical WAAF in the Post Office blurted out "please come at once sir, the roof has blown off”. My first reaction was "S..." but I had no choice so out I went, splashing my way through about four inches of water and was soaked in a matter of seconds. The Post Office looked a sorry sight minus it's roof which lay, completely wrecked, not far away but the poor girls were more concerned with the fact that as they had just set up the counter for business the contents of their trays had been sucked up, following the roof, and had been deposited far and wide. I don't remember having any lunch that day.
The clerks gathered up all the rest of their Post Office stocks and set up a temporary post room in the WAAF quarters and then I locked the place up! That was a laugh. I felt that I had to do that as only a week before I had had new mortice locks fitted and the safe securely embedded in brickwork. All that and now the place was roofless!
Although the clerks had set up the post room just inside the WAAF quarters they initially used the laundry room for sorting out their stock. A few telephone calls got some search parties organised as well as a broadcast on the PA system and before long some very soggy money and postal orders started coming in. It was rinsed, dried and ironed much to the amusement of all concerned but the amazing thing was that when I called off the search there was only one ten shilling (50p) postal order missing. When the inspectors arrived from Cambridge GPO (General Post Office) towards the end of the day they were agreeably surprised that that was all they had to write off after seeing the state of the Post Office. We were all somewhat relieved at that. I made may report to the C.O. later and followed up with a load of repair work including the barrier pole in front of the Guard Room.
I thought that was enough for one day until I got home. Dorothy had had her share as well. The downpour had filled up a balcony outside a full length window of one of the other flats and she had spent a lot of time baling out the balcony to stop the flow into the room whilst the storm was raging. We were both very relieved when that day was over.
Eventually things settled down as the year wore on and we experienced a most beautiful summer. Life in Cambridge with it's wonderful buildings and activities made life very interesting. Even the baby indulged us by winning first prize in a baby competition but as far as the job was concerned with most of the problems ironed out it was almost boring, but a great opportunity to develope [sic] family life to the full. Again it was too good to last!
I was asked to report to Transport Command HQ at Teddington, Middlesex for a job I [sic] interview and I was sure that the business was opening up for me. Out of the four candidates for the job I was offered it and I accepted. It was in the "P" Staff (Personnel) dept of the HQ so before long I was wrapping up and making the necessary arrangements to move the family. Although Teddington was not too far away Dorothy felt that she did not want to be on her own and preferred to go back to Worthing with her parents; [underlined] particularly as we had just found out that there was another addition to the family on the way! [/underlined] In hindsight it was a pity that we gave up the flat. I'm sure that we could have coped but Teddington was also convenient for Worthing but we settled for that.
The C.O. gave me the opportunity of nominating a suitable relief so a friend who was the Operation Wing Adjutant was acceptable and so it was goodbye Oakington. Here we go again!
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One or more pages is missing, apparently pages 24 – 86
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EXTRACT FROM
[underlined] NIL DESPERANUM…… [/underlined] OR
IF YOU CAN’T TAKE A JOKE ………
[underlined] BY [/underlined]
[underlined] A. GAMBLE [/underlined]
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knock. Pay awards had for some time been based on a flat rate rather than a percentage increase and the differential between ranks had closed up considerably. I now found that a Warrant Officer aircrew was in fact was in fact better off than a Flight Lieutenant!, which did not make a lot of sense. My situation was not improved by the Wolsley's rather extravagant use of oil and petrol and it eventually ran a big-end on the A5 just North of Birmingham on the way home one week-end so I didn't make it. Fortunately I had relatives at West Bromwich so I was able to stay with them until I could pick the car up in sufficient time to get back Sunday evening. That made another nasty hole in the accounts!.
That little episode put paid to a few week-ends at home. There was no-one at that time living anywhere around or on route that I could share with so I was obliged to stay in the mess with others in a similar state, although we often filled up a car and toured into Wales for a day to fill in the time.
A friend kindly offered me the use of his motor bike to go home one week-end and although it was only a clapped out 250cc side valve BSA I thought it was worth a try. That was a laugh and a half.
I dressed up in a selection of flying gear that I had with me and I was off into the wide blue yonder. I mounted the thing and kicked it into life and the first thing that was obviously wrong was the throttle which had a mind of it's own. I was not the sort of chap who could tolerate sloppy machinery so a quick investigation soon found that the top of the carburettor needed screwing back on and with a few other adjustments I set off. Before I had got to the main gate I was obliged to totter down to the MT yard to have the tyres inflated by as much as 20lbs both front and rear and then I was under way. Even then I was not feeling too happy about the machine. There were unpleasant noises from the engine and the first few bends caused the most peculiar sensations so another pit stop to tighten the head and forks dampers was taken. They had been very very loose and being forks with dampers gives some indication of it's great age. I was still feeling my way with it when I had to put the brakes on rather briskly when the lights went against me in Wellington and the back wheel locked up throwing me into
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gutter. Another pit stop to adjust primary and main chains and brake linkage was necessary before I could head East again. I very nearly threw my hand in then but surprisingly I found myself jogging along quite comfortably at between 45 and 50 but with still an ear tuned to the knocking from the engine until a convenient garage came in sight and it seemed an appropriate time to stop as there were signs of overheating. This is a bit of an understatement as she was almost red hot 'pinging' with excess heat. Whilst it was cooling down I dipped the oil tank and couldn't find a level so it took nearly two pints to top it up, then it was cool enough to change the spark plug and reset the points before the final test. I had so far done about 60 miles in three hours and it was decision time as I gingerly started up and carefully took off once more.
After a few more miles all was well so I decided to go for broke and head for home at speeds between 50 and 60 and finally arrived at Marham some 7 hours after departure much to the surprise of the rest of the family.
The return journey on Sunday took less than 4 hours so at breakfast on Monday morning I was able to tell the owner of the bike that all was well and I hope he didn’t mind that I had found it necessary to make a few adjustments which he was quite happy about.
He did not seem quite so happy later on that evening when he came into the bar with plasters on his face and a bandage on his hand. Before I could [inserted] say [/inserted] anything he hurled at me "you and your bloody adjustments", but laughed as he said it before telling that me what it was all about. Apparently, being so used to the machine that he had allowed to get so sloppy and gutless he had attempted to drive off in his usual way but it reared up, tore across a rose bed and threw him in another one!. Nevertheless, he was very impressed with the way it performed when he had got used to it so when the word got around I finished up with a few more machines to tinker with to keep me occupied.
The fastest I ever did that journey one way was 30 minutes. In a Canberra!. I was being 'dined out' at Marham and the aircraft was laid on for me one Friday afternoon. The pilot was the co-pilot of my last 90 Squadron crew and he showed Shawbury a few thing…and me. It was the: first time I had
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ever done a 'rotation' take-off although I had seen one or two demonstrated....I think I left my stomach on the runway when shortly after the kick up the backside by the tremendous acceleration he pulled it up almost vertical like a rocket and kept going until we got to around 10,000ft before levelling out and setting course for Marham. I was very impressed with that for an old bomber man who was more used to 500ft a minute climb hanging on the props with everything shaking and thundering. The return journey was done on the Monday morning a little more gently in an Oxford.
By that time a second course was running and another friend who had been an instructor on the Marham training Squadron had joined the course on transfer. He lived at Feltwell and was prepared to divert through Marham for a share of the running costs so until the end of the course that eased the burden a bit but as the course was nearing it's end like everyone else I was concerned to know about my posting. There was nothing notified so I was still hoping for a return to Marham but when the course results were made known after the final exams I was not pleased. Never mind about Marham...what what about Egypt?.
There was no point in making a fuss, one just had to accept those things so most of my embarkation leave was taken up settling the family back in Worthing as there was no way that I would be getting quarters out there in the 61 days after my effective posting to the Middle East and they would be obliged to move after that anyway.
I sailed on the RAF troopship Empire Ken out of Southampton in the Summer of 1954 and there were times that I wished I had taken up one of the jobs that I had been offered in Shell distribution.
I was the only one that had got an overseas posting and apparently it was almost unheard of. Overseas units usually wanted controllers with a bit of experience behind them but there I was, posted to the main terminal for the Canal Zone; Fayed. The only consolation was that it would be more or less in the centre of things and not stuck half way up a Wadi.
I soon found my sea legs and how to cope with bar prices which in today's money was less than 5p a double but it was the heat that took a lot of handling. The ship had canvas ducting to
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direct air down to the lower troop decks but it was ghastly even then and the troops, including Waafs used to have to come up on deck in shifts for a breather but it was one of those situations that could only be enjoyed for that period of time. With temperatures well over 100deg. the minute you went down below you started oozing again and just had to wait for the next turn on deck. The ship had never been built for that sort of climate anyway otherwise it might have had a more sophisticated ventilation system. The Empire Ken was a German ship built in the Blomm and Voss yards at Hamburg which we had taken as part of the war reparations and was more suited to the Baltic or the North Sea. I had had enough of it by the time the journey was finished anyway. We stopped at Algiers and subsequently arrived at Port Said to exchange sweaty discomfort for smelly and sweaty discomfort. It took a bit of getting used to. After disembarkation and sorting out of paperwork I was on my way by bus down the canal road wondering if I would ever get used to it with persperation [sic] pouring off me from top to bottom and to experience the further delights of the dust, flies, heat and smells of the Land of the Pharoes [sic] . Two minutes of that and I was quite willing to let them have it back!. At last I understood why my father used to get so incenced [sic] about flies. He had done it all both in India and Egypt many years before. My main concern was that I was entering a new phase of my career with a difference; as a Branch Officer, ie, Air Traffic Control, and no longer General Duties(Aircrew) and a dogsbody for a multitude of other jobs. It had been my experience that it had always been very difficult to detail such Branch Officers for extra duties, especially when they were so often shift workers and there were many units that maintained a 24 hour Air Traffic Control service. Fayed was one of them!.
Some of the most serious of local troubles in the Canal Zone had simmered down a bit and it was a lot safer than it had been a year earlier with the political unrest, mainly caused by the fact that there were elements in Egypt that wanted us out and Egypt for the Egyptions [sic] . They were talking, we were talking with an eye on the security of our oil supplies and trade routes through the Suez Canal. It was obvious that we were not going to give that up without favourable agreements after what it
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had cost us during the war in terms of blood sweat and tears.
So there I was. Arrival one day and to work the next although it was three weeks before I went on a solo watch after 'on the job training'; testing and certification. It was relatively simple and so was the set up. It was all very crude and temporary and had not changed a lot since the war but surprisingly enough it all worked efficiently albeit with the need for considerable local knowledge which was to be expected.
Fayed was the terminal for the Canal Zone with fighter airfields and other units to the North and the South and operated 24 hours a day with four short range Transport Squadrons that went out on scheduled flights in all directions, calling at Khartoum, Aden, Habbanyia (Iraq), Cyprus, Malta etc, with staging posts in between. It was a busy place. Fayed even supplied the neccesary [sic] control for the Great Bitter Lake for any flying boat that happened to be coming through although those services were nominal. In addition it was a staging post for the long haul types on the routes to and from the Far East. Our facilities were limited to VHF (Very High Frequency) and HF (High Frequency) direction finders and radio beacons and the airfield lighting was all lashed up stuff that had been modified to signal an alarm if any part became disconnected which had become necessary to discourage the natives from stealing the wire for it's copper content. Another discouragement was an anti-aircraft searchlight and a Bren gun on the roof of the control tower!.
The domestic and technical sites were separated from the airfield by being totally ringed in barbed wire and the access tracks leading from the airfield had wheeled barbed wire fences drawn across from sunset to sunrise as aircraft went in and out. It needed a small army to man the wire as well as an armed, mobile lighting repair squad standing by.
Air Traffic Control staff manned our searchlight and the gun and the searchlight generator was run at all times during the hours of darkness and I recall the night we used them with a vengeance.
The look-out reported movement on the airfield but I could not see much more than moving shadows through the glasses so it was "searchlight on" and on it came with a sizzling crackle as the switch was thrown. I could still see only vague shapes
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about 300 yards out from the tower in the reflection of the intense reflecting blaze of light, the man on the gun had already cocked it so I gave the order to fire. He loosed off a complete clip [inserted] s [/inserted] after which things seemed to have changed a bit so everything was put back to stand-by as the mobile patrol was ready to go out through the wire.
They very soon reported that we now had a dead camel on the airfield although it was clear of the runway and the question was; what to do next?. The Air Traffic Control course had not covered situations like that!. A quick call to the duty Engineering Officer produced a bulldozer and a working party to bury the thing but the problem did not go away for a long time. Every night for the next week the wild dogs uncovered it, and every day we covered it up again until eventually nature took it's normal course and there was no longer a meal to be had for the scavengers.
Although Married Quarters were available I went on to a very long list so I just settled down to sweating it out. In more ways than one. The Control Tower did not have the luxury of air conditioning and at the height of the day it was stifling with a shade temperature well over 100deg. One of the great delights of the night shift was to be able to sit outside on the roof of the Met. Office at about 3 o'clock in the morning when the temperature was down to about 70deg!, but that only lasted for about an hour before the sun zoomed up over the horizon.
Just as I thought that I could concentrate on being an Air Traffic Controller I was appointed Station Fire Officer and no sooner than I had mastered that I got loaded with another job but it all helped to pass the time anyway. Somehow I found time to qualify as a Desert Rescue Land Rover driver and then I figured that was enough as I devoted any other spare time to photography and accumulated my own processing equipment and soon found that my services were in great demand as the local processing was ghastly.
The photo processing did not start until I moved out of tented accommodation which was three months of absolute misery. Trying to sleep in a tent during the heat of the day after a night shift was virtually impossible.
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The permanent accommodation was limited so it was into a tent first and then wait your turn but sand seemed to get into everything despite the cat-walks laid on the sand. The bed feet stood in the usual pools of paraffin in boot polish tins to stop the creepy crawlies from invading the bed and mosquito nets, were hung from the ridge. I don't think I ever slept more than three hours at a time in those conditions before waking up absolutely soaked in persperation [sic] . The only thing to do then was to get up and shower; not that that did much good.
The water tanks were on the roof of the ablution block so they heated up well during the course of the day and never really cooled down but the best time to get a cold shower was normally between 4 & 5 in the morning!.
At least it was a happy unit. The rest of the controllers and staff made the best of it. Some of the controllers I already knew as well as some of the aircrew who I had met previously either at Marham or other units. One delightful character was a Czech who had been war-time RAF and had returned to his homeland to reach the rank of Air Commodore in the Czech Air Force until the political climate of the country had forced him to leave it. As a result he had rejoined the RAF as an Air Traffic Controller and was back to Flying Officer!. Nevertheless we all got on well and I found that copying his routine provided some limited relief from the heat.
Having completed the first few hours of sleep it was off to the Officers Club on the edge of Lake Timsa by bus equipped among other things with a sheet. At least it was possible to emerse [sic] one's-self in water even if it was in the eighties, wrap up in a wet sheet in the shade of a rush 'basha' and achieve a few more hours sleep until the evaporation process was complete and the 'cooking' process started again. Then it was back to camp to get ready for the night shift again. That was just part of the routine. It was all that happened within the routine that made life interesting.
I had been there a few months when I had two aircraft inbound from the UK. One a Hastings, the other a Canberra and just before their arrival a violent dust storm blew up. These could happen at any time given certain conditions and rising sand can make flying very dodgy. I just managed to get the Canberra in before
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visibility dropped to near zero and then the VHF direction finder went on the blink so I had to pull out a few stops after suggesting an indefinite holding or a diversion to Cyprus. The pilot was not keen on either and finally opted for a non-standard let-down using the H/F direction finder co-operating with his Wireless Op. and pilot together. It worked and he got down just about the time that the pilot of the Canberra had worked his way though Ops. and came up to the control room to find out what had happened to his baggage aircraft!
There were very few people that could have fixed up that sort of thing and it was of course the one and only 'Black Mac-The China Bull', on his way to take over command of Habbanyia, (Iraq). When we came face to face in the control room he was his usual bad mannered self. His comment of "I might have bloody well known it" was no more than one would have expected from him. As if it was my fault that a sand storm had blown up!. Had it occurred to me from the details on the flight plan that it was him I would definitely diverted him to Cyprus!. As it happened he only refuelled and fed and was off again after I had gone off duty. I thought that would be the last I would see of him but I was wrong.
Then we had a very interesting fire. Some damn fool army signals bloke exploded a primus stove by using the wrong fuel when brewing up so off went the fire party supplimented [sic] by the Army fire service and between them threw enough water at the signals hut to put out the fire but a lot of it drained away down the conduits in which the whole of the zone's land lines were trunked and out went the lot.
I could not get to the scene as I was duty controller and as all our mains facilities had failed all the stops had to be pulled out again to keep things moving. Going on to standby battery operated equipment I handled Approach control as best I could with no D/F facilities and the Senior Controller handled local traffic from the cockpit of a Valetta aircraft sitting on the tarmac not far from the control tower. Fortunately the weather was fine and all worked well with co-operation of the pilots who were able to carry out visual procedures.
The outcome of the enquiry was typical. The Fire Service, and that meant me; got half of the blame for the failure of all
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the radio, teleprinter, telephone and land lines!.
I got all the blame as the result of another enquiry that had taken place at Marham after I had left and I was kindly sent a copy of the findings. Shortly after leaving they could not find a Secret file although I know of no reason why it had not been in the cabinet if it had not been booked out. After my experience with registries I had been punctilious with the Secret Registry that had been under my direct control as well as the handling of the Top Secret files that always went in and out of the Wingco's office under sealed cover, and as far I recall everything had been handed over according to the laid down procedures. Nevertheless they could not find the handing over certificate, (I wish I had kept a copy), and I had to take responsibilty [sic] for the loss. I was a bit peeved at that. I had not been asked to give evidence even though the certificate would have been in the files now under the control of the bloke I had handed over to it seemed that the only avenue left was to appeal. After some thought I decided just to acknowledge receipt of the findings but with a very strong protest. After all, they couldn't shoot me for it!.
By this time the political infiltration into service life had almost died out and most things had returned to near normal as far as there is any normality in the forces. One just pressed on but at times one's shoulders had to be very broad to carry the load and it helped to have a thick skin as well!. At least there was the satisfaction that it would not last for ever. A lot of control was being passed back to the Egyptians and customs officials were getting very busy at Port Said placing import and export duty on almost all personal goods plus insistance [sic] on area Air Traffic Control by their services with a suggestion of imposing the same controls at Fayed. So far they had not been given access to Fayed but when they were we were very likely to have been deprived of one of our most advantages 'perks'.
We had a weekly 'training flight' to Malta locally known as the Whisky run which picked up supplies from a bonded warehouse and Fayed then acted as distribution agent for other units. The net result of that was that, as an example, a bottle of Whisky was 8s. 6d. in old money in the Mess. 42 pencel and
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cheaper than the Naafi who were obliged to make some declaration and payment to the Egyptian Government.
As a result of my involvement with the fire service I requested a Fire Officers course in the UK which I thought would kill two birds with one stone. It did not work so I took my accumulated [underlined] local [/underlined] leave with an itinerary of a round robin tour of the Middle East and hopped on the Whisky run to Malta and thence BEA to the UK. returning by the same process. At least I had 10 days at home with the family and then the misery started all over again.
There was still little hope of Married quarters but I kept a very close eye on the comings and goings.
Among the names that appeared on the list was that of the chap who had been the Station Adjutant at Marham, just one position below me, stationed somewhere in the zone at a Maintenance Unit. We met up on one occasion at Ismalia as I did with a number of people who had been at Marham with me. At one time there seven of us at Fayed. I had even met up with a long lost cousin who was in the Army at another unit so in one way and another occupied myself as time went by. What it must have been for my army cousin before the war I dread to think. He was in the ranks then when a tour of overseas duty was five years without family or home leave. I don't think I could have even contemplated it, but then perhaps neither did he when he signed on. After pre-war service in the Middle East and also a survivor of the Dunkirk withdrawal he was certainly earning his pension the hard way.
Being a shift worker gave me the opportunity to get away from the place on numerous 'flying' visits. Trips to Khartoum and Cyprus were fairly easy to arrange and I planned to go further East sometime when the opportunity arose.
Another advantage of Fayed was that it was the centre of all entertainment schedules. All visiting shows started off in our open air theatre/cinema and they could be sure of a critical audience too. It was usually packed to capacity and I enjoyed some of the very best shows on the circuit and had the priviledge [sic] of meeting many of the stars of those days when they were entertained in the Mess. Many are still around today. There was Harry Secombe, Lena Horne, Arthur English, Tommy Trinder
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(who got himself lost out on Lake Timsa in a small sailing boat), Ted Ray, Terry Thomas, to name but a few and it was there that Tesse O'Shea got one of her biggest laughs ever. The stage really did collapse and Two Ton Tesse had to be dragged out from underneath, still laughing. On the other hand there were turns that were not received so well. If Fayed didn't like them they knew it but it would be unkind to mention names. They tried and some of them are no longer with us.
In due course the Egyptian Air Force took over some of the zone fighter bases having been trained by British instructors at other airfields near Cairo and I began to wonder what sort of fun and games those instructors must have had in the process if the sort of flying that they were doing was anything to go by.
They seemed to put a great deal of effort into their flying but there never seemed to be such practical value in it if the commotion that went on at their nearest airfield was anything to go by.
I was on duty on one occasion when it became obvious that they were expecting an aircraft when all the ground radio checks started and in due course we heard the pilot calling Almaza (near Cairo), for back bearings every two or three minutes until he was obviously about half way when he started calling his destination.
The result was dead silence as the pilot called again and again with mounting urgency in his voice. He seemed so desperate that I chipped in and offered assistance as my D/F operator had been passing me his bearings anyway. The offer was accepted although it took some time before he was able to identify who was calling him and the rest was simple. He was homed to overhead us, descended to a lower height with instructions to steer a given heading for a number of minutes and he would find his destination which he did and despite his frantic calls to his destination we never did hear their control. Not even when he asked for landing clearance or when he reported landed!.
What all the fuss was about I do not know. It was only a 70 mile flight and a few minutes in what we identified as a Meteor when he came overhead. The sky was 100% blue with the Suez canal right under his nose a few miles from his destination so I can
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only think that he was a bit worried at missing it and getting lost in the Sinai desert. Later on we had a liaison visit from some of their controllers who had in fact been trained by International Air Radio and they were not backward in boasting about all the sophisticated equipment that they had. It was met with a diplomatic h'm, no comment. It was a pity that they did not know how to use it!. A lot of their questions were directed to where our radar unit was, suggesting that we had hidden it prior to their visit. That was time for some discreet tapping on the side of the nose. Radar!, we should be so lucky. I found out later that before I had arrived there had been a small final approach radar for evaluation but it had moved on somewhere. Despite the fact that there was liaison it was only one way and we could not get a visit to their unit. They were very mysterious and conspirital [sic] . They said that their bases were secret and it was very difficult to keep a straight face at that. We had even built them!.
Eventually they worked up their fighter units to the North and South of us and one day they decided to do a mass formation flight of about 30 aircaft [sic] up and down the canal. I wish I had recorded that R/T pantomime somehow although I suppose they were ding [sic] their best with limited training and experience.
The two formations never did get together as one. There was total confusion about heights, and everyone tried to talk at the same time when at one time they found that the two sub formations were on a collision course at the same height and then it was "break, break, break", and every man for himself. It was absolute pandemonium. All that in bright blue skies without a cloud in sight and the line of the canal and the lakes to navigate by. It was something to think about!.
No doubt they improved later on with practice and experience but I have often wondered how the Russians got on with them when they decided to re-arm with Russian equipment and of course, Russian instructors as well. They could not have found it easy by any standards.
Another serious Air Traffic matter came to light purely by chance shortly after had [sic] been appointed as Deputy Senior Controller. A lot of our inbound flights from the UK were chartered company aircraft, although at Malta the company livery was painted out
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and the crew changed uniforms and aircraft call-signs to become RAF. All very clever!. So we had a selection of those, RAF Yorks, Beverly's, Viscounts etc, both inbound and outbound. They were normally cleared by Cairo Delta control from Alexandria, descending and transferred to us but I was a bit concerned when more than one pilot reckoned they should report a confliction after they had been transferred, and even more so when I asked what traffic information they had been given. The answer was always nil so for about a week I asked all pilots to complete a questionaire [sic] relative to the hand over procedure and when it was complete the results of my investigation went through the Senior Controller and Operations. It resulted in some discreet enquiries with the Egyptian Ministry of aviation and a liaison visit by the Senior Controller and some rapid changes in prcedure [sic] . Many a pilot complained subsequently about the extra Easterly drag from Alex. to Port Said under airways control before being cleared to descend on the final leg to us. Little did they know that previously they had been descending blindly across three air routes out of Cairo. Phew.!.
There was an interesting situation early one evening when dust storms blew up unexpectedly around Cairo. I was only aware of it by listening to the one-sided R/T conversation but it was obvious that Cairo's controllers were getting in a bit of a 'tizzy' and some BOAC pilots were getting angry. They did not seem to be able to get an accurate weather report or saisfactory [sic] holding instructions and there was mention of diverting to Nicosia until one ex RAF BOAC pilot remembered us and gave us a call. Having checked our weather he then requested diversion facilities which Operations approved he was on his way, followed by another and another until we had accepted six until Ops. said "enough" before we were swamped.
It was a lovely collection. Constellations. Super Connie's, DC4's and Argonauts of BOAC, Air India, Air Italia, and SAA came swooping in and discharged about 300 passengers into the passenger lounge. They were not too happy about being limited to the reception area with an obvious presence of Service Police but the pilots were pleased enough when they came up to the control later to file their flight plans when Cairo had cleared.
It was just as well that I had had time to look up the
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regulations for charging landing fees, a subject that had not received much attention on the ATC course. Nevertheless, we got it sorted out and charged the grand total of £300. I could not repeat what some of the pilots said about Cairo control but it seemed to be about the same standard as Niarobi [sic] was at that time from what I was told.
In similar circumstances about that time a BOAC pilot had stood off at Nairobi and had taken control from the air to let down five others and himself when the controllers had actually lost control of the situation. I thought our training had been a bit rough and ready but I suppose that the fact that most of our controllers were ex aircrew was in our favour. We had grown up with it whilst other emerging nations were just finding their feet.
I had been in Egypt about nine months before I was allocated Married Quarters. It was a hiring on the canal road close to the officers club, and then the process of calling forward the family started.
The day after it was allocated it was reallocated to the chap who was just below me on the list on the strength of two extra points he had claimed by virtue of detachments overseas from Marham. (Returning B.29's to America he claimed). No way; I knew those regulations inside out and it didn't count so the 'phone lines were red hot before that got sorted out. There was no way that I was going to lose the [underlined] last [/underlined] allocation in the zone by default, not to that chap. (He was the one that knocked me off the greasy pole at Marham). He was not amused.
Everything was eventually worked out for the transportation of my family except for the date and then there was a dock strike at home which put thing back for several more agonising weeks. Meanwhile the quarter was being officially sub-let to another officer who in fact spent the best part of three months in it before my family eventually arrived at Port Said on an Army troopship, the S.S. Lancashire from Liverpool. There was only one snag. When they were half way across the Med. I got posted!. I think someone was using his influence-and putting the boot in.
I was stunned as I was required go to Amman in Jordan as soon as possible. When I protested pointing out that my family were
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half way across the Med. the answer was that they could easily wait in transit in the zone until I was-settled or they could take the next troopship back to the UK!. I really was getting the treatment!. I did eventually get a few days deferment by virtue of going sick, to hold me over until they arrived.
That put paid to any idea I had of taking them all on a visit to Cairo and the Pyramids. I had waited a year for the opportunity and it had slipped through my fingers.
There was great excitement when I met my wife and two daughters at Port Said and after the arrival formalities were completed we boarded the bus for Fayid via Ismalia down the canal road to be dropped off at the bungalow which was complete with a native servant who understood practically no English but understood the requirement and had been recommended. He was a glossy black Sudanese resplendent in galabere and tarboosh and displayed a permanent broad smile. He was a treasure. The girls did not quite know what to make of him at first but he was efficient as was unobtrusive. He made it plain the kitchen was his domain and Madam was not allowed in it. That suited us alright as there was not a lot time to get used to paraffin cooker, lamps and even paraffin fridge.
Of course my wife did not know just how much time she had until we had all settled in and I asked her if she knew where Amman was. Of course she did; in Jordan, but it wiped the smile off of everyone's face, including Abdul when they were told that we were off there in less than a week. Abdul cheered up a bit when I gave him a full month's pay and a reference and he looked after us well whilst I was busy about arranging passage to Amman. Of couse [sic] , it was too much to ask that it would be straightforward.. First of all my wife said she didn't want to fly but since the only alternative was camel she did not have much choice. Then all the deep sea baggage had to be chased up with some urgency from Port Said and then Air Movements insisted that it all be repacked as the size of the boxes were in excess of Air Freight dimensions. It was a good thing that I knew a few people in the right places and a compromise was reached where it could stay as it was. We finally went on a mixed freighter passenger flight in a Valetta. The Gamble special only had one other airman passenger on board and had to go via
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Aquaba and in fact overflew Amman to another of our bases at Mafraq.
Prior to our departure signals had been going to and fro' asking when I would arrive and in answer to one inquiry one confirmed that suitable accommodation was available and eventually when all of our baggage and boxes were unloaded we were bussed to Amman, about 35 mls away to make another new home. On arrival and after refreshments I reported to the Adjutant.
I was optimistic about what had been provided for us but knowing my luck I was not really surprised either when contrary to my expectations I found there was absolutely nothing. True they knew I was coming, but not with a family. There were no quarters available or accomodation [sic] other than by private arrangement plus the fact that as it was Friday and it was a Bank Holiday week-end nothing could be done until Tuesday. I nearly went spare. What had all the rush been about, etc, so I went to see the Accountant Officer, changed some money, drew some more and decided that I would have the Bank Holiday off as well since I could claim three days in transit at the expense of the Air Force so off we went to a hotel in the city and we had a good weekend familiarising ourselves with the area and a new currency. All I had done on the day of arrival was sign in so on the first working day I reported in and started the arrival procedure. All went well until I reported to the Senior Controller who actually accused me of being absent without leave when he found out that I had arrived on Friday. He was under the impression that I should have reported to him in the first place as he could have put me to work. It is not the best way to start a new job with a flaming great row with the boss but a flaming great row there was.
Obviously they had coped despite the alledged [sic] shortage of staff because he had not even known when I was due to arrive and I could not have just slipped into the routine without some preliminary training and certification. No allowance was made for my domestic circumstances and then whilst I started to absorb the local set-up another bombshell arrived. Air Headquarters Middle East at Habbanyia having received confirmation of my arrival signalled to the effect that I should have reported to that HQ for posting as required as they wanted me down in
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the Persian Gulf, and I was instructed to proceed accordingly. Then I really did blow my top!.
I had already found alternative accomodation [sic] ; more or less in the native quarter on Jebel Hashiem as the hotel was straining the finances somewhat, but at least it-was convenient for the base and the girls were about to start school. In [sic] was still scouting around for something better. I was not in a very good mood by the time I had worked my way through the Adjutant, Senior Admin. Officer and Wing Cdr. Admin. to the Station Commander for a showdown. At least he was sympathetic enough to listen to my greivance [sic] which I followed up with threats of resigning my commission there and then. Pretty strong stuff but a lengthy signal to AHQ produced the desired answer and I was at last allowed to get down to work with a bit more security than I had had for a long time. I don't think I was ever forgiven though for stirring things up for a change instead of accepting what was thrown in my direction. I was beginning to wish that I had transferred to the Secretarial Branch after all if that was a fore-taste of what could be expected in the future. Little did I know.
I found Amman very interesting. It was a joint Military and Civil International Airport with control exercised by the RAF. That included a locally based RAF fighter Squadron with Venoms, communication aircraft and Search and Rescue helicopter. The Royal Jordanian Air Force with Vampires. RAF transit traffic, two resident civil airlines and scheduled BOAC Argonaughts from London to Barhrein [sic] via Beruit [sic] on Monday's returning later in the week. Somehow that seemed more civilised as the crew always brought UK Sunday newspapers in for us when they brought their flight plans in. We had three parking aprons. One civil, one Jordanian Air Force and one RAF. Our facilities were the basics that I had been used to at Fayed plus; the Radar!. The very one that had been at Fayed, had gone to Cyprus and thence to Amman. It was a non standard equipment for the RAF which had received little more than a mention on the ATC course and on which in due course all Amman controllers were to be locally trained. And before you could say 'Bingo' I was appointed the Station Fire Officer as well!.
Within a matter of weeks I had found a more desirable residence
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on Jebel Taj nearer the city and things started to settle down. We soon got used to the amplified sounds from the mezzine calling the faithful to prayer....at 6 am!. it was better than an alarm clock. One could not possibly have slept through it. Not even on a day off and as I was still shift working it was inconvenient at times. However, we were comfortable and happy in our new accomodation [sic] and there were English families living around us so we did not feel as cut off as we had been before.
The new landlord was a Palestinian originally from Haifa and he and his family were very kind. They all spoke very good English and helped us with learning enough Arabic to get by on the buses and in the shops. In fact it was too easy to get lazy in learning Arabic as most people could speak English. It was the second language in all the schools.
The camp swimming pool was one of our main attractions and it was situated near the control tower. In fact when on duty I could look down on it which made it a little frustrating on those steaming days when the temperature in the 'glasshouse' was well over 100deg. and the family had come in by bus to make the most of those cooling waters.
A lot of people had written home to the tourist departments of their town halls to get posters of their favourite sea-side resort so it was not long before Worthing was also advertised on the fence. A little bit of home and of course that usually designated one's favourite spot in the area around the pool.
It was quite a small pool so sessions had to be allocated to prevent overcrowding and it was not unusual for members of the Jordanian Royal family to be mixed up with the officers families. When King Hussein flew as he did often being a pilot in his own right he insisted on going through the motions like any other pilot. He climbed the steps and presented his own flight plan for approval. and he was of course very pro-British. His army was to a great extent British financed and controlled through General Glub. His air force was similarly controlled and they were very good too having had their basic training in the UK and then finished off locally on Harvards before jet training. His senior Air Force Officer was a seconded Wing Commander and in fact there were quite a lot of secondments
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both Army and Air Force. His stable of racing cars was looked after by an ex Flight Sergeant and several- of his ponies were stabled in our pony club and looked after by us. It all seemed an innocent and comfortable arrangement. It was not always quite so comfortable on occasions when certain factions in his own country and those of neighbouring states would rather that the strongly pro-British monarch was deposed. After all, Jordan was in a peculiar geographical position. The Hashimite [sic] Kingdom of Jordan had been carved out of what used to be Palestine and some of the old Palestine was now Isreal [sic] which had produced something like a million refugees who were virtually stateless persons. The mandate that the British had had for many years had been repealed by the United Nations due to pressure to create the new state of Isreal [sic] after the war. The Arab/Jew conflict had not neccesarily [sic] been made any less of a problem and it was all tied up with the American owned IPC (Iraqi Petroleum Company) oil pipeline between Haifa and the Persian Cuff that dominated military and political thinking. Not that the pipe-line had delivered oil for a long time, but we still had an interest in it.
The King had a very close shave on one occasion when he was returning from Damascus whilst I was on duty. The Wing Cdr. was with him in the Royal De Haviland Dove and they found that they had a couple of Syrian jets on their tail. They produced some very spectacular low flying by all accounts until they were able to make contact with us for back up from anything we had flying in Jordanian air space before they were safe. It was the sort of chance he had to take in those days, even when he only used to fly half-way down the pipe-line towards Bagdad to meet his cousin King Feisal of Iraq at an air-strip on the border. Neither used to file flight plans for that. Both of them used to keep in touch through their own private shortwave radio link.
It was obvious that the senior captain of one of the resident airlines was ex-Luftwaffe by the cut of his coat and the set of his cap. Only the insignia had changed and he was an honourary [sic] member of our Mess!. We swapped a few yarns which ultimately led to the production of our respective log books which confirmed that he was the bloke that had shot up our Stirling very badly
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in October 1943 when we were on our way into Bremen. Our conversation after that provided answers to questions that we both had. Yes, he was flying a jet. An early prototype Me262, and had been scrambled for evaluation, but why had we only received small calibre shots?. The answer to that was sobering. He had used up all his cannon shooting down two other Stirlings...and the records show that three Stirlings of the force had indeed been lost that night, two of them to his guns. I can only thank my lucky stars that he had not been using cannon on us that night!. It did explain the tails of fire we had seen from his back end too. He was somewhat surprised that we had not incurred casualties and that we had in fact returned to base after all the stuff that had flowed back from us after the engagement which had obviously been the leaflets I had thrown out in a great hurry, especially as he had claimed us so badly damaged that we must have finished up in the North Sea as there had been no other crash report.
I was still negotiating for other accommodation as official quarters were still a long way off but before either came up Dorothy had to be hospitalised. She could have gone to Habbanyia or Cyprus to either of the military hospitals but she opted for an operation to be done locally at the RAF's expense in the Italian Hospital in Amman so in she went.
It was all very different from one's normal concept of hospitalisation. It was a private hospital and she did have a private ward. The head surgeon was Italian and the staff were mainly Italian nuns with some Arab cleaning staff. Catering was not normally provided but on this occasion two meals a day were provided under the terms of the contract, mainly rice and eggs. There was only one nun who spoke very limited English and with her very limited Arabic it was a bit of a pantomime. Altogether it was hardly conducive to rapid recovery.
The occupant of another adjacent private ward, a Sheik, spent most of the daylight hours out on the flat roof outside her window with all the accompaniment of a scene from the Arabian Nights. I don't know what was wrong with him but he seemed to end a lot of time trying to cough his lungs up, not that it stopped him smoking his hooka [sic] pipe.
he was well looked after by several retainers who brought him
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various kinds of food, including great bunches of grapes with which he was fed and when this circus was added to by his personal musician with his one string fiddle it was enough to drive anyone mad. That and visiting times in the afternoon for those in the dormitory wards where the sounds and smells of on the spot cooking on primus stoves wafted up were enough to have her out of there as soon as the M.O. would allow, to continue her convalescence at home.
When she was fit enough we moved house again and the process of the final negotiations for the tenancy was yet another pantomime; never to be forgotten.
Some of the locals, particularly the Sheiks, had made a packet out of the British a few years earlier when room was needed for the expansion of the airfield and other areas that were needed for the building of the Married Quarters. I suppose it was just another way of putting money into the country really but it seemed. that the criteria for receiving payment of £1000 for any sort of building on the land purchased was that it should have a door. As a result there had been a brisk trade with carpenters fitting a door to just about anything, and those that could not afford it naturally borrowed the money from the Sheiks at a premium or were forced to sell their property to the Sheiks. One way or another they were the blokes that finished up getting most of the 'ackers' which they had reinvested in properties that they let to the military. It was the process of bargaining and negotiating with these chaps that created another scene out of Arabian Nights. One must understand that bargaining is a way of life out in those parts and that to do business it was common courtesy to respect the fact that when in Rome you do as the Romans do.
One did not do business through agents as such. The only agents were the multitude of small boys who were always wandering about looking for opportunities of exercising their light fingered efforts to pick up something for nothing. A word in the ear of one of those suggesting that you were interested and an appointment would be very quickly fixed up and he would get his reward of a few fils for his trouble from both parties.
It was not the first time that I had gone through the procedure but that particular occasion sticks in my mind. At the appointed
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time we presented ourselves at the flats and were escorted to a plain unfurnished room with just cushions and a low table and then the 'person' arrived resplendent in robes of gold on black over white, with jewelled belt and sash and jewelled knife scabbard plus the butt of a pistol showing from an equally elaborate holster, and greetings were exchanged. With that over he clapped his hands and the glasses of tea appeared and the performance was on. I had been asked to bring my wife with me by one of the boys who turned out to be one of the Sheiks sons who was also acting as interpreter but it was obvious that the request had come from the Sheik. I had already been warned about him. Now the scene was set and his number one wife squatted in the dirt on the other side of the road from the flat. Women did [inserted] not [/inserted] pay [sic] a particularly important part in the routine except to keep an eye on things. No.1 wife's responsibility was managing the household and the other junior wives. So she had taken up her position.
I don't know that Dorothy was particularly happy with the situation as she sat opposite that imposing figure with the classical hooked nose and piercing eyes of the Bedouin. Pleasantries were exchanged with the first glass of tea; revolting stuff to our standards, then the second glass came up and by this time Dorothy was squirming a bit as the Sheik was not slow in examining what he seemed to be part of the deal. He played a bit of footy footy and proceeded to pinch the fleshy parts of her arm that were exposed under her shawl which she was obliged to wear in such circumstances. Their own women were covered in black from head to toe as well as wearing a yashmak. Nevertheless he examined her as if she was a chicken in the market and she winced a bit but stuck it out until the third glass of tea arrived. That was the one you did not finish and it was time to talk business. It was the way things were done and we were obliged to go along with it for about half an hour until we gave him our promise of a decision before the sun had set. We had made the decision before we made our escape from him with the eagle eye. Dorothy did not care to become part of a Hareem as part of the deal or having him inspecting his property too often with an eye to another 'wife' so the message was passed. "No thank you" and we looked elsewhere.
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We eventually rented a flat not far from the camp main gate and I suppose it could be said that it good views. It looked down on the Hadj railway station on the famous line from Damascus through Amman to a point where it fizzled out way down South towards Aquaba. A line that Lawrence of Arabia had played havoc with many years before when the Turks had control of the area. It also looked down on the main Damascus/Amman road and the prison but at least it was convenient. The landlord was the local butcher an [sic] he eventually brought along a young married chap who we were only to willing to take on as 'bearer'. He had never worked anywhere by virtue of being caught up in the net of the homeless refugees in the North but he was willing and learned fast and took no liberties. He found local accomodation [sic] and moved his family for the first ever now that he had a job which allowed him to face the world with a little more dignity instead of being dependent upon United Nations hand-outs.
He was an Abdul and replaced another Abdul who was reputed to have worked for the British Army but we were glad to see the back of him and his dirty habits plus the fact that I had found him drying out his tobacco in the gas oven on one occasion with only one side burner lit to save gas!. His English was also punctuated by a great deal of barrack room language and his final efforts in the kitchen seemed to be designed to feed his family on our left overs made sure that there was plenty for all!. Now the catering was firmly back in Dorothy's hands and Abdul looked after the rest. He needed a bit of training but it was well worth it.
My cousin that had been in Egypt was now down in Aquaba and an arrangement with the Jordanian Air Force brought him up to to [sic] spend a Christmas with us and some time later we flew down to Aquaba in the Kings personal aircraft for a couple of weeks holiday and that was a very interesting period.
Our accommodation was a holiday bungalow on the sea shore that had belonged to General Peake who had given it to the RAF for recreational purposes. It gave me an opportunity of spending more time with my cousin who I had not seen all that often in the past and to visit our limited Air Traffic Control staff and the firemen who manned the landing strip on rotational basis
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from Amman resources. The landing area was just a rolled strip in the wadi that led down almost to the waters edge and even the control cabin was only the cockpit of a Dakota that had crashed there many years before. It was no more than just another link in the chain of landing grounds that served the Army garrison tasked with keeping the peace in the area which they had been trying to do for years.
The geography was historical and had become even-more important since the creation of the State of Isreal[sic] . The Gulf of Aquaba was only three miles wide at the head and the town of Eilat in Isreal [sic] sat on one corner and the border with Egypt only a little further down. Three miles down the other side was the border with Saudi Arabia so it was quite a crossroads.
I suppose it was just my misfortune that a couple of my firemen went on a sight seeing tour whilst I was there and were absent two days as a result of straying into Isreal [sic] . No big diplomatic incident really but the Army did have to exert a little diplomacy to get them back and they were both charged for contravening standing orders. Still, one could laugh off seven days C.C. (confined to camp) in that place; there were few places to go. Anyway, the army dealt with it and I got on with my holiday. I wanted no part of. The weather was supurb [sic] , the bunglalow [sic] was on the waters edge and there was no tide to speak of. Unfortunately the glass bottomed boat that usually provided interesting views of the coral reefs had been damaged and was awaiting repair so we were not able to enjoy that experience.
Some people relate to being on holiday with being able to sleep in late but it was very rare that we were able to do that with the fishermen out in the early morning. Their fishing was accompanied by a succession of bangs resounding across the water. Lazy fishing that; with sticks of dynamite!. Then they netted the stunned fish afterwards. The girls were warned to keep well out of the way when they were close to the shore as obviously they were not all that clever. The dynamite thrower in one boat only had one arm and the girls had learned earlier on in Amman that when told to do things like that it was for a very good reason and they had to react without question. On that previous occasion in Amman we had gone into town on a little shopping expedition and had just reached the main shopping area where
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there seemed to be a lot of people and suddenly the whole crowd erupted as shots rang out, followed by a lot of panic stricken people running in our direction. When I grabbed them and said "run" they did. Hot foot down the road, into the Hotel Continental where we stayed until things had gone quiet before taking a taxi back home. I understood later that day that an order had been issued on camp putting the city out of bounds but then I had not been into camp and knew nothing about the possibility of trouble.
We managed to enjoy ourselves though, just lazing about, swimming, playing board games, reading, listening to London on the short wave overseas service but generally resting up wondering what was going to happen next. Something always did!. One morning we were having coffee out in front of the bungalow when we noticed that a Royal Navy destroyer had dropped anchor about half a mile out and it was not long before a boat with four ratings and a Petty Officer was rowed ashore. They tied up just few yards from us and were loaded with some metal trunking that they started to chip paint from so I figured that they were defaulters given a dirty job to do. Hard luck on the Petty Officer!.
I would have left them to it but there was a geat [sic] deal of lower deck language that was enough to blister the paint off without the use of elbow grease so two little girls had to be hauled out of earshot whilst I ambled across and asked them if they would like some refreshment. They nearly fell over with shock but the P.O. jumped at the opportunity. Beer for him please, anything but beer for the others and what the blue blazes were we doing in such a God forsaken hole and where the hell was he anyway?. He was quite happy to sit in the shade and chat for some time whilst the others chipped away until a winking light from the ship signalled that it was time to return. It had made his day and in the time we had spent chatting I had found out that he knew my brother from his days at HMS Vernon, the torpedo establishment at Portsmouth. It's a small world.
Later on as darkness fell the ship was dressed overall with lights and was an imposing sight out in the Gulf as small craft pIied to and fro' with the garrison Commander and his party to a social function on board. I think they may have stayed
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most of the night if what happened to us is anything to go by.
We had been invited by some Arab neighbours to coffee, cakes and social chat and there had been no mention of conditions outside when darkness fell. We found out as soon as we got outside. Everything was blacked out by rising sand. Not the sort of sand storm with horizontal wind but the sort in which sand is just lifted straight up and deposited somewhere else. We could hardly see our hand in front of our face. If it had not been for our hosts being more familiar with the area I doubt if we could have negotiated the fifty yards between the houses.
We put the shutters up as soon as we got back but it was too late and it took ages to clear the heavy layer of sand that had been deposited over and inside everything which included the beds and the pantry. Just something else to put down to experience. We were well rested by the time we flew back to Amman in an RAF Valetta and as I knew the pilot from Fayed days he kindly circled the ancient and amazing city of Petra virtually hidden in the desert which we would otherwise never have seen, and then it was back to the old routine. Not a dull one by any means. Among my activities I had a taste of some limited radar control on which I was locally trained. I found the process fairly easy to pick up as this was a 'one man band' and the initial pick up was assisted by a built in direction finder system. To an ex aircrew wireless op. it was no problem. It did not take long to become proficient and as the only other qualified controller was leaving I finished up being in charge of the thing and training others, not without some dissapointments [sic] . The Senior Controller, an ex navigator, couldn't cope with it and neither could another, an ex pilot, but enough did become proficient to ensure that there were sufficient people to rotate. It was not all that comfortable stuck out in a metal box at the end of the runway.
That particular radar unit was the one that had done the rounds. At one time it had been at Nicosia before it had been transferred to Fayed and then Amman and the original operator had travelled with it but it could only provide a very limited service and as far as the RAF was concerned it was a 'one-off'. It gave me some useful experience anyway that I made use of later on.
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By that time we had given up the idea of getting back to Egypt for a holiday. Fayed was just about handed over to the Egyptians so we could not get a passage that way and since holidays had to be planned well ahead it didn't seem worth the effort to go the long way around via Cyprus so that was ruled out. Haifa or some similar place was considered before we found that it was again impossible to go direct particularly as we would need a second passport to visit Arab countries and Israel. The tension was very real out there at the time. Even the Naafi could not import any goods that may have been a product of Israel and postings to a place like Amman ruled out anyone of Jewish name or origin.
It was the only place that I had come across where a parade commander was to say "Roman Catholics may fall out" before prayers. That order was usually "Roman Catholics and Jews....". In the end we figured that we would do better just to make the most of our immediate surroundings but we never got to Beruit [sic] or Damascus. Every time we made plans for a long break between shifts or a week-end those places were declared out of bounds.
It did seem as if we were hemmed in although we were in regular contact with neighbouring countries. Even our daily radio checks gave us two way communication with Nicosia and strangely enough Lod in Israel. We thought nothing of it, or of giving bearings to any Israeli aircraft that called us but the Jordanian Air Ministry were very sensitive and suspicious about it so we had to discontinue any contact with Israel.
We had a very interesting experience one afternoon when we were having tea in the flat when there was a shivering shaking sensation. The tea in my cup rippled an [sic] I immediately recalled something that my father had mentioned about his time in India. If in doubt look at the ceiling light, and there it was swinging gently to and fro' and then I knew that what I had felt was an earthquake tremor Dorothy looked at me and asked "why did you kick my chair?" and then nearly fell out of hers when I told her to look at the swinging lamp and the significance of it. It was a very light tremour [sic] really and we understood later that the centre had been around Damascus but there had been no damage.
One real highlight of Amman was my flight in a Venom jet trainer.
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Since my first jet experience in a Canberra I had been itching to have another go. It was not difficult to arrange and away we went into the wide blue yonder. It was the most exhilarating experience. The sky was bright blue well laced with towering cumulus cloud and at 25,000ft I was in my element when control was handed to me in the side by side trainer as I went cloud hopping. I was in my element and I always knew that I had an aptitude for it. I performed all the standard manoeuvres successfully which rather surprised the pilot. Wireless Ops. don't do things like that!, but he changed his mind when I attempted a roll. Then my old problem of disorientation reared it's head again and he had to take control to prevent us hurtling earthwards out of control. He reckoned that with formal training I would have had no real difficulty in becoming a pilot but it was too late for me to change direction at that time.
Our flat overlooked the prison just beyond the main road and an incident there created a lasting impression on Dorothy. I could understand that if conditions in the prison were as crude as those in the hospital then a lot of people went hungry most of the time if family and friends did not bring in food regularly or the inmates had not got the money to pay for it but that's the way it worked. Prison out there was real punishment and the ultimate was to be publicly hung in the city's amptheatre [sic] which were other occasions when the city was out of bounds.
The incident really upset her when some noisy activity started as protests were voiced and then the whole thing escalated rapidly.
There were hundreds of prisoners milling around the courtyard and the guards manning the walls were reinforced by the army. What sparked it off I could not say but there was a sudden crackle of rifle fire and prisoners went down like nine-pins for several minutes. When it stopped the army entered the courtyard and hearded [sic] the frantic mob to one side as dozens of bodies were dragged away and she could no longer watch the scene of such callus [sic] slaughter. She had some very bad dreams for a long while after that.
At last a married quarter became available after some ten months of waiting and moving around and we moved into a very large
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converted hut which many years before had been the Education Section. The original lettering on the doors was still visable [sic] under fresh paintwork. A friend of mind remembers the building from when he was out there in 1937!. However, it was spacious, convenient and comfortable. Just a stone's throw from the Mess and almost overlooking the flat that we had just left. In addition to our own servant who successfully passed his medical we were allocated an official one, shared with another family, so life took on a whole new style.
Typical of course was the fact that very British fire places had been installed but the cooker was still the parafin [sic] job so took our rented gas one with us. The water heater was the most diabolical hazard that I had ever come across. It was oil fired; with a difference!. We had got used to parafin [sic] fridges and cookers so one took such things in one's stride. To fire up the boiler you turned on the fuel to drip onto a metal plate, then set light to it. By turning the fuel tap on and off the plate eventually got hot enough to explode the drips as they fell on the plate and then it could be adjusted to give a series of continuous explosions and presto!, hot water!. A damn dangerous device though and as fire officer I made sure that everyone was reminded regularly of it's dangers. At least it was more civilised than what we had been recently used to. In our first place on Jebel Hasheem we had a bath that had to be filled with buckets of water that had to be heated by other means and the drain hole was positioned above nothing more than a hole in the floor. It was alright until the bath slipped off of the supporting bricks and flooded the floor. Perhaps it was better that way as it slowed down the activities of the toads, whacking great spiders and scorpians [sic] that tended to investigate the invasion of what they considered to be their territory. In the last flat, although new, we had always had trouble with the drains. The worst part being that when there was a blockage in the system. When we flushed everything came up in the next door neighbours bath!. Small problem….well, to us anyway. When the sanitory [sic] people were called in they pin-pointed the problem of blockages right away. Apparently toilet paper should not be flushed into 2" drains!. The alternative was most unhygenic [sic] to European standards.
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Now it seemed that we were home and dry. There was a bit of a garden which was overgrown so after I set my photo dark-room up I got to work terracing the garden so that we were able to grow tomatoes and sweet corn within a matter of months. The trouble was that it disturbed the habitat of several dangerous species of snakes and other creepy crawlies of which there were plenty. One had to be forever on the alert for them, checking footwear and clothing, and particularly bedding.
One of the strangest creatures was the sand beetle. This chap was about 1/2 ins. long and lived in the sand with the entrance to it's complex protected by a trap door. It had the most incredible technique of building a hinged trap door which was a perfect watertight fit. To see this thing nip down it's hole and pull the trap door down after him was quite amazing.
Another insect that surprised us one evening when we were having drinks on the veranda were the fireflies. For a moment I thought that I had made the drinks a little too strong when little bright lights started jumping around the table but then a little more light was produced they turned out to be little flying insects with little light bulbs in their tails.
Lizards of between four and five inches were common and quite harmless. We had one or two resident one's that had been given names and at one time we had a Chameleon that I had found in the garden but it died on us. Probably due to the rapid changes of colour that was expected of it when we put it on a multi coloured carpet. The poor thing probably got into a state of utter confusion and died of a heart attack.
Tortoises were common and I have never seen so many in a natural habitat as there were around the old Roman city of Jarash, and Jarash it'self [sic] was another incredible place that was right out of biblical times. It had been uncovered in the preceeding [sic] 20 years and I swear that if you just stood there and listened you could hear the ghosts of the past all around and the sounds of chariot wheels on the old Roman roads that still bore the marks of those wheels.
We paid a visit to the Dead Sea and it was well worth the frightening drive. The native taxy driver seemed quite oblivious to his surroundings as we swept along high mountain unmade roads that twisted and turned with sometimes as much as a sheer 1500ft
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drop on one side into a moonscape like valley. Mix that up with the dust, the heat and five fractous [sic] kids as we were sharing the journey with another family, the driver with only one hand on the wheel and the radio blasting native music at 99 decibals [sic] and you have all the ingredients for a very exciting time. It was. Our route took us through Jericoh [sic] and close to the old courthouse, where according to the scriptures Christ was tried and sentenced, until we eventually got to the banks of the Dead Sea, over 500ft [underlined] below [/underlined] sea level and where I subsequently was flown down to in a Jordanian Air Force aircraft. A most interesting experience.
After the journey the sight of so much water was a great temptation and in we all went but within minutes we were in trouble. The adults knew that it was impossible to sink in that sea due to it's high salt content but no-one had told us that it was just like acid if you got it in the eyes. The kids thrashed around screaming in pain and it was just as well that we had a plentiful supply of water in bottles that we were able to pour over their faces until all was well again. After the initial discomfort we were all very careful as we experimented in the very dense water. It was quite incredible. Even just walking into it, before one was waist deep it was impossible to keep your feet on the bottom. You couldn't swim in it either. There was just not enough of the body in water to be able to go through the normal motions. Arms and legs just thrashed around in the air and it really was possible just to float in the sitting position with head and shoulders out of the water.
That was alright until we came out and there was no-where we could rinse off as most of our precious bottles of water had been used up. Within minutes we dried off and were covered in a layer of salt crystals and that was the way we set off back via a different route.
On the way we came across a place by the name of Salt. Just a nameplace where the road crossed a small tumbling stream so we made a stop there to wash off the salt and freshen up. There was an old rusted cannon and a lot of other ironmongery in the stream left from battles of long ago but we did not have a lot time to investigate further. A Jordanian soldier appeared and warned us off by the process of pointing his rifle at us
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so one does not argue in a situation like that. We did a bit more splashing about after I had put my camera way [sic] whilst the driver and the soldier communicated. Some folding money changed hands and we were on our way. The driver told us that the small wooden bridge was guarded because of it's strategic importance and I suspect that it had been guarded ever since General Allenby had passed that way during the first World War. Rather like the Allenby bridge across the River Jordan that we also visited on another occasion. That was still guarded so we did not think it worth while trying to obtain a bottle of water that we had planned to do. I suppose that if we had approached the soldiers with a fistful of notes we could have done it as that is what seemed to smooth the way generally if you wanted to get things done as a friend of mine found out when he imported a car from the UK!.
God knows how long the preliminaries had taken to even order it but in due course it arrived at Beruit [sic] after months of waiting.
Then came the business of getting it into Jordan. First of all he could not do it himself and pay the fees. That was much too easy. It had to be imported by a recognised import/export firm and then negotiations were started with the appropriate Government department although he was entitled to it's import without tax, under current diplomatic arrangements. So it laid at Beruit [sic] for many months as palms were greased until it duly arrived in Amman. Having accumulated more fees by that time there were even more to pay. Several more months of negotiations had followed as the documentation kept getting held up until fistfull [sic] of Dinars smothed [sic] the way and it was finally HIS car. Not that he was able to tax and insure it and drive it away. Despite the fact that it was new it had to go through all the mechanical checks that all vehicles were required to go through before being given a registration. It was a sort of MOT test but set annually, and annually got a different registration number which also meant a new set of plates. More Dinars changed hands at each of the four stages of testing, shuffling and mis-laying of papers, passing the papers to the department that made the plates, (right next door to the registration office), more mis-laid papers, and at last, when
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the plates were ready, the production of the insurance documents before those plates could be fixed and sealed by the department. Plus of course the final bakshees before he could actually take the car on the road. In all it took just over a year. He never took it for a second test. Things happened that forced him to subsequently drive it across the desert nearly 500 miles to Habbanyia where it was eventually taken to Basra under service arrangements and it came back to the UK on the Ark Royal minus wing mirrors, screen wipers, wheel trims, slightly dented and rusted. Fortunately there was enough documentation with it to ensure that it was not subject to import duty....provided that he kept it for a year!. At that point in time he would rather have got rid of it when he eventually got back to the UK himself but despite all the hassle he made full use of it. That was a car with a history.
I eventually got my opportunity to go further East. Just far enough. I was detailed to go to Habbanyia in Iraq for Courts Martial duties as a member of the Court. Anything except defence or prosecution, but it was not quite the 'perk' that I thought it was going to be.
After flying in I reported to the Adjutant who I knew and had a been the Signals Leader of 138 Squadron at Wyton and subsequently 90 Squadron at Marham, (at the same time as the chap who had fun with the car had been there); only to find that the President of the Court was none other than 'Black Mac' himself.
Being the junior member I was the 'scribe' and Mac was his same old self. His Adjutant was having as rough a time with him as I had had at Coningsby. Anyway, the case was over in a day and sentance [sic] was pronounced so I immediately set about putting some distance between Black Mac and myself.
It took three days with the flight priority that I had and more than one argument with the Senior Air Traffic Controller at Habbanyia who wanted to put me to work there. No way!. I wasn't there for that and it was a good thing that I knew a few people, not the least the Adjutant, who kept me on a four hour stand-by for a seat on an aircraft back to Amman. Apart from anything else I wanted to see Habbanyia, the RAF's jewel in the desert.
There was plenty of it with the old plateau airfield and the new one that had been laid out on the plain; the former being
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used for the training of the Iraqi Air Force. The relatively new base on the plain was surrounded by masses of buildings, three swimming pools, a profusion of lawns and gardens that turned the place into a glittering oasis. I walked miles and miles around that place and marvelled at the engineering that had made full use of the waters of the Euphrates and numerous artisan wells. There was even a large lodgement compound for the hundreds of native workers and their families who seemed to enjoy quite reasonable amenities, and eventually a seat became available and I was on my way back to Amman. I was to go back there again in due course.
Meanwhile it was back to work. I was duty controller and the airfield had been shut for a couple of hours one evening as no traffic had been notified when one of the ATC assistants phoned from the duty but to tell me that there was an aircraft overhead flashing it's lights. There was a rapid call out for duty crews and I was off to the control tower. The aircraft was still circling when I went on the air and asked the pilot to identify himself. It turned out to be an Eagle Airlines York freighter on his way to India which had been routed to us but the signals office still had nothing so he had to circle until we lit the place up, inspected the runway and alerted all the other services before we let him in. Then there were a few more surprises as the pilot and the navigator turned out to be ex 207 Squadron, Marham, who I had known there.
It did not take long to find out why they had arrived before the notification. They had actually been routed via Cyprus and Beruit [sic] but had done a short cut across the Med. and smack across Isreal [sic] . It might have seemed logical at the time but with no diplomatic clearance such an unauthorised route could have had unpleasant results from a trigger happy Ack-Ack gunner.
There was never a dull moment although some of the things that happened were quite serious.
Our helicopter with the Station Commander and Station Warrant Officer on board went down the line of the old Hadj railway of Lawrence of Arabia fame; to a point where it petered out about half way to Aquaba. For some reason or other the SWO, contrary to standing orders relative to the safe areas around a helicopter made the mistake of backing into the tail rotor,
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and a military funeral was the order of the day and a few months afterwards the helicopter pilot's wife who had shared our taxi to Gerash died of natural causes and there was more sadness in our tightly knit community.
There was a snippet of information from Habbanyia that did me the world of good when I heard of it and had a little 'chortle' at Black Mac's expense. He had given orders for an enormous banquet to be laid on. Typical, it had to be big!, but to lay that on for around a thousand people was no mean task. I definitely would not have cared to be in his Adjutants shoes about that time. As usual he had a hand in everything, including the menu and I can imagine the raised eyebrows when he decided that among the many courses served to two Kings, Ambassadors and dignatories [sic] from all over the Middle East was; maise!,(corn on the cob). That's what they feed the chickens on out there! but that was not the end of his indiscretions.
There was King Feisal of Iraq and his cousin King Husein [sic] of Jordan so it didn't help matters when he proposed a toast to King Feisal of Jordan!. I could just imagine the diplomatic huffing and puffing that went on. I had been on the mat in front of him often enough. I would like to have been a fly on the wall when he was on the mat in front of the C in C later.
In the political turmoil of the area we still managed to carry on with a small degree of normallity [sic] .
We managed a sports day with inter service competition between the RAF, the Army and the Jordanian services finishing up with a flying display from both Air Forces and on more than one occasion we closed the airfield to suit the Kings convenience by turning it into a motor racing circuit. That was a bit of fun on one occasion when he wanted to try out his latest Mercedes sports car. I can't remember the model but I do remember that it had gull wing doors. I even had the privilege of belting it around in company with the rest of his fleet.
It was a dreadful shock when we heard later that there had been a political uprising in Iraq, something that seemed to be spreading right through the Middle East, and as a result of that particular incident King Feisal of Iraq and most of the Royal family has been massacred, and a republic had been declared.
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There was definitely a rot setting in and there was no doubt that there was a lot of outside influence behind it all. You didn't have to be a genious [sic] to work out the fact that oil and a power politics was still the key to the whole business in Egypt, the Suez Canal, Jordan, Iraq and as it was to turn out later, Aden, the Persian Gulf and Iran and all points East. It seemed that that area of the British Empire's influence was crumbling around us.
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Nevertheless, Air Traffic Control was the job and there were few occasions when a shift did not produce something out of the ordinary.
It was all quiet one sultry afternoon when I heard a very faint 'May-Day' call on the common frequency and immediately responded but found it difficult to achieve satisfactory contact. The direction finder bearing showed the aircraft to be to the North of us and although it was possible to pick out a call-sign the rest of the message seemed to be in German. After giving courses to steer to reach us the aircraft's transmissions were getting louder and the pilot was calming down although it was obvious that his English was very limited, as was our German and then one of the assistants came to the rescue. I was not aware that he was a Channel Islander but he asked me to find out if the pilot 'parlies vous francious [sic] '?. That brought forth a stream of French so I put the assistant on the radio and it did not take long to find out what it was all about. At least he was steering the headings he had been given and was getting louder which was the most important thing but he turned out be a Swiss. in a light aircraft en. route from Cyprus to Bagdad but had encountered head winds, was lost and getting low on fuel. Certainly he had done the right thing by declaring an emergency over that inhospitable terrain that looked like the surface of the moon and getting into a bit of a panic that caused him to lapse into non-standard procedure. The rest was easy. He followed our instructions until he found us after which he was directed to the civilian reception area for the rest of the
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formalities. By the time he came over later to file a flight plan he had calmed down and able to communicate in good English and certainly happy enough that he had finished up with the RAF in Jordan instead of being lost in the mountains. Another satisfied customer even if we did extract a small landing fee from him.
I had to respond very rapidly to another emergency situation one evening shortly before our normal shut-down time. One of the Venoms was still airborne and the C.O. was on his way back from Aquaba in a Pembroke. The helicoptor [sic] pilot had just put his chopper away in the hangar almost opposite the control tower and had given me a wave as he started to walk off when the Venom pilot came on the air reporting his position and the fact that he had just flamed out and would be ejecting in five seconds ...4..3...2...1 and he was gone. There was a quick shout to the chopper pilot and hand signals to wind it up, another quick call on the radio to the C.O. who was on a different frequency almost overhead, to tell him that we had 'one down about 25 mls to the North East of us, please investigate...chopper on the way' and everything swung into action from there. Suffice to say that the downed pilot was back on the airfield within 30 minutes of his first call. Not bad going. The same 'downed' pilot was the one that subsequently took the first Harrier on a non-stop transatlantic flight to New York.
There was another occurance [sic] one late afternoon when a Valetta had a burst tyre and ran off of the runway to get well and truly bogged down but things like that were only slight hic-ups in a day's routine and I must admit that I was getting a lot more out of life than if I had continued to push paper around in the Secretarial Branch. Not that there wasn't any paperwork but it was different.
I had not been in Quarters on camp for very long and I had an off-duty morning closeted in my dark room when I heard the fire alarm faintly in the distance but with all the stuff I had in the trays I decided to ignore it. There was a highly qualified
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Flight/Sergeant RAF Regiment fireman on duty and quite capable of handling any situation without me. I found out what it had all been about when I went on duty for the afternoon shift and in hind-sight figured that it might have been better if I had turned out.
The fire had been in a ventilation canopy over the airmens mess kitchen right next to the school, so the firemen and police had cleared the school and were tackling the fire quite successfully until the Wg/Cdr. Admin turned up and instructed then to lay foam on the roof. They did as they were told and the resultant mess took days to clear up as the foam slid off into the school. My daughters were delighted at the fun and a few days off but the kitchens and the mess and the school were in a hell of a state. Ox blood based foam is very sticky stuff but I found a bit of a problem in writing up the fire report. First of all I was in trouble for not being there and then because foam had been used. I think it took three drafts of the report before the Wg/Cdr found it acceptable to pass on without laying the blame for the mess at anyone's door.
Following the report were his own recommendation that I, as fire officer should be on the phone so a phone was installed,(not that it would be any good if I was in the control tower or off camp as anyone else was entitled to be when off duty, but that caused another storm in a tea cup.
Some time later I got the bill for the telephone installation and was hot foot down to see the Wg/Cdr. As far as he was concerned I had the facility and I should pay for it but there was one quick way out of that. I insisted that as it was a strictly a service requirement on his own recommendation it should be restricted for incoming calls only and the Air Force could pay for it...and that was that. As far as I was concerned it was a matter of principle but I was beginning to wonder if other people had the same sort of hassle over almost everything. I certainly seemed to be getting more than my share anyway.
We had another unfortunate incident one night when an aircraft of the local air line inbound from Jedda lost an engine on final approach and piled in about three miles out. There were no other aircraft scheduled so with all the alarms going we were straight
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into the crash procedure and I jumped aboard one of the back up water tenders to get to the scene. It was a very rough ride but all we had to do was to head straight for the fire and by the time we got there the aircraft was well alight. The first rescue crews on the scene had put water spray on the exits where the passengers had been scrambling out virtually being pushed along by the crew and the last of them had just got out a few minutes before I got there and the fire finally beat the water and the foam and was rapidly consuming the aircraft.
Nevertheless, the crew were uninjured and there were no serious injuries among the passengers no doubt due to the fact that the the [sic] pilot had whipped the undercarriage up smartly and had done a successful belly flop in the lights of his landing lights. I found the rather shaken Captain who told me that at least everyone was out until there was some hysterical screaming from one of the native passengers who had been assembled in a group to one side and ultimately some-one conveyed the message that she had left her baby an the luggage rack…..too late!. The aircraft was melting down and there was nothing that could be done until things cooled off. Meanwhile we started loading the passengers into an RAF bus and ambulance as well as some of the back-up fire vehicles that were no longer needed and they set off back to the medical centre. My problem was that due to the terrain our radio to the tower was virtually useless and produced little more than buzzes and crackles so no-one on the airfield knew what was going on. I did something that was a bit hit and miss but it worked. I got the Rescue Landrover up to the highest point I could looking down on the airfield and broadcast the information and in addition I used the headlights to morse a message to the tower. They got both and the medical centre was ready to receive them and attend to the injured. Typical of the way they did things out there was one of the final acts. The pilot was promptly placed under arrest by the civil authority even though he was still in a state of shock. Out there you were often guilty until you could prove your innocence. It was the way things were done and one got used to things that would have been outrageous at home. It was very similar to the manner in which I saw the public treat a taxi driver in Amman city after he had knocked over
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a small boy in the main street. The taxi had come to a screeching stop after the lad had nipped in front of him and got clipped. A howling mob descended upon the taxi driver and hauled him out of the vehicle and pulled, punched and kicked him in the direction of the nearest police post whilst in the meantime the small boy, who had only been bumped and had rolled into the gutter, got up, dusted himself off and scurried down a side ally. No doubt the taxi driver got thumped for his part in the incident and it seemed that no-ne [sic] was particularly interested in a slightly grazed little boy!.
The unit library was a place that most people used and contributed to quite regularly but most books had become dog-eared and certain types, mainly 'whodunits' very often had their story line ruined by the attentions of a certain elderly lady.
The lady was an ex school mistress who had taught in the local missionary schools since the days of Queen Victoria if her appearance was anything to go by. She wore Victorian type clothing that elderly ladies of that era would have worn. Voluminous skirt and blouse with tweed jacket, the whole ensemble, half moon steel rimmed glasses and all, topped off by a white brolly. She lived locally although retired, and had stayed on, greatly respected by the local population and permitted the privilege of an honourary [sic]membership of our mess. That was how she came to use the library but the margins of nearly every book contained some comment, like an Agatha Christie Miss Marples, in her unmistakable shaky scrawl such as, 'now I know who it is', or 'so and so did it', or 'it cannot be……' or 'I knew it was' etc, etc. but she was a great character and after a spot of bother on one occasion with some of the locals when she needed rescuing from an excitable crowd she was heard giving them some suitable comment in arabic about their behaviour whilst still retaining her dignity.
At one point in the late summer we got the first rains of the season and a most wonderful sight met our eyes when we looked p down the hill from the bungalow. The whole hillside was covered in a solid carpet of crocus in all shades of mauve. They had
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just popped up, and by the end of the day they had all gone again. Surprising what a bit of moisture will do in that part of the world where it did not usually rain between March and September.
As the weather became cooler we decided to have a fire lit in the lounge one evening. Coal was available in the outside storage bin supplied on payment through the stores and very expensive. As it was a most unlikely commodity in that part of the world I asked the storeman how the devil we got it to find that apparently it was supplied under a local contract and came from South Africa by boat to Aquaba and then was brought up by camel train. Very precious stuff that!. However, Abdul was instructed to light a fire. I suppose I should have shown him how to do it the first time but it never occurred to me that he would never have seen coal before so when he queried the method he was told, paper and wood with the coal on top and the black rock will burn. So he did as he was told but he had experimented somewhat. He mixed the lot up with about a pint of parafin [sic] , set light to it outside and then brought it all in in a bucket. There was certainly some pandemonium when he came staggering in with a bucket of fire on the end of a pole!. The Station Fire Officer had visions of his quarters going up in smoke but we did eventually manage to transfer it to the fireplace where he sat watching it for a long time before being convinced that the black rock really did burn.
Their usual method of producing heat was by some parafin [sic] appliance or charcoal or even scrub wood which further diminished what timber there was on the sparse hillsides.
There was always plenty of social activity with dances, parties, horse riding, tennis, swimming gala's, motor racing etc, etc but I will always remember one particular function that we attended. A reception at the British Embassy was about the dullest affair that I have ever been to. The drinks were so watered that even if you asked for a straight Whisky you still couldn't taste it, or the Gin or the Brandy for that matter. One thing was for sure, no-one was likely to have more than was good for him and let the side down. What other foreign
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nationals from other Embassies thought about I wouldn't know but I imagine that giving a Russian a Vodka similarly diluted would have raised an eyebrow, and precious little else!. However, as is so often said, it was all part of life's rich tapestry.
As a part time untrained fire officer I was certainly getting my share of 'on the job training' from the experiences of attending some quite spectacular fires.
Shortly after having the phone put in I had a call-out and had no option but to turn out since the call came direct from the C.O. The first one was in the Souk (market), in the city, and I mustered the maximum that was available, leaving the bare minimum for the airfield so we set off with four vehicles and when we arrived the area was an inferno. The source of the fire was right in the centre where there was a great deal of timber used by a small factory producing boxes for fruit and vegetable packing and although the native population were very agitated not a lot seemed to be happening. The municipal fire services were no-where to be seen and as my F/Sgt was on leave the two corporals soon assessed the situation and started to deploy the vehicles whilst I went in search of a person of some authority and to find a source of water replenishment. I was unfortunate in both respects and when I returned to the scene it was obvious that we were in trouble. A hord [sic] of uncontrollable natives were helping out in their own way by manhandling one hose and had pulled the pump off of the jacks and the suction hose out of the water bowser to such an extent that there was water everywhere except where we wanted it. It was a fine old mess until I managed to find a policeman with stripes on his arm and asked him to muster sufficient troops to protect the operation whilst my firemen were instructed to recover everything, stop pumping and to stand-by until we had control. Not easy as some people were absolutely frantic as it appeared that at least four people had been caught in the blaze. As I saw it they would have been well and truly roasted by that time and my main concern was to stop the fire from spreading and we started to pump water again as far as our tankerage would allow although we had found a supply source of our own at an ice factory back along the road and started
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a shuttle and that kept things going.
In due course the municipal fire brigade arrived and positioned themselves on the downwind side of the fire…..and the best of luck, then the Jordanian Air Force arrived with their pump but no water tender but very soon packed up as their hoses were perished and leaking but it didn't matter much as they then ran out of petrol!. At least we were putting on water..until the King arrived!.
The police lost control of the crowd again, everyone was bowing and scraping. We lost control of the pump for a while and stopped pumping which upset the King a little when he came to watch progress but was satisfied that we had a water problem and as the fire was almost under control we might as well allow the centre to burn out unless the city fire services still required us. That being established we wrapped it up and set off home in convoy with a salute to the King and clapping from the locals....but we were minus one brass hose nozzle; which had been stolen!.
The next fire I attended some time later was to a cinema up on Jebel Ammman overlooking the city. That time we took the big fire tender with back-up pump and tanker. I went with the big Mk.V. and half a dozen firemen and air traffic control assistants but we did not have the best of drivers for a job like that. There were some very steep hills to negotiate and that particular model as fas [sic] I was concerned had some built in design faults. Not the least of which was it's hill climbing capability with a full load of water and foam compound plus a few people. In the excitement the driver did not react properly to the possibility of an extended hill climb when he should have selected auxiliary low gear at the bottom of the hill, but instead he stuffed it at the hill until he ran out of steam and then muffed a gear change. That was a recipe for disaster.
We started to roll back. Neither footbrake or handbrake would hold it and with the prospect of a nasty situation arising I hollered to all the men on the back to bale out, crashed the gear lever into a forward gear and wrenched the wheel out of the drivers grasp so that our downhill run was stopped by our back end ramming a low wall. I got some stick for it of course but I am convinced that it saved the day. It saved the troops
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but it bent the tender and the wall but at least we did take off again and got to the scene of the fire. Unfortunately the pump outlets had been damaged and we could only use it as a back-up water tender to our trailer pump that got to work immediately on arrival. The cinema was nearly gutted anyway and the shell of the building itself had prevented any spread of fire to surrounding buildings so there was little that we could do. The city fire services were spraying water on the side wall, aiming for one small window quite high up, with very little success until one local fireman climbed an extending ladder with his 1 1/2 inch hose to put water directly into the window. I didn't think it was good idea as it was all very close to overhead power lines and the like so I went inside through the foyer with the city fire chief to asses the possibility of taking our hoses in through that way and promptly retreated. The fire had got a good hold so I immediately withdrew all of our appliances out of the roadway from below the wall of the building to the space under the inside balcony. The main wall was as hot as the side of a brick kiln and all that cooling water in my estimation was likely to cause a blow-out and collapse the wall. Despite putting this suggestion to the fire chief that his man up the ladder was in considerable danger he left him up there whilst we concentrated on the fire at the base of the inside wall.
Of course, in retrospect there is always another way of dealing with a situation although my report emphasised the need to keep my firemen out of the danger of a collapsing wall so as usual I got 'stick' for it. That is what officers in charge were for!!.
That's what the recently appointed C.O. thought anyway as for some reason he did not have a lot of time for Air Traffic Controllers, even though we were all ex aircrew. To him we were 'rock-apes', a term of endearment usually reserved for the RAF Regiment. There was very little that any of us could do right according to him, so there was the usual enquiry and a lot more caustic comment thrown around. I was used to it by that time so it was all water off of a ducks back.
I was paying a number of liaison visits to the civil airport
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by that time as parts of the civil terminal building were being up-dated with an Air Traffic Control facility although it was very basic. Almost every time I went there the man in charge was comfortably dressed in pyjamas and rather like the Egyptians had very limited knowledge and even less experience but most of their questions were answered. We never saw them in our Air Traffic Control tower though. They always declined the invitation as apparently they monitored all of our radio channels anyway!.
I have very good reason to remember the occasion that the terminal was officially opened by King Hussien [sic] . I had an official invitation to attend with a place on the viewing balcony so of course I had my camera at the ready when the King advanced along the red carpet towards the entrance just below and a perfect shot was presented....then my lens hood fell off and landed at the feet of P.M. with a gentle tinkle. There was instant reaction. H.M. stepped back smartly, surrounded by his escort whilst about ten weapons were aimed straight at me. Phew!. Fortunately I was immediately recognised by the King as the chap he saw quite regularly in the control tower when he presented his flight plan and with a wave the procession carried on. One thing I did not expect was a soldier clattering up the steps to hand me back my lens hood with the compliments of the King. Alright to laugh at later but a bit tense at the time.
The political situation in Jordan seemed to changing in a way that was very similar to that which had caused Britain to give up their protective role in Egypt under the mandate given to us by the United Nations. We had been obliged to get out of Egypt and our troops had been withdrawn from the Canal Zone. Now the power struggle had centred on Jordan and King Hussien [sic] being pro. British was having a spot of bother keeping control of the situation and on one occasion when I paid a liaison visit to the civil 'Air Traffic Control Centre' I had an extraordinary proposal put to me. Although one had to be very careful not to discuss sensitive political matters a mention was made of Colonel Nasser who was the current 'fly in the ointment' in Egypt. It was suggested that if I could arrange for the British Government to put up £1,000,000 in gold Nasser could easily
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be put out of business!.
Having done my best to confirm that it was not a joke I lost no time in passing the message along a discreet channel which dealt with such things and naturally heard no more about it.
It was not long after that incident that I was on duty in the control tower and soon after we had opened up in the morning a great deal of activity was observed over at the civil terminal building as well as in the Jordanian Air Force dispersals. Through the binoculars I was able to determine the figure of General Glub, C in C of the Jordanian Forces, (and controller of the purse strings for the British money that kept that force going), in amongst a large crowd of military people.
It all looked very excitable and not the usual situation that one expected to see the General in so I immediately opened the line to our intelligence officer to give him a running commentary on the activities as far as I could see. One of the Jordanian Air Force's De Haviland Dove's was run up and then started taxying as the pilot called for take-off clearance whilst on the move. He would not give his destination although he advised that his flight was diplomatically cleared and he duly took off heading North. So was the General and his Lady as we found out later!. There had been a coup. Out went the General and the Jordanians controlled their own purse military purse strings. The results of that were soon very obvious as the supply of British money was cut off.
The British seconded personnel were OK for their pay as they were seconded from their respective forces but pay for Jordanian Forces soon became unreliable. So did the supply and re-supply of military stores. Their uniforms became tatty. Their boots were wearing out and we were to find out later that the troops were selling their equipment to make both ends meet although the shortage of one commodity did not come to light for some time.
It was after attending another fire that we were able to put two and two together. The fire was in one of the typical concrete blockhouse native dwellings out in the scrub and there was a hell of a bang one night when it erupted in smoke and flame. When we got there it was obvious that there was little need
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for our services. For myself I had long given up trying to put out fires. The priority was to save lives, stop the spread of fire and last of all saving of property. What we were faced with was a blackened ruptured mess that had been a home but with very little combustable [sic] material left but the worst part of, it was that there were half a dozen pink, bloated, naked bodies spread around it, plus one on what was left of the roof. We dowsed the place well and truly with water and the locals recovered the body but it was even more terrible to find that most of the casualties were women. They all had to be very carefully handled so we left the clearing up job to the Jordanians.
The subsequent Investigations showed that the explosion was caused by the careless handling of some high grade cordite, from some .303ins. cartridge cases complete with percussion caps, all in the same area. A recipe for disaster.
Apparently cartridges were being emptied and the bullets replaced making a nice little earner for someone. But it did mean that most soldiers probably had only one in five usable rounds for his rifle!. It was just part of the corruption that was beginning to undermine the once proud and efficient Jordan Arab Army. It was going into decline rapidly after it's finance had been cut off.
From that point on we found ourselves facing more and more restrictions in our daily life. NAAFI supplies became limited as certain items which were produced by firms having any connection with Isreal [sic] were banned imports. That included of course Jaffa orange juice that had gone all the way to the UK and back again to their next door neighbours but we coped. The NAAFI bottling plant stepped up production of orange and lemon drinks from essence that came from Cyprus. Well, so the management said!.
Nothing that happened surprised me any more. We had some very unusual flight plans signalled in one day which immediately aroused suspicion so Intelligence was advised. I decided to go out to the radar truck situated at the edge of the runway to get the closest possible view of these four 'Egyptian Air
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Lines DC.3's when they came in. They came charging into the circuit totally ignoring all Air Traffic instructions, did a low level circuit in a 'gaggle' and then crunched onto the runway. I was watching carefully from a small ventilator in the van as they slowed down at my end of the runway and they were quite a sight. In the first place they were not DC.3's. They were Russian Ilushan [sic] 14's and not in very good condition either. They were very tatty with lop-sided undercarriage suspensions and their general appearance was not improved by the rough flaking paintwork only partially covered Egyptian Air Force markings by crudely painted civilian registration letters.
I kept in touch with the control tower and all of our observations were passed to Intelligence and of course as they were ostensibly civil aircraft they went to the civilian terminal.
There was a great deal of activity on their arrival and there was a fleet of lorries awaiting them but the unloading process was difficult to follow even from the control tower, although I have no doubt there were many pairs of eyes on these from various vantage points as there must have been from the moment they touched down.
As soon as the unloading was complete they were requesting taxy clearance, destination not notified and no flight plans filed. All very suspicious.
All the information that we had been passing back had filtered through to the right people, possibly through the Embassy to the King but someone was very quick off the mark. Jordanian military police forces intercepted the convoy of trucks on the main road out of the airfield and the cargoes were found to be arms and ammunition looted from the huge depots in Egypt that we had left in the care of the Egyptians. It was obvious that something really dodgy was going on and subsequently some very rough justice was meted out. There were more public hangings in the city which was becoming quite a regular event.
The daily routine still went on but there was an air of apprehension creeping in. It was not unfounded. The next thing that happened was that families were warned to get ready for
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repatriation to the UK, and not very much time was given. There were lots of tears and frenzied packing until eventually the airlift by Hastings aircraft out of Cyprus began. Every day there were more goodbye's. Some people had to go by 'casevac' aircraft as the medical centre was emptied. Mothers and one day old babies were included until eventually it was the turn of the Gamble family. Abdul cried and beat his chest in anguish and when they had gone and the married quarter had to be prepared for handing back as I took up residence in single quarters. What an end that was to what had been initially descibed [sic] as an accompanied posting!. [inserted] I [/inserted] was not amused, but work had to go on just the same.
Living out privileges were withdrawn and everyone moved into camp as our activities became more and more restricted by local events. We were confined to camp for days at a time and mess life became a very hectic round with little else to do. Even the cinema only opened two or three nights a week with the difficulty of getting new films in. I managed to get Abdul taken on by the mess as a steward and he was only too glad to have a reasonably well paid job having moved his family into the area to work for me he had considerable overheads.
On one of the numerous occasions that the city had erupted once again in political termoil [sic] the C.O. sent for me to do a nice little job for him. I was to be a courier to take a message to the British Embassy, which was virtually under siege, and our communications were no longer as discreet as they might have been. I was to go in civilian clothes by taxi. My answer to that was "thanks a lot, do I have any options" to which the answer was "no". Thanks again, although I did wring one concession from him, I was allowed to draw a pistol, with a full chamber, which I kept in my hand, in my brief case, all the way there and back. There was no way I was going to be at the mercy of a howling frenzied mob without being able to do a bit of damage first. Right or wrong, that's the way I felt about the situation at the time. After all the tight spots I had been in in my life I reckoned I was owed a chance but it went off without any fuss and I breathed easy again.
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One evening about six weeks after the families had gone there was a strange atmosphere permeating the normal activities. The cinema was closed. The Sgt's mess bar, and ours, as well as the Naafi canteen were ordered to close early and everyone was warned to be ready for an early start the following day.
Few of us thought that it would be as early as it was though At 5am the sirens started wailing. The PA system was busy giving orders for everyone to report to their normal places of work by 6am, phones were ringing madly and the whole station got into gear very quickly. At 6am roll-calls were made and instructions were passed for everyone to get back to quarters, pack personal belongings and back to the messes for breakfast. Breakfast was tea coffee, toast and boiled eggs...taken on the run as it would finish at 7pm precicely [sic] after which we were to report back to our sections. At 7pm the PA system was announcing the almost unbelievable news that we were evacuating the station. Today!...just like that!. We were going to Mafraq which was a few miles to the North and we had 12 hours to do it in, and the PA system was going almost non-stop. There was no written distributed plan to work to. It was all done on the PA from Ops. and on the telephone. Motor transport was allocated to all sections who provided their own drivers. Those sections that had no drivers had them allocated with the vehicles and every qualified driver was pressed into service. Workshops were emptied. Vehicles were put together, and those that could not be put on the road were loaded on the backs of others or prepared for towing.
The direction finder vehicle that had been up on the hill without wheels for years was fitted with wheels and brought down. Fuel tankers were filled from the storage tanks and vehicles were filled to the brim. Aircraft tanks were topped up to maximum. A Meteor that had been under repair in the hangar was hastily prepared and in fact took off later with almost flat tyres and was wheels down all the way with the locks in just to be safe.
The messes, offices, stores, the Naafi, the library and armoury were emptied. The armoury in particular was cleared by the simple expedient of issueing [sic] arms to everyone to save transport space so we all finished up with a selection of rifles, pistols, Sten guns, Bren guns, you name it, and as much ammunition as we could
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carry. Work pressed on at an incredible rate. The only refreshment was what one managed to cobble up in the departments and sections…..lunch was not even mentioned, although we were told that meals would be available at Mafraq where a skeleton crew had always provided minimum facilities there as a relief landing ground; even before a new runway had been built on a new site.
Everything that was not bolted down was packed…and some things were unbolted, and as each section was ready to move it was off to the Guard Room where convoys of a minimum of ten vehicles were put together and dispatched by the Service Police. The Squadron Venoms were being flown out followed by the chopper as soon as the Squadron was gone. The fighter control unit that had always operated from a remote site was wrapped up and that was on it's way independantly [sic] as were the British Military personnel on secondment to the Jordanian Government. The RAF Regiment airfield defence units just packed up and went, Bofors guns and all, everyone armed to the teeth and in many cases parties left a certain amount of damage and disruption behind them. Handsfull [sic] of salt and sand did guns and engines considerable damage. The Jordanian Air Force Vampires had all their guns de-harmonised so that they were likely to spray lead all over the place instead of in a concentrated pattern and the Kings personal Tiger Moth was tipped up on it's nose busting it's prop.
The Station thinned out fast. Air Traffic Control, the fire services and the signals cabin were the last to wrap up but the dead-line was met although aircraft were still going in and out with very limited services which pilots were advised of and as we approached the dead-line we lost control of the airfield.
The last civilian aircraft was the BOAC Argonaught from U.K. to Bahrain and although the captain accepted the limitation he had to be sent around again as half a dozen vehicles of the Jordan Arab Army appeared on the airfield weaving about all over the runway and he was obliged to circle whilst we tried to keep them off. The pilot landed eventually under his own responsibility, disembarked and embarked his passengers in double quick time and was off again without a flight plan.
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Our last action was to signal the airfield's closure and change of operating authority before the signals cabin was dismantled and the Pembroke flew out with as many as could be piled in leaving the remaining Air Traffic staff (including me) and the fire services to go by road as soon as the keys were deposited in the Guard Room, so off we set with RAF Police Landrover in the rear. Amman was no longer an RAF base!!!.
Our new home was the new Mafraq airfield being built as part of the NATO plan. It was on the North side of the old oil pipeline on the main route from Damascus to Bagdad opposite the old Mafraq (Dawsons Field), but it was in no way complete.
At least it had a long new runway, some new buildings which had in fact been built as married quarters although there were no barracks as such. Needless to say, they were allocated as barracks even though they lacked lighting, running water or toilet facilities. In fact, water was a very scarce commodity as there was no bore hole, and no water tower so water had to be brought in by a dubious civilian source which could not even be used for cooking until a filtration system was devised. But all these problems were only part of the getting sorted out plan. Later on we found that as we were not far from the foothills of the mountains of southern Syria a water diviner was expected from the UK to pin-point a source. That was put on hold although it should not have been difficult considering that 20 miles to the East there was a large area of marshland and vegetation which was fed by the flood waters from the mountains and some of that found it's way through the middle of the airfield. They had built a large conduit under the runway to take it away in the rainy season!.
However, limited water there was and that was a start. At least once a day we could draw a ration for washing and shaving. Drainage was a different matter. There were no drains so we resorted to the desert encampment method of doing things and the shovels had been at work allready [sic] . Everyone got 'stuck in' and were working like beavers.
The Officers Mess had been set up in an area of bungalows. The Sgts Mess was similarly set up in a clutch of houses and the airmen spread around the incomplete estate. A large wooden building with a kitchen, which had originally been provided
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for the contractors workers was turned into the main mess hall.
As with our departure from Amman there were very few questions asked. Then we had been told to pack up and go. At Mafraq we were just allocated space and it was up to us to set it up. It says a lot for the character of the British serviceman in the way it was done. There was no lack of initiative.
Air Traffic Control had already been set up in a suitable place about half way down the runway in a desert mobile office and our old runway control van. Emergency short range radios took very little time to fit and aerials were promtly [sic] rigged by the signals section as was the direction finder and radar truck although it was only as a radio back-up and even the homing beacon was tied to the side of it on with a lash-up of a mast. As the ATC services were outside the main camp area and main power supply we had our own mobile generator.
The Royal Signals Corp who were [deleted] a [/deleted] our telephone people out there were frantically running lines between departments in the main compound, linking everything through a small PBX in the hub of the whole system, the Ops. room but had saved a lot of cable by actually using the runway lighting cables as phone lines to the ATC centre. There were no lighting units installed anyway just the cables. It would be back to the old parafin [sic] goose-neck flares for a flare-path.
The RAF Regiment were whacking in stakes and spreading coils of barbed wire by the ton to surround the main area of activity which did not include ATC. It was an isolated outpost, but armed to the teeth as was everyone else. Representations had already been made to the CO to turn us in a defensive compound surrounded by wire as we were going to have to maintain a 24 hour watch but we had been given a low priority on that.
Within the stores area was another fleet of vehicles including workshops which had [deleted] previously [/deleted] been part of the Egyptian stores depot that I had previously known nothing about and that played it's part later. Then there was a complete [inserted] mobile [/inserted] fighter control unit but it was not sited or deployed so there were a lot of people without jobs that ops deployed as manpower to wherever it was needed.
Work had been going on at a furious pace and a lot had been done before we arrived in the late evening. To uproot about
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1400 people with all their goods and chatels [sic] , equipment of all kinds, transport, arms andammunition [sic] , fuel, food and cooking facilities plus communications equipment, and set it all up again was quite an achievement and must have given the CO and his senior officers more than a few headaches in planning it in secret the night before.
Work that first day did not stop at five o'clock. It just continued until most things were in place and reported operational before the troops staggered back to the mess hall for soup and sandwiches before drawing bedding and making up beds to finally flop into them; exhausted. What a day it had been although it should be pointed out that it did not all happen on the first day. It was an on going thing and a matter of priorities.
There were two items of private transport parked in the officers mess area. One, the car that had caused a colleague so much trouble to get into the country, and the other, a neat little bright red MG.B. belonging to the Station Commander, or to be precise, his wife. Some months previously King Hussein had made a present of it to the CO. but no sooner that the Embassy heard of it they invoked Queens Rules and Regulations about the acceptance of gifts by serving officers and it was 'no can do'. I do not know who squared it all up, but the King took it back and then presented it to Mrs.C.O. There was no argument with that!.
After a few hours sleep the second day was a memorable one as far as some of us were concerned. There was no need to push anyone and after a quick breakfast the hustle and bustle started again. I had not even had time to go to the airfield for the day shift although we were down to six controllers by that time with postings out and no replacements and having left ATC problems to another controller I had hardly had time to check out the fire services deployment when a message direct from the CO was delivered. It required two controllers, six firemen, two radio mechanics and two other technical trades to muster with tool kits as appropriate, small kit, (essential personal belongings), plus one major fire tender, to return immediately to Amman to put the services back on the air again. It had not taken long for everything to fizzle out and the King had made
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a personal appeal to the Group Captain for assistance. I had no problem in nominating my No.2. A New Zealander, an ex POW like myself who would know how to take care of himself. I went with the fire tender and the others went by air arriving more or less at the same time. I had been delayed a few minutes before setting off as I transferred a couple of cases of Brandy from the Mess stocks to the fire tender…..just in case of emergencies!!!!.
My colleague had already taken stock of the situation and was waiting at the foot of Air Traffic Control when we arrived and we quickly sorted out a plan. A young Jordanian pilot was 'in control' in the tower and was doing his best with a verey pistol and a stock of cartridges which was about to run out as there had been a total breakdown of communications despite, as I had understood, that the civilian terminal facilities were all in place if needed. A bit of 'know how' would have helped, but civil aircraft were still scheduled and something had to be done so everyone went about their business. Within two hours everything was ticking over again. The main generators were started up. Power was back on, batteries were being charged, verey cartridge stocks were replaced by scavenging among the Jordanian Air Force aircraft, tuning had been carried out and crash and rescue services were operational, with limitations, although the Jordanian Air Force appliances would not join ours on the hard-standing but 'control' remained in the hands of the Jordanians. We flatly refused to have anything to do with it....it was their airfield and that was that.
By late afternoon our activities slowed down as intercomms [sic] and radio communications were all back on line so we waited around for something to happen.
Eventually we were rounded up and taken to a mess hail in the Jordanian Air force compound where we were fed. We certainly needed it. We had had nothing for ten hours other than perhaps a small share of a bar of chocolate that someone had thoughtfully put in his kit.
After that we were taken to our accommodation. I could hardly believe it was happening. The keys of two married quarters had been produced from the Guard Room. One was my old quarter and the other the Station Commander's.
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My colleague and I took rooms in my old quarter and we put the men in the CO's residence as it was the larger building but after a good look around we decided that there was plenty of room for all of us in the big house and that we would move in the following day. There was room for us at one end and for the men the other with the lounge designated as a common room. Our stock of drink was added to what we found in the main house. The CO had lived in it right up to the moment we had moved out and hence his wine stocks were still there in his store and side-board. It was an Alladins [sic] cave!. Exactly as he had left it. Nice of him. We promptly appointed one of the Corporals as barman with the responsibilty [sic] of keeping it all secure and out of bounds during the working day. That way we could make it last so after a couple of rounds on the CO we retired for the night.
I must confess that it did seem strange sleeping .in my old quarter again especially as there remained a memento of the previous occupants. A jig-saw puzzle that one of my girls had left was still on the top of a wardrobe!.
We had been warned to be ready for a pick-up at 7:30 the following morning for an 8 o'clock breakfast so we were all formed up in a mini parade when the transport arrived on the dot and were duly conveyed to the same mess hall, where we had had supper the night before.
Most of us were hanging on to the little bit of kit that we had taken with us and had added a few eating and drinking utensils along the way. The quarters were still as they had been left by the last occupant, as per inventory; down to the last pepper pot... but who cared!. There were two ex POW's who had been obliged to eat with the fingers before, and were not taking any more chances.
We had a good breakfast and at 8:30 we were asked to wait for instructions as there was a great deal of activity ouside [sic] and we did not have to wait long before we found out what we were going to do next.
The mess hall was totally encircled by armed troops standing shoulder to shoulder and an officer told us that we were to stay put until things were sorted out. We were under house arrest!.
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By mid-morning the sorting out had been done as we just sat around twiddling our thumbs until we were asked to assemble outside as we were going to the airfield...but not before being asked for the keys to the fire tender!. There was no point in arguing so I reluctantly handed them over and then we were escorted to the airfield where we waited a little longer before our Pembroke came in so we all piled in. The pilot, who happened to be the Group Captain did not bother to shut down the engines. It was certainly not built to carry that many so it was a bit of a squeeze and it was even more of a squeeze to get it off the runway too. We used every bit of it and every bit of power that was available. We used all of the runway and just lifted off with everything straining all the way to land at Mafraq a few minutes later with some very hot engines. So much for that little expedition!!.
The CO did not say a lot apart from suggesting that there would have to be an enquiry into the loss of my fire engine and I think [deleted] g [/deleted] my answer was something to the effect that it might as well be done by the same board that would do the enquiry into the loss of his airfield!, but it was only a formality really in order to get it struck off and replaced.
In the meantime things had really been going on apace at our new base. The barbed wire had been strengthened. Trenches and gun pits had been dug. Sand bags were piled up all over the place including the fuel dump, the aircraft dispersals and other vulnerable places....including Air Traffic Control. That was at least no longer stuck out on a limb but a whole new pattern of life had emerged.
The station was on Red Alert permanently which was a rare situation for peace-time. Everyone was still armed to the teeth and the Amman party had reclaimed their weapons from the armoury. On reflection it was as well that we had not been armed when we had gone back otherwise I am sure that it would have meant another enquiry into the loss of our weapons.
The old Mafraq desert airfield had been completely deserted and everyone was confined to the new camp area. Aircraft had been shuttling to and from Cyprus and Habbanyia. Essential supplies were coming in and non-essential personnel were being flown out as a lot of adjustment was taking place.
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Air Traffic Control was still being maintained on a 24 hour shift system so the few that had been doing the job were only too pleased to spread the job out a bit. We all had secondary duties to perform as well so we were kept busy.
The Army had opened the Post Office again and some mail was already beginning to filter through from the UK but we had been advised that outgoing mail was being censored at Nicosia so there would be delays in that direction.
I was desperate for news of my wife who had not been well prior to leaving Amman and had had a dreadful time going through Cyprus, Stansted and subsequently through Hendon before being able to catch the first train out of Victoria in the cold early dawn of an English winter. She had caught a chill. Her nerves were shot to pieces and it was just as well that she had opted to go back to her parents home in Worthing where she could be looked after much better than if she had gone to a transit camp at Blackpool which had been one of the options.
From her most recent letters it was obvious that she was still unwell and was not being helped by the disruption of the mail from our part of the world either.
All our goods and chatels [sic] which had been flown out of Amman was somewhere en-route so a lot of new clothing had to be purchased and it was not easy but somehow she was coping. For the girls it had all been quite an experience although even they were glad to settle down in the local school once more.
Our daily routine developed into something like normality once more. There was plenty of ammunition and we could spend as much time as we wanted on the range which had been quickly set up but in a very short space of time we set up our own on the airfield with aid of a borrowed bulldozer. I had qualified as a range safety officer at Mareham [sic] so we soon got clearance to do our own thing. The targets were of the tin and bottle kind and there is nothing like practice to improve marksmanship!.
One also learns considerable respect in the handling of firearms provided that the basic rules are observed, and they were. No fooling about. A gun should always be handled as if it was loaded so loading and unloading and cleaning, going on and off duty never produced one incident of mis-handling...fortunately!.
Aircraft continued to go in and out, and in most instances we
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had notification as soon as our communication with the outside world had been re-established. It was all radio and radio teleprinters of course so with all the coding and de-coding that was required the signals cabin was going flat out.
We were very surprised one morning we we [sic] went off-duty after a busy night with Hasting's coming and going to find that we had several heavy artillery peices [sic] already dug in, sandbagged and manned by the R. A. ready for use. The question was, against who?.
We were not left in doubt for very long. Within 24 hours of their arrival the news hit us that combined French and British forces had invaded Egypt and the Suez Canal Zone and then we were immediately on a war readyness [sic] state.
News was limited to the personal radios that many still had but the fresh restrictions under which we were then placed gave us more to worry about.
Diplomatic relations with other Arab countries were broken off and we could no longer use the air route across Syria to Cyprus and all traffic had to be routed via Habbanyia(Iraq) and Turkey. Isreal [sic] was at war with Egypt and Jordan. Iraq was making protests in respect of our presence and Cyprus was suffering some internal unrest from a regigious [sic] rebel. And we were sitting in the middle!.
That particular episode is but another chapter of history, so it might as well be left to the historians to write it down. All I was aware of at the time was that it was another fine mess I was in.
The daily routine went on but perhaps the biggest headache of all was the acute shortage of water. Tanks, water carriers and bowsers of every sort were pressed into service for storage. There were no laundry facilities and it soon became neccesary [sic] to institute bathing parades for about twenty people at a time to strip wash at a water bowser and then dunk clothes at the same time. It was not very well received by some of the more sensitive youngsters, many of them national servicemen but thank goodness the weather was still fairly warm with the odd shower from time to time. At least when it did rain Air Traffic Control had a plentiful supply with the benefit of the stream that ran under the runway. More than enough on one occasion after a really
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heavy downpour when a great deal of rubbish was carried along in the flood which blocked the grating and then diverted the stream over the runway!. A useful job for the fire services.
The rain did bring some other problem though as the airfield had been built right across an age old camel route from the North right down into Saudi Arabia. Camel trains naturally followed the water supply and took years to go each way with many young being born en-route.
The older animals knew the route instinctively and invariably travelled in the cool of the night with the herders fast asleep in the saddle but it played merry hell when they blundered into barbed wire and other things like an airfield across their path. There was a great deal of growling, bellowing and other noises that camels make as some of them got tangled up.
Some wire had been strung out earlier to divert them from their route but it was a waste of time. You only had to look at a camel to realise that going around it was very far from their minds. The easiest way was to remove it and thoroughly inspect the runway at night before it was. I think it save a lot in compensation too!.
I had one piece of good news anyway. The two cases of Brandy that I had diverted from the bar stocks were written off and did not get charged to my mess bill, the paperwork for which had all been brought from Amman. It would not have cost much anyway. At approximately 50p a bottle it would not have been more than £12 in total in those days!.
Since we had moved to Mafraq our rations had been fairly basic although with the air supply we had been topped up and were adequate for several weeks if we had been completely bottled up. Nevertheless. the NAAFI manager, who was a member of our mess and in fact shared a room with me, decided that he would do something really special for one week-end and set to work with some 'surplus' stocks to make an enormous pie. In a bath tub!.
In went four chickens, obtained locally, followed by several pounds of bacon. The contents of several tins of pork and sausage meat. Corned beef, spices, all suitably spiced and sloshed into the tub with several dozen halves of boiled eggs. The pastry took umpteen pounds of flour and fat to make the lining and
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the lid and when finally decorated was a near masterpiece as the 60lb. pie was hoisted into the oven.
After hours of cooking and cooling it was finally brought ceremoniously into the dining room with all the solemnity usually reserved for a royal haggis. It really did look good with it's pastry leaves and rosettes all glistening with the overall glazing. It cut beautifully and tasted gorgoeus [sic] . Certainly it seemed worth all the effort that had been put into it….until the following day!.
Some people said it was due to a richness that we had not been used to, others reckoned it was over indulgence but the medical officer decided that as the medical centre was inundated with officers going sick that perhaps the ingredients were not as fresh as they might have been. The local chickens were suspect even though they had been bought live. (You did not normally buy anything of that sort out there unless it was on the hoof or still clucking). So the MO had the last word and condemned it to be consigned to the fire. I thought it was a great shame. I had had a double portion and I was OK, and so was the NAAFI manager who took out a large chunk before disposal. And we still did not come to any harm. Need one say more!.
There was one weekly event that many people turned out to see. It was the 'train' that went through from Damascus to Bagdad a few miles from us, usually on the far side of the old Dawsons Field, only it was not on rails. It was a huge Mercedes locomotive/coach with a trailer coach like a gigantic silver caterpillar. It's wheels were between 7 and 8 feet in height with great balloon tyres that looked as if they had come off of a Stirling. With a crew of drivers, engineers, radio operators navigators and stewards it just bored majestically along like the proverbial ship of the desert in a plume of exhaust smoke and a cloud of sand. It really was an impressive sight as it went through. Unfortunately I was never in a position to photograph it as zoom and telephoto lenses were not so readily available as they are today.
After [sic] while the rigid restrictions were eased a little although we were required to wear uniform all the time. Everything to the West of us and that included the town of Zerqua was still out of bounds but we could go in small parties Eastwards to
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the marshes where there was some wildfowl and some remnants of an ancient civilisation.
Among them were the ruins of an old Bysantine [sic] town which still bore the marks of the progress of the Crusaders that had passed that way hundreds of years before. The most amazing thing was the size of the building blocks. Something like 4ft square and there was still a lot of it standing. Mostly it was being used as a shelter for camels which were being looked after by a motley collection of very ragged boys who surprised us by having a smattering of broken English. In fact they even looked a little European and I will say no more about that other than to note that the British had been in those parts for a long time!.
The method of construction was to remain a mystery as we could find no books on the subject in our limited library but generally it must have followed the same ancient techniques used by the Romans and the Pharoes [sic] , who seemed to be able to move huge quantities of stone with only crude equipment…..and a lot of expendable manpower. In one wall there was a door of solid stone 18ins. thick, some 4ft by 5ft hung by 3ins. pegs, hewn out of the solid, which was perfect fit and capable of being swung to and fro' in balance by a finger touch. Quite remarkable, and a welcome outing in a place like that provided some relief from our normal routine.
I took the opportunity to fly down to Aquaba on one accasion [sic] . The firemen down there were on detachment originally from Amman on a rotational basis and some of them had been there overlong. I had been badgering the CO. for a long time and eventually got clearance to go down and swap three of them over, as well as taking what mail there was. Mail had been very spasmodic as the lines of communication kept changing.
When we were in Egypt the run out of Fayid to Amman used to parachute the mail into Aquaba and aircraft landed infrequently. When Egypt packed up some went by sea and some went via Amman and then it all got held up until it went via Cyprus and Amman and then the routing was changed to Cyprus/Habbanyia/Mafraq with the inevitable delays. With only limited communications between Mafraq and Aquaba three firemen had a nice surprise when they found that they were being relieved. I tried to find my cousin but learned that he had already returned to the UK.
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At his age he was due to end his long service with the army and at last get the sand out of his shoes. I could understand how he felt after all the years he had spent in Mesopotamia [sic] before the war and he was no doubt relieved to get out of another of many tight spots including the evacuation from Dunkirk.
We had a very nice surprise one day when a couple of young English nurses in an old banger presented themselves at the main gate asking for shelter for the night.
They were en-route from the UK to India the hard way. Right across the continent, a hop from Turkey to Cyprus. Another to Beruit [sic] and Damascus, then following the route of the old Hadj railway to Zerkqa before setting off across the desert for Bagdad they found an out-post of the British Empire on their route so it changed their plans a little.
Room and board was found for them. They were fed and rested and their old banger, which was actually in better condition than it looked, was serviced by the MT. section who were only too pleased to have something different to do. After spending a couple of nights with us they were given a resounding send off and good luck to them. There was still some spirit of adventure left that was for sure. They were not the only women to undertake such a daunting journey.
When the families were being evacuated from Amman there was one lady who decided to drive the family car back to the UK. If they had had as much trouble in getting the car into the country as my colleague then there some logic in it, but she took two youngsters as well.
We heard that she had made it after many weeks on the road and her route had taken her out of Jordan into Syria. Then further on into Turkey, Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, Austria, Germany and Belgium before it became neccesary [sic] to cross the last ditch...the Channel!. Some journey. Nearly 3000 miles. Who said that women were the weaker sex.
We were still losing controllers without replacement. The next one to go was the same chap who had imported the car and the NAAFI manager was being posted back home as well so they went together. They filled up the car with their kit, fuel and supplies and they set off for the 500 mile plus journey to Habbanyia following the pipe-line towards Bagdad and Basra.
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The pipe-line was the best possible navigational feature for crossing the desert as there was no road then. Just the pipe-line and a string of desert air-strips that were generally American oil company manned with their own system of communication. All that for a pipe-line that had not pumped oil for years!.
My wife was continuing to have a rough time of it and for some reason was not getting all of my letters. Her nerves were still bad and she was having a lot of treatment whilst I was still stuck in that place. True, we had the facilities of mess life and the Squadron pilots who were not doing much flying had set themselves the task of starting up a cinema in a marquee. The RAF Film Service had fallen down on the job and nothing was coming in other than privately arranged 16mm films from Habbanyia and using the 16mm projectors that were supplied for training films we managed some form of entertainment. Our original 35mm equipment in our cinema had been left behind in Amman but we coped even though we had to stop the programme to change reels and it very often went out of synchronization...accompanied by hoots of laughter.
A games night in the mess on one occasion provided a little distraction but it was a night that I fear I became a little unpopular with the organisers, The Squadron pilots of course. It was a games night with a difference as it was turned into a gambling den despite the fact that normal mess rules forbad the playing of games for money. Anyway, our conditions were far from normal and I recall that the bank was holding it's own at most tables but the roulette wheel favoured me to the extent that I broke the bank. The first time was not so bad and after they had raised more funds I broke it again!. They said it was only for fun so I gave all my winning back and retired but I am sure that I would not have got my shirt back if I had lost it....but it was still a lot of fun despite the fact that the CO made some very disapproving remarks. He and I were not on very good terms by that time.
Our relationship had not been improved by another incident when I was Duty officer one night and one of the patrols called in to report that there were suspicious noises on one section of the perimeter according to the Guard Sgt, like tank track noises. I was just a link in the chain and passed the report on to OPs.
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centre. The CO decided to go out with the Guard Commander and found that it was only echoes from a generator exhaust and I got the stick for it. Still, I would have got a lot more if it had been a tank probing our defences and I had not reported it. As usual it was a 'no-win' situation for me.
We still did not know quite what to expect or from where. The Suez invasion was all but over. We had driven a wedge between the Egyptians and the Isrealies [sic] and they had agreed to pull back. Our troops were withdrawing and it was a very tricky situation not improved by the recriminations and world opinion on our role in the whole affair, and all was not quite what it seemed on the surface.
We had been warned that the odd Canberra might be making a dash for us from Cyprus but we had a bit of a shock to learn that on one occasion an RAF Canberra out on a high photographic recce' over Syria had something on his tail that he had not quite expected. A Syrian, (Russian made.), SAM 7 heat seeking missile!, and unfortunately it found him. As far as I recall one member of the crew was killed, the other was captured and was returned some time later when the situation had eased a bit. Not a lot was said about it.
Christmas 1956 came and a great time was had by all. The Officers and NCO's served the men in time honoured fashion. There was too much to drink and rationing was forgotten for that day. Unknown talents emerged with a station concert and a station song with many bawdy verses was produced along with one or two daft acts on stage. I am not sure what time lunch finished that afternoon but I reckoned we owed ourselves that.
My tour of duty, 2 1/2 years, was coming to an end and like most people I cherished the date which was bodly [sic] marked on my calender [sic] . In the old days it would have been "roll on that bloody boat" as the song goes although in the circumstances it was roll on any form of transport when I reported to the Adjutant for confirmation that the repatriation procedure would soon be be [sic] put in motion. I was devestated [sic] when I was told that I was being deferred as they could no longer afford to lose people without replacement. It did not take long to arrange for an appointment to see the CO only to be told that there was no appeal, the decision had been made although after we had been
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closeted for a while with some man to man talking and the production of some letters from my wife and her Doctors he accepted the fact that I might have a good case so he would see what he could do. He owed me that at least after one incident that ocurred [sic] between us that needs no airing so I was left sweating it out for a while.
Fortunately it did not take too long and I was soon involved in the paperwork to clear the unit, obtain an air priority and wait for another week before, I at last found myself on an aircraft for Habbanyia.
As soon as I got into the transit mess there was my colleague who had driven there in his car still trying to get it down to Basra but otherwise enjoying himself.
I found it very difficult to enjoy myself even when every day was virtually a holiday whilst I waited for a seat on an aircraft when I was so desperate to get home. My priority rating was still the basic, the bottom of the list!, so all I had to do was wait.
Fortunately I knew a lot of people at Habbanyia and was invited out quite a lot. I also saw a lot more of Habbanyia and on one occasion a party of us got together for a day trip to Bagdad.
That was a forty mile taxi journey each way across the desert as there did not appear to be a road and the return journey was of course done at night. I can only think that those drivers navigated by the various clumps of rocks that loomed up from time to time as there was nothing else to indicate which way to go except the stars.
In Bagdad we broused [sic] around, up the street of the goldsmiths, down the street of the silversmiths and up the street of the ivory carvers and in an about sampling the sights.
It was not possible to photograph all that I would have liked to as it seemed that the Iraqi army was guarding almost every street corner. Photographs had to be taken very discreetly after the first occasion that a threatening rifle was pointed in our direction, but it was a good day just the same.
I was still kicking my heels after a week without having been called forward so I buttonholed a Valetta captain that I had known at Fayid who was flying a freighter to Cyprus the following day and he agreed to take me as supernumarary [sic] crew. Air Movements
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staff agreed and I was out on the airfield, baggage, hangover and all by 7am, after very little sleep. I wish I had had the good sense to have abstained but it had all developed into another fairwell [sic] party and I don't think I have ever felt so bad before. I almost signed the pledge [underlined] again!. [/underlined]
The thunder of the take-off just about scrambled every nerve in the brain-box but that was only half of it. We were of course taking the roundabout route going North-West to cross the Turkish border then West over the mountains and the Valetta thundered it's way up to 16,000ft with the crew on oxygen, all except the supernumary [sic] crew member who did not have an oxygen mask so I cupped a spare outlet hose in my hands with it on full flow I gulped and and [sic] gulped until the hammering in my head became a little more bearable. I was very glad when we turned South and started letting down clear of the mountains on the last leg to Cyprus. What a blessed relief it was to touch down at Nicosia and sample that first cup of coffee in the transit lounge.
With thanks to the pilot for the completion of one more leg of the journey behind me I reported for documentation and when that was done found myself signing for a Smith & Wesson .38 with six rounds and a printed set of instructions before being transported to a hotel in a quiet area of Nicosia. Basically the istructions [sic] were to the effect that if I was out in public I had to be prepared to defend myself although the natives seemed friendly enough on the surface there was still an undercurrent of dissent. Most of the troops that had invaded Egypt who had used Cyprus as a jumping off point had been withdrawn and I certainly had no intention of going very far on my first day in Cyprus. I was in need of a lot of sleep.
The following day, fully refreshed, I was off to re-visit Nicosia city centre and I was dammed if I wanted to take a pistol stuck in my belt like some bandit as all my webbing had been packed away in my 'deep-sea' kit so I left it in my room.
I was wandering along quite happily taking in the sights down a main street when a car pulled up alonside [sic] with a screech of brakes and my immediate thought was...'whoops-here is trouble' and I turned quickly to asses [sic] the situation only to see a chap that I had known in Amman who said with some urgency "Tom Gamble,
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get in you bloody fool", so I did.
It turned out that I had been strolling down 'murder mile' where more than one bloke had bitten the dust in recent months. He was more concerned afterwards that I was not armed but who knows, perhaps it was because I was not that I did not become a target. He lived in a bungalow not far from the Hotel so that's where we finished up for tea, dinner and drinks on more than one occasion.
He was a useful chap to know being one of the Air Movements and despite the fact that I had been told that I would be called forward when a flight became available I didn't think a daily visit to Air Movements would do me any harm, if only to be sure that I-was not overlooked. Not that he could expedite my passage. That was determined by my priority and a long waiting list but we chatted about this that and the other and he told me there was a compound in the freight area with all the Amman baggage in it so we went to have a look. Under a large tarpaulin was a huge pile of boxes and on investigation we found all the Gamble's unmistakable boxes on the edge of the pile. I couldn't mistake those boxes. One of them had been my father-in-law's tool chest and another had belonged to an Uncle who I had never known, who had been killed in France during WW1. He had had it made in India so it was certainly well travelled. Anyway, they had already been there three months and whether he exercised his perogotive [sic] or not they were back in the UK two weeks later.
I had many a pleasant time with his family for odd meals and parties as well as a couple of runs out into the country and to the coastal resorts of Limosol [sic] and Lanarca as the days went by.
Despite the fact that I checked daily with Air Movements the answer was getting monotonous, "sorry, not today" was not what I wanted to hear and seriously thought of using the knowledge of my wife's condition to 'up' the priority although I had already sent a cable to her to let her know I was in Cyprus and still waiting when, at last, after a week I was told that I was allocated for the following day so all the paperwork was done. I sent another cable to say I would be on my way and duly reported with baggage, ready to go. I actually got as far as the steps to the aircraft when a Service Policeman came rushing
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up with an Air Movements Cpl and a harassed looking airman with a suitcase. Papers were waived and I was taken off of the manifest to go back into transit. The airman had compassionate grounds for getting home in a hurry and that's the way it worked. He had a higher priority than I did and unless you were very senior it was usually an officer who had to give way. It cost me another cable to say I was further delayed.
Air Movements confirmed that I would be away the following day and I think I went to bed that night with everything crossed but it all went according to plan. There was another emergency boarding but that time it did not effect me as my priority had gone up one as a result of the previous day's cancellation, so I was off at last in a chartered Eagle Air Lines Viking stopping; at Nice for refuelling and thence to Stansted and finally to Hendon for disposal. After that I was on my way to Worthing, home and family.
That was the end of my Middle East tour. All that packed into two years and seven months!. By that time it was the beginning of February 1957 and I was not thinking too much about my next appointment. I would know all about that when I reported to the Air Ministry within the customary 48 hours of my arrival in the UK. Family business was of the highest priority as it was obvious that Dorothy was far from well with a nervous disorder so before I reported to Air Ministry I got a letter from her doctor and was prepared for any problems that might arise.
I need not have worried. The Personnel Staff could not have been more sympathetic and sorted out a posting for one that was beyond any wildest dreams. Tangmere, just 18 miles from Worthing so off I went with two weeks dis-embarkation leave to sort things out.
It did not take long to get a small car and we visited Tangmere to take a look at what was to be our new home and to complete an application for Married Quarters which we were told, would be available soon and another visit to the Senior Controller soon put me in the picture. There was one small problem. It was another 24 hour shift working Air Traffic Control situation. Another of the many geographically placed units that provided an emergency service although that would not present much of
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a problem once I was in quarters. I was used to sleeping away from home....although that did not mean that I liked it.
The two weeks went very quickly but at least we made the most of it. We got out and about visiting family as part of the process of rehabilitating my wife until it was time to report for duty and once again after the arrival formalities I was up in the control tower ready to start local training to bring me up to the very high standard required on such a busy unit.
There were two resident Squadrons. One of Meteor night fighters and the other of Hunter day fighters and their activities ensured that Tangmere was not going to be dull. A controllers handling capability had to be brought up to being able to cope with up to eight aircraft at a time....and that was pushing it!. What took a little time to get used to was the fact that every time I was up in the tower I was looking down on an area of tarmac where only 12 years previously I had been de-loused on repatriation from a German POW camp, but it was the general atmosphere of the place that I found so fascinating. To me it was like being on hallowed ground and all rather pleasant after my recent experiences and somewhat comforting to find that I had served previously with three of the controllers.
Within a matter of weeks I was put to the final test required by the Senior Controller and was certificated for solo watchkeeping and bit by bit I was also creeping up the married quarters waiting list until one day I was allocated a quarter.
Unfortunately it all went sour the following day when I was told that it had been re-allocated to the Medical Officer!. It was not very well received at home although I was told that another would be allocated in a few days so I was reluctant to have made the protest that I could have done. My knowledge of the regulations told me that as a National Serviceman the M.O. did not qualify for quarters!, but it was politic to let it ride.
Within a matter of days I was allocated a quarter for the second time and there was considerable excitement in the family when they were told that we would be moving soon.
It was either the next day or the following one when I went on duty that I was told, yet again, that it was being re-allocated. I could not believe it. If I had done that sort
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of thing when I had been looking after quarters at Coningsby I think I would have been lynched but that time I did not take it laying down. It did not take long to find out that it had been allocated to the new O.C Flying Wing, (my boss, two steps up) on ex officio grounds, meaning that the quarter goes with the post irrespective of the waiting list. That was the regulation and as such it was acceptable, apart from the fact that the out going Wing Commander was still occupying a Quarter!. As far as I was concerned that was not on and if I was go home and tell Dorothy once more that we were further delayed the next thing that I would be doing was resigning my commission. I had just about had enough too but after more consideration than I would have given most problems I asked to see the Station Commander, Group Captain Hughie Edwards.VC, among many other decorations, and with tounge [sic] in cheek put my case as succinctly as I could. A change from my usual bull at a gate tactic. Out came the relevant order, in came the OC Admin, and the S/Ldr Admin and the Station Adjutant, the order was taken apart with a decision in my favour and apologies for the cock-up. After that it was my turn to apologise for having the temerity to make such a protest and it all ended up without anyone being upset and within a week we were in quarters. I can think of one or two CO's who would not have reached a similar decision whatever the regulations but enough said about that.
Before we moved our boxes had at last been delivered to Worthing and we didn't know whether to laugh or cry when they were opened up. Customs had already been through some of them and they had been badly repacked. Crockery, glass and ornaments had been broken. Clothes had gone mouldy and had to be thrown away. Linen that we thought was white when we packed it was a nice shade of brown as a result of a couple of pounds of Jordanian and Cypriot sand in each box a lot of which had filtered into the sewing machine box requiring a complete overhaul of that to avoid further damage. Nevertheless, most of it was usable. Just one of the snags of living out of a suitcase and boxes for years but we settled into our new home and a comfortable routine was soon established. The girls were soon back to school and there was continual family movement to and from Worthing as we picked up the threads of a more settled life and Dorothy's
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health began to improve. It really was turning out to be a very a happy unit too, and I had become the Station Fire Officer again!. It was suggested that I should go on the Fire Officers short course at one time but I cast that one aside. "No thanks, Iv'e[sic] had enough on the job experience" and left it at that. I didn't protest when the phone was put in though. Being out of my bed every fourth night I could cope with but I was trying to avoid being away from home any longer than that for a while.
It was shortly after we had settled into the routine that I heard the sequel to the Mafraq situation. Not a lot was mentioned by the media and I got most of the information from my correspondence with friends but apparently within a few weeks of my departure we abandoned the place. It was quite an operation. Again, everything was made mobile. Vehicles got armour plating and Bren gun mountings. Some 400 vehicles that had been in the Maintenance Unit were made ready and loaded with all the other stores, preparations for which were going on before I left as that many vehicles require a lot of batteries but the distilation [sic] plant did not have the capacity to produce the required amount of distilled water. Even at that point a decision had been made to use any sort of water and throw the batteries away after a short life. All had been put together in a very large convoy of 600 vehicles were fuelled and provisioned for the 500 mile journey, armed to the teeth still, the aircraft were flown out so off they set off with air cover and air supply all the way to Habbanyia.
Quite an experience for a 'peace-time' operation. There was no real problem and eventually it all finished up at Basra for shipment.
I eventually heard from the chap who had had all the problem with his car. It did eventually get to Basra and subsequently back to the UK, as deck cargo on the Ark Royal, very scratched and bent with a lot of bits missing. There was a car with a history!,.
One of the biggest surprises that I got one day was a bill from the accounts department; for1s & 7d, (7 1/2 pence in today's money) for 'barrack damages' on the occasion of leaving my quarter in Amman. It was for the deficiency of one wash basin plug!. Absolutlely [sic] incredible after all the millions of pounds that
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the evacuations had cost the Government. And I get a bill for 7 1/2 pence!. When I approached the Accountant Officer with a suggestion that it ought to have been written off he was adament [sic] . It had to be cleared from the books and although it cost me more than 7 1/2 p in stamp duty I paid it by cheque just to make a point. How bloody silly!.
Secondary duties were always coming the way of Air Traffic Controllers and one that fell in my lap was an audit of the bedding store inventory. I had a full briefing for that one and the appropriate Air Ministry Order thrust under my nose to reinforce the importance of checking thoroughly. It was the first time that I seen the order and it was almost word for word of the paper that I had put forward years previously so obviously it was an successful system. I wonder who got a pat on the back for that?. Certainly not me.
On one fine day up in the top tower doing airfield control with a few Hunters flashing around the circuit I knew by the clatter of footsteps on the stairs behind me that the party of .Air Cadets that I had was expecting were about to descent upon me and on turning to meet them was astonished to find that Peter Hobbs who had been the Navigator in the same crew as myself on Stirlings in 1943 was the officer in charge. I don't know who was the most surprised and for a while I was far too busy for any conversation although later on when it was quieter we really did get down to business. I picked him up later in the day to come home for tea and later for a drink in the Mess and we had a lot to chat about but the extraordinary thing was that when we met umpteen years later he had no recollections of the meeting at all, although at least he could remember coming to my wedding. That is more than Paddy Martin the Flight Engineer could!.
As we got into the Summer I had a feeling that all was going too well to last. In July I was dispatched to Shawbury for an eight week Radar course. Just as the kids school holidays were coming up. Nevertheless, I took some local accommodation at Wem and managed to live out for nearly a month. That gave everyone a change and a chance to tour new areas and a great deal of Wales as well. It actually made a very nice break for us all and although it was my second visit try Shawbury it was not to be my last.
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I passed out of that course with possibly the best mark that I had ever achieved despite it's intensity and in due course reported back to Tangmere for duty.
There was of course the usual period under instruction but I was certificated after ten days and back on watchkeeping duties with the ability to be rotated anywhere in the control system.
Ground Controlled Approach as the radar system was called was most satisfying and there were many occasions when I was required to pull out all the stops. It was very demanding but rewarding nevertheless. Some of the highlights of my experiences in GCA are firmly imprinted on my mind.
One occasion that I remember well, and I think my younger brother will as well, was when I was on stand-by on the end of the telephone at home and he was staying with us as he was also recovering from a nervous disorder following a matrimonial problem. I took him with me when I was called out.
The alerting system had already brought the equipment up from the stand-by mode to full power as we raced for the operations truck and I made contact with the tower as I slid into my seat. I put him on a spare headset and was pointing out the significant blobs on the radar screen and after that concentrated on the job in had [sic] , showing him the progress of the blob from time to time. The customer was a diverted Hastings from abroad and although our weather was bad elsewhere was even worse so with 600 yards visibility and a 200ft cloud base I got stuck into my very first operational talk-down. I had been on the other end often enough and knew that it was not easy to handle an aeroplane completely on instruments, boring into the murk, descending at around 130mph. That was probably why I always projected myself into the cockpit when doing talk-downs and felt as if I was virtually holding hands with the pilot and everything went smoothly. The pilot had a full instrument rating and the rest was up to me. When we came to the critical bit, just in the bottom of the cloud at half a mile from the runway threshold he was as steady as a rock, still doing around 120mph, in contact with the approach lights through the murk to the point of touch-down when I flicked the transmitter switch off to hear the pilot report "on the runway" as I turned to where my brother should have been to as I said "I'll open the door
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and you will see him go by"....he was not there. The strain had been too much. He was flat out on the floor and although he did not take long to recover he vowed that would never place himself in that siuation [sic] again and was very glad to get back to the house where a drop of the hard stuff restored him. I don't know if it was the shock treatment but he made good progress after that and got his feet firmly on the ground again.
Another visitor to the tower one day sent a few people into a panic as the sight of a policeman' uniform will often do. Even if you have done nothing wrong. Nothing you can remember anyway!. It was my wife's cousin, a local police patrol Sgt who was making a courtesy call, and in the course of our conversation he conveyed his Inspectors compliments. It had come out during a chat that he was none other than the chap who had been in the same hut as me in Stalag 11d, Nuremburg POW camp. It certainly was a small world!.
Our Senior Controller had a unique talent. He was in great demand to perform party tricks with cards and the like but his best performance was as a Hynotist [sic] .
Like most-people I was sceptical even when I saw people doing quite remarkable things, under the 'influence' I was still not convinced. Not until I was included in a group session. When the preliminary process of selection and conditioning had been done and I was told that my right arm was heavy and I could not lift it I said to myself "rubbish', I will show him. But I couln't [sic] , or my leg when we got round to that any more than I could stop the daft answers to questions coming out of any mouth when I tried not to say them. After that I was convinced and knew that people who were. getting drunk on a glass of, water, acting like chickens and other animals were not just part of the act. I submitted myself to several sessions and it was to be the same every time. He really did have control and was very good but the CO. put a stop to group sessions particularly if any of the pilots were involved. He reckoned that pilots were too vulnerable and did not want any talked into the ground!. Although it was most unlikely as one has to submit oneself to hypnosis it was perhaps a wise move.
We were getting into the Autumn of that year when I collected another secondary duty, that of taking charge of the Corporals
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Club, and on the face of it it seemed easy enough. Like a lot of other things that had come my way!. I soon found out that picking up the takings every morning, and checking the books and cash in hand and stock-taking once a week was a job that I could do without. The takings were very small. There seemed to be no more than half-a-dozen people making use of the place on any night and as far as I was concerned it hardly justified the services of two part time volunteer barmen and yours truly putting in two hours every week when over a hundred Corporals never even bothered to stick their noses in the place. That's the bit that peeved me most and I was 'piggy in the middle' again. For all that if anything that went wrong I was the fall guy.
A survey showed that for the year that it had been operating the takings had never reached what I would call reasonable proportions, albeit it was a non-profit making set-up, and the NAAFI manager confirmed that when the Cpl's bar had been run by them it had not needed any extra staff. That was enough for me and called a general meeting of the club with only two items on the agenda. One, "do you regularly make use of the club facilities;" and two, "would it make any difference to you if it was to revert to NAAFI management", The vote was a unanimous NO to each item and armed with the results of my survey and the minutes of the meeting I presented my case to the CO. When he realised that an officer was spending more time on Cpl's club business than most of the Cpls made of the facilities he agreed immediately to it's disbandment. He did make the observation though that as I had not appeared to be keen on taking the job anyway was my action the easy way out. A straight "yes" surficed [sic] !.
We were still making the most of Tangmere and the area, there was always something going on. On one occasion the Mess laid on a Battle of Britain garden party with invitations to all and sundry including of course many of the 'Few' who had fought from Tangmere. The invitation list was very impressive and I was awed by the prospect of being in such illustrious company. It was a schoolboy's dream come true.
Douglas Bader was there doing his usual stomping around and chatting with his old chums and gold braid seemed to be dripping
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everywhere. I spotted one of the 'Few', a Group Captain who had been my boss when I had been at Transport Command HQ. If ever I am asked about my most embarressing [sic] incident what happened next is certainly one of many.
I tried several times to catch his eye if only to make my presence known so when he eventually looked in my direction and approached I thought it would be an opportunity to make small talk for a while. He never seemed to notice although I had my hand stuck out to grasp his he went right by and gabbed the hand of an elderly steward who was behind me. As I looked in amazement at him pumping the arm of the steward he looked around at me and said "sorry Gamble, I couldn't let this bloke go, d 'you know, he was my batman in 1940". Then I understood and I knew that he had got his priorities right so I retired to the refreshment tent.
With the winter approaching the GCA became more and more important to our activities. On one occasion we had a flight of three Hunters of the Royal Netherlands Air Force notified but our weather deteriorated very quickly as they were on there way and when they did arrive they only had a very limited fit of frequencies which were already cluttered up by other traffic using Ford and Hayling Island. They were also quite low on fuel and on that day I think I created a precedence in Air Traffic Control by declaring an emergency 'Mayday' on the frequency requesting all other users to clear the channel. Needless to say it worked and with the GCA operator monitoring their progress they poured down from the overhead and landed without a hitch in what were still very poor conditions but a quite oblivious to the fact that the situation could have been much more serious. Another less successful incident was the talk-down of a diverted Valetta from overseas. His destination was below his limits and ours were marginal but three times I talked him down to the half mile decision point but he would not go that little bit further and overshot each time. After the third time he asked for a further diversion and was sent to Manston. I felt very sad about the end result of that. I know he was in the right place to make a touch-down but either he was sticking to the rules or he was lacking confidence in me. We will never know. The runway at Manston was icy, he braked and slid after
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landing, dipped a wing and pranged in a ball of fire and all of the crew were killed.
On another occasion I was on duty on a dirty Saturday morning in what was our published availability time for the Radar. We had not been warned of any traffic, the equipment was in the stand-by mode and I was in the crew van with my feet up sipping a cup of coffee when the tower controller came on the intercom. He only said two words, "urgent...in" and I was off to the operations vehicle with the mechanic at the double.
The mechanic started building up to full power as fast as was permissable [sic] as I contacted the tower to be told that we were taking on a Sea Vixen from Ford as there [sic] radar had just packed up as they were recovering aircraft from the Victorious in the Channel. The tower controller was positioning the aircraft into the pattern on time and bearings as my picture was filling in and I had already been told that he was short of fuel. Why the Fleet Air Arm had to fly to such tight limits I do not know but as soon as I had him in contact and he had changed to my frequency I asked him to confirm his fuel state and he quite calmly said "I can't overshoot if that's what you mean", so it was going to have to be a first timer.
I suppose my voice was calm enough, my directions accurate enough and his flying precise enough for him to ignore any limitations to make a perfect touch-down and then he promptly ran out of fuel on the runway as he was saying his 'thank you's'. I wonder though, if he was anything like me absolutely saturated in persperation [sic] !. All part of a day's work.
y
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Page 170 is missing
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Part of ‘Nil Desperandum’
Wyton 1962. Dot had become paralized [sic] from the waist down.
we were managing; just!.
After Dorothy had been in Addenbrooks for three weeks her condition had deteriorated further with almost no control over the lower part of her body as they carried out test after test whilst we continued our prayers in our own way. There was no time to spare to attend church for formal services. We were much too busy. Then the ultimate test came up on a new machine that Addenbrooks had just installed. Dorothy was the first person to have ever been strapped into it. Normal X-Rays had failed to show anything but that machine was the very latest. The patient was strapped to the bench which was set in double gymbals [sic] which rotated the body in every possible angle to a number of X-Ray cameras. The contraption looped, rolled and twisted and turned until she was dizzy but when they interpreted the results they did at least find the problem, which was all that they told me at the time apart from the fact that are operation was necessary and everything had been arranged for it to be done at The London Hospital in Whitechapel which specialised in neurosurgery so I managed some more time off to go with her in the ambulance to see her settled in. That is all I could do....and pray some more!.
The operation was scheduled for a week later and the surgeon wanted to see me first so I knew the time had come. I had to find out sometime but when I was told I was just about bowled over. When you are told that an operation has a fifty fifty chance of success you draw your own conclusions as I did but although Dorothy had been told the same I was given some more priviledged [sic] information. The 50/50 chance was that, one she would die, or two, she would be a cripple for the rest of her life.
I have made a few decisions in any life but to give approval for an operation that could have such consequences was perhaps the most difficult I have ever had to make. That was my Dorothy they were talking about. The little schoolgirl that I had known since I was seven and who had never subsequently questioned my career decisions and had always supported everything I had done. I hoped and prayed that I would not let her down.
As far as I was concerned at that time that the end of my service career. There was no way that I would be able to carry on, my
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work was suffering too much already; and I signed on the dotted line. Dorothy never knew about that 50/50 chance for years and neither did the family. I left everyone to draw their own conclusions and not everyone realised the seriousness of the situation, and never have. As for me I was back to work, looking after the kids and trusting in the Lord.
Eventually the operation took place, all eleven hours of it in the hands of a most celebrated surgeon and as it was a teaching hospital it was all recorded by colour cine' camera's under the eyes of dozens of students in the galleries. I found it very difficult to concentrate on work but eventually I phoned to find that she was out of surgery, confortable [sic] , stable and all the normal things that the nursing staff are trained to say but it was a couple of days before I could get down to see her.
To aovoid [sic] upsetting the system too much I could only visit between shifts without landing myself in more trouble by asking for more time off. She looked pale, she had had three blood transfusions during the operation which had been to the area of the inside and around the back of the spinal column between the shoulders to remove a tumor [sic] . A very delicate job, and touch and go.
It would be three weeks before we would know whether it had been successful and in the meantime she was told not to move a muscle or even think about it. Every movement she wanted to make had to be assisted. About the only thing she could more without assistance were her eyes and mouth. Not easy.
Whilst she was in that state she developed some side effects like a sort of bronchitis that had everone [sic] baffled although it eventually got sorted. That was one time that we were able to do something for the hospital, they had done so much for us and she was not the only one suffering from the same congestion in the bronchial tubes. They had tried everything and Dorothy suggested that one of Grandma's cures might help so they went along with it. Off they went to the fruit and veg. market on the opposite side of the road to the hospital to buy lemons and then produced Grandma's mixture. Hot pure lemon juice and honey!. Two doses and a cough and up came the offending obstruction with a great deal of relief. It went down to the
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path. lab immediately and funds were promptly allocated to buy more lemons and honey from the market and everone [sic] received the 'cure'. That made some considerable improvement in Dorothy's condition and she began to get stronger. Family visits were allowed, all except the baby and after two weeks, although she was not supposed to move, came the moment we had both been praying for. She reckoned she had been static long enough and had experimented a little. It may not seem a lot, but when I made my next visit she said to watch the foot end of the bed. The bed clothes rippled. She could wriggle the toes of both feet so that was a good sign but we could do no more than hold hands in our excitement. We coudn't [sic] even embrace due to all the dressing and padding around her but that was the beginning of her recovery.
Within a couple of days she had experimented a little more to find that she could move her legs and there was feeling in them, a fact that she was able to tell the surgeon on his rounds. He and his staff were excited too and she had the all-clear to try, very gently, other movements, in a closely controlled situation, and what she was able to do caused even more excitement. Of course, she was prodded, pricked and scraped to test all the reflexes that had previously packed up and all the right signs were there.
At the end of the third week she was allowed off of the bed into the vertical position and most people will know what that is like, even if they have only taken to their bed for a few days. After fighting the nausea and using a walking frame for a few days she decided to go solo. No walking frame crutches or sticks and she did the length of the ward from bed to bed with a lot of encouragement from everyone in the ward.
Day by day she improved, doing a little more each time and getting her sea legs. Her wound had healed well and she could do most things by herself including turning over in bed. Even her vericose [sic] veins had improved due to the bed rest and the end of another week she was transferred back to Addenbrooks Hospital on a stretcher by train with private compartment!.
After a further week the hospital authorities were making arrangements for her to be transferred to Huntingdon hospital which would make it easier to visit when, out of the blue they
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changed their mind. She could come home for convalescence!. The relief was indescribable. It was an emotional time for all of us, and I can barely recall what went on apart from the fact that I was totally overcame when the strain of the last few months manifested itself and I had to go and lie down in a darkened room for a while to wait for my brain to simmer down. Eventually I was able to get myself together and bit by bit we were able to tackle the daily routine once more and re-establish the family unit that had been so disrupted.
Every day brought improvement and by the time she had been home a month Dorothy had not only managed to walk comfortably with the pram and to a certain extent unaided, after another few weeks she even managed to ride a bicycle again. That was quite an achievement and when she went back to Whitechapel to see the surgeon he and his colleagues could hardly believe that it was possible and were justifiably highly delighted. Dorothy turned down an invitation to appear in person to back up the film for a presentation at a later date. It would have been very good for the moral of the team but we had more important things to attend to by then.
Fortunately the tumor [sic] had been non-malignant and was in a place of honour in a pickle jar and we were only too happy to say our 'thank you’s' to all the ward staff and doctors who had made it possible, including a letter to Peterborough hospital staff who had started it off. But who had really made it all possible!?.
By what stroke of fate was it that she went to Peterborough hospital on that day when a particular nurse was there. What caused the surgeon to express such surprise at the supple state of Dorothy's spine if it had not been the dedicated work of the Chiropractor, and what guided his hand in a most hazardous operation which they considered to be a near miracle?. Who knows. When we wrote to the faith healing organisation telling them of the outcome we received a most beautiful letter and so we went on from there.
Not everything was as it had been before. The bits that they had taken out of Dorothy's spinal column to get at the tumor [sic] had left her a little shorter than she had been. She had to walk fairly fast to maintain her balance and her ankles were
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turned over slightly inwards. Small things really and as time went on they became less and less of a problem.
For me it was back to the routine again to try and make up lost ground. No more time off, full shiftworking again including night shift although we had lost the emergency service requirement we manned for 24 hours to cover USAF traffic. All throughout those months of anquish [sic] there had been a lot going on that I had still been involved in. We had got rid of our museum piece of radar and taken the new equipment into service and were beginning to shake it down as we were developing new, safer and more sophisticated systems of traffic handling. In such an environment everything was ongoing as problems were confronted and solved almost daily. It all directly involved me one way or another as at the same time I was working my way through the system to refresh my proficiency certificates until it all finally settled down and was running efficiently. At least, during that period I had not collected any secondary duties like Fire Officer!. The only certification I lacked was that of supervisor and no doubt if I stayed there a little longer I would have made but before you could say "Christmas 1962" my next posting was notified. To Laarbruch, Germany, effective from the following February!. I was a bit peeved as I had regularly requested to be trained for area radar which would have widened my scope but at the same time limit the units at which I could serve but it didn't work out that way. I found it somewhat frustrating at times that whilst I was bouncing around like the proverbial yo-yo every 2 1/2 years (or less), there were people around me in different professions who had been in the area for ten years and more. They had done the rounds of Wyton, Upwood and Brampton, bought houses and raised families all in the one area. I should be so lucky!!!.
At least we had plenty of time to organise ourselves. I knew a few people out there so I set the wheels in motion for renting a some private accomodation [sic] to hold us for a while until quarters came up and finished with a place in the town of Goch, about eight miles from the airfield and where the RAF had some married quarters. The two eldest girls were going to have to go to boarding school at Hamm in the Ruhr which was not entirely to our liking but local military schools only went up to junior
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grades, after which it was off to boarding school, either in the UK or Germany. to. A very limited choice so Hamm it was.
After some careful planning we made the move as painlessly as possible. I went privately two weeks in advance with the car loaded up to the hilt almost 16 years to the day that I had baled out of a crippled Lancaster over that country.
The car really was loaded. I only had a little cockpit left that was not stuffed with something and it wallowed somewhat, but I was not rushing anywhere. A gentle jog would get me there if the suspension held out and I got perhaps the best advice that I could have had from A NAAFI manager who was returning to Gutersloh, on what to look out for when driving with UK number plates out there.
We were on the Harwich to Hook route so I had the advantage of following him for a while as I settled in to driving on the opposite side of the road. In the first large town that we came across the very thing happened that he warned me about.
The rule of the road is such that you give way to traffic on the right, therefore if you are on the left of any conflict between two vehicles you are in the wrong and penalised accordingly. Cut and dried in Dutch and German law. So if you are a Dutchman driving a beat up banger that needs a new engine, and replacement panels what do you do?. You bounce an English registered car that you know has got to have good insurance cover and that's what very nearly happened!.
A couple of youths in an old Merc. made a bee-line for me from my right hand side and I had to work very smartly on two occasions to brake and weave away from his obvious intentions. Then he must have got angry and tried it a third time but I got out it by jinking around the wrong side of a tram which he promptly collided with so I had no further problem with him. Trams in Holland have absolute right of way so he was the one to finish up having to do a lot of explaining and no doubt a hefty repair bill.
I was even more wary after that but there was no further trouble after waiving [sic] goodbye to my 'pathfinder' friend and in due course crossed into Germany at Nijmegen. The loaded car caused considerable amusement among the German customs officers. I don't think that they had seen a vehicle quite so well packed,
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roof rack and all. The only room for any cigarettes was on top of the blankets that covered everything up to the sill line, but they got the message when they realised that it was all mainly household goods and I was away again without any hassle.
I was relieved when I finally arrived at my destination and although I had planned the route very carefully I made sure that I stayed on track by calling at numerous bars on the way. That had resulted in an intake of several beers which caused the interval between stops to become shorter and shorter. At the last port of call, in a bar just off of the market square in Goch I tried out my well rehearsed little bit of German on the lady behind the bar "Bitte, vo ist drei unt vierzig Weeze Strasse"?. It must have sounded alright as I had already asked for an "eine kleiner beer, bitte", but she came out with a torrent of German and then was amazed to be told "langsam, ich sprechen kliene Deutsch" and that was almost the limit of my German. It didn't matter a lot. After a good laugh, another beer and a lot of arm waving I only had a few hundred yards to go and there was 53 Weeze Street, a tall terrace house that looked a little battered with other houses each side still shored up or boarded up with panels of wood and galvanised sheeting. It was no palace but it was going to have to do.
The landlady was a charming elderly lady, almost Victorian, who managed only a few words of English but magically produced a cup of tea and over that I found that her husband had been a merchant sea captain and had been lost at sea but all was quite friendly when I told her that I had been more fortunate after being shot down not so far from where we were sitting. After that I started to unload the car with the tool box being one of the first things and then places were found for everything with shelves, brackets, hooks and the like with her permission. I wanted it to be as homely as possible, and it certainly needed the personal touch. There was basically only two rooms and nothing that could be called a kitchen, only a long passage off of the living room. It had a wash basin and a cold tap and at the far end was the toilet....unscreened and frozen up anyway!.
I could have done a lot with emulsion paint but I did not have time for that. I worked on it with what I had in terms of covers,
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screens, tacks and nails, pictures and plaques and it soon looked considerably brighter which rather surprised Frau Van Cooke who had kept me supplied with tea and cakes throughout the unloading and conversion process. The last last [sic] thing to install were various electric and gas cooking appliances and it was all done. It would not be too much of a shock to the family on first sight at least and then I was off to Laarbruch to stay the night with friends who had been at Tangmere with us before going down to Wildenwrath for the homeward journey.
I had arranged to leave the car at Wildenwrath in the care of friends who had fixed me up with a flight to Northolt in a Pembroke and it all clicked into place. Later that day I trained to Huntingdon and home. So far so good and a couple of days later we gave up the quarter and travelled as a family to Manston via a night stop in London where several of the family had congregated from Worthing, and then by air direct to Wildenwrath. The air movements staff were somewhat surprised when; as a family we by-passed all the normal transportation facilities, but all I had to do was pick up the car and set off for our new home. It was not much but we were together and we made the best of it. Frau van Cooke was a little concerned as she had obviously mis-understood that we were five in family until the eldest girls were off to boarding school but after some adjustment to the rent she made another small room available and we were fairly comfortable. Fortunately the weather had turned a little warmer and the toilet had thawed but the thing that seemed to bother Frau van Cooke most was that as the rating system in Germany was based on a poll tax the appropriate authorities had to be informed of changes as they occurred. We overcame it as we did most things. The day after arrival I was reporting for duty. The girls were enrolled at the camp school temporarily before their places at Hamm had been confirmed and we were very soon into a routine. It was different though. It was a long time since we had lived in anything but an Air Force community and in it's way it was very interesting. We soon integrated into the local environment and we had no problems in adapting. Frau van Cooke and our neighbours were kind and helpful [sic] . The local garage housed the car overnight for a modest fee when I was not on duty rather than park it in the main road and we
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soon got used to the the [sic] German way of doing things. First and foremost, the cleanliness of the area in front of a building was the reponsibility [sic] of the occupant so it seemed that there was competition to be the smartest although they were very reluctant to allow grass to grow on the verges. They were all raked and scratched into patterns. Bicycles were ridden on the footpath but always according to the direction of the road traffic and the bicycle bell was mandatory. Cars could be parked in the roads but only in the direction of the traffic but not both sides of the road at the same time. It was a very practical arrangement. Parking was relative to the date and the house numbering. Odd dates on odd numbers and visa versa. Cars were not washed in the street on Sundays and neither was washing hung on the line. Sundays was a day for visiting the family in Sunday best clothes and for church. How much that routine has changed over the years I would not know but at that time it seemed to be a comfortable arrangement. Another practical method of designating where speed restrictions started and stopped was by applying the standard 50k limit at the signpost at the town limits on the way in and at the signpost on the way outwhich [sic] gave the name of the next town or village on route. Very simple, economical and effective.
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The town of Goch was a market town very close to the Dutch border and more or less on the line of what had been at one time the old Seigfried line. It had suffered badly from savage fighting when the big push was launched on the 8th February 1945, the day after I failed to return, when the Allies attempted to reach the Rhine all along the front. The Canadians had forced a passage by the most bloody hand to hand fighting along the very road in which we were living after they had taken Weeze and most of the houses still bore the marks of the battles as did many places in the town centre. The houses adjacent to us were not the only one's that were boarded up skeletons and the Town Hall was still pock-marked with scars from shell and morter [sic] splinters as well as anti-tank and canon fire but despite it all life went on as near normal as one would have expected at home.
The attic rooms above us were not part of our let but we investigated at one time and I immediately regretted it as it upset the girls. The flimsy doors at the bottom and the top of the narrow winding stairs were both splintered with bullet holes and the walls were well and truly peppered with holes and some very nasty stains which obviously would not wash off. The attic itself was no better and there were still remnents [sic] of uniform scattered about and it would appear that nothing had been done other than to clear the casualties of the battle. It was not difficult to imagine the desperate and bloody fighting that had gone on in that place and we only ever went up there that one time.
Despite it all, the Germans had built a memorial to a British officer who had been appointed as Town Major to manage the civilian administration which was standard procedure after the battle had passed through. It was neccessary [sic] to get public facilities running properly as soon as possible and tie up the minimum number of fighting personnel. His job was to help to get things going again as smoothly as possible and to that end he applied himself in such a way that he became highly respected by the locals for his ability to be hard working, fair and just. Unfortunately, it had to be a memorial plaque as, once the town was capable of running itself again he had rejoined his unit up at the front and had been killed in action. It was something to think about that their appreciation was so recorded which
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was more than could be said for some of the German military whose presence in the area still showed…but in a different way. In the town of Kevelaer, which was renowned for it's manufacture of religious artifacts, there was a tall wall alongside a church absolutely riddled with bullet holes where a large number of the population had been lined up and shot..by the SS!, as apparently the battle raged to and fro they had been evacuated several times for their own safety until finally they refused to be moved. They were prepared to stay and take their chance and after seeing that terrible sight I could understand that the population of some German towns were prepared to show their appreciation for their deliverance from the yoke of Nazizm [sic] .
Eventually the time came for the two eldest girls to start at Hamm when the new term started and they set off by train with others who they had met between terms. It seemed better that way and probably allowed them to settle a bit quicker...but they did not like it that was for sure. Boarding school discipline was not to their liking and the school buildings were a bit grim. They were converted SS barracks and most of the pupils were quite certain that the matron had been left behind by the SS when they evacuated all those years ago!, but they coped.
We went to Hamm whenever the opportunity arose. Week-ends when they were allowed out and half-term so we took them about as much as we could to places of interest but there was invariably tears when we were obliged to leave.
Fortunately the journey through to Hamm was only just over two hours but it was an interesting route whether by autobahn or the 'scenic' route. The autobahn route was right through the 'Happy Valley' Ruhr industrial complex that had received such a pounding from Bomber Command and still showed it and the scenic route to the North was through some very badly damaged towns, including Wanne Eikle when we diverted to have a look at the place. Nevertheless, it was surprising how quickly the economy was recovering. When we first arrived a great deal of our transport and services were provided from local resources under the reperations [sic] agreement but as industry recovered that was was coming to an end and British products were taking over.
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We had plenty of friends in and around Laarbruch and at other RAF units in the area. There were plenty of places to visit and Arnhem and Nigmegen [sic] were near enough for shopping expeditions
as well as paying our respects at the military cemetary's [sic] both at Arnhem and the Reichwald. Despite the fact that the camp had very comprehensive facilities we got out and about as much as we could. If we were going to be stationed in Germany we were going to see it, particularly when the eldest girls were home from Hamm or we visited then there. I remember once asking the technical F/Sgt in charge of the radar how he liked the place and was surprised to find that he did not think much of it but after a little more discussion found that he had not been outside the main gate since he had arrived!. Even by the end of his tour he had only been 'outside' twice and his wife not at all. It seemed a bit 'head in the sand' to me as most people we knew got about as much as possible.
There was one place we found, a little different from when I first encountered it, and that was the spot where I had landed safely in 1945 and nearly got shot by the side of the road. The house where I was first interrogated was as it was imprinted on my mind. Only 22 miles from Laarbruch. I even entertained the thought when I scouted around the area that I might recover two soggy one pound notes and my old I.D. card. Some hope!. The area of small nursery pines had grown to some 50 to 60 feet high and although I looked around the area I could find no sign of the whacking great hole that 'D' Dog would have made if that was where she came down. I never have found the crash site. It was years later that I made a serious attempt to find it but MOD Historical Records could not help other than to say that they had information that they could not disclose. Possibly a cover up for the fact that they knew nothing although they were interested to know where we baled out and why. 'D' Dog was the only aircraft Bomber Command lost that day and the crash site is still listed………………..
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as 'unknown'. That local tour was one of many that we made to places that were engraved on my memory and noted in my diary. At Krefeld I couldn't even find the airfield!. At Dusseldorf the old airfield had been swallowed up or otherwise expanded although the ghosts of the past were swirling around when I surveyed the area on more than one occasion from the terminal buildings.
At Frankfurt although I followed the road out towards Ober-Orsal I could find no sign of what had once been the infamous interrogation centre of Dulag-Luft. Throughout the next two and a half years there were not many areas that we did not visit as we ranged far and wide with the benefit duty free pre-paid petrol coupons that were more than enough for our requirements. Shortly after starting the daily routine of setting off for the airfield one morning I picked up a Warrant Officer who was heading the same way. He too had only just arrived and lived not far from us. He was the Technical Wing Adjutant and his son was destined for Hamm school the same as our girls. That was the start of a long and deep seated friendship of the sort that one rarely made in the service as most friendships were like the ripples made by a stone in a puddle. They tended to dissipate when one or the other moved on but we are still in touch after 35 years.
I was soon certificated and operational. The work at Laarbruch was slightly different although it was not a continuous 24 hour shift system that I had become used to but we kept a skeleton crew on standby outside normal working hours to fulfill [sic] the requirements of 2nd Tactical Air Force. The aircraft were Canberra bombers and the more modern delta wing Javelin night fighter. A touch of both Bomber Command and Fighter Command which made for some very interesting procedures. Other than that the rest of the set-up was fairly standard. The GCA radar was the same type that I had used at Tangmere and I was promptly placed in charge of it for it's operation proficiency which included checking out other controllers and to train to a high standard of re-positioning and setting up of the equipment when the runway in use was changed. The requirement was to do it within an hour which was a tall order considering that there was the operations trailer, the power supply trailer and rest
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caravan weighing in all about 40 tons to be moved with great care considering that it contained some quite delicate equipment and cost around £250,000!. Bend that little lot and someone's head would roll........mine!.
The route to Hamm took us down to the new bridge at Vesel, slightly up river from the remnants of the ends of the-old bridge that had been destroyed during the war in that hottest of all hotspots. It was from that very area that massive armies had gathered to force a crossing of the river and where Churchill had fired one of the first shots of the assault by pulling the lanyard of a very big gun and where the biggest Airborne landing of 22,000 men had been landed by glider and parachute on the East side of the town. A very historical place militarily and a slightly battered one having been given a terrible pounding by Bomber Command prior to the attack by ground forces. Nevertheless, a lot had been rebuilt and the new system had taken advantage of a lot of open space and vast quantities of rubble. We usually swept through and in a few miles had linked up with the autobahn.
I got my first taste of motorway driving out there when they were were [sic] still building the M1 in the UK although the southern end was usable I had not used it but it was like a battlefield. 90% of the autobahn traffic seemed to be VW Beetles and the like with a top speed of a little over 70mph, about the same as mine, but it was the way they were driven that put the wind up me.
There was no speed limit and drivers just hurled themselves along at maximum possible speed with foot flat on the floor all the time, come what may. Nose to tail, bit between the teeth, no leeway whatsoever and no margin for error, just going like the clappers all the time. I really felt as if I was back in the Battle of the Ruhr and found it decidedly uncomfortable. I don't think that there was ever one journey that we did that we didn't see the results of what appeared to be suicidal driving so I started to try and prove that the MT instructors at the base were not going to include me when they quoted the statistics of 90% of drivers [underlined] will [/underlined] have an accident whilst in Germany. [underlined] They were right though [/underlined] !. I came unstuck eventually. In the meantime I just battled on. On one occasion we had just cleared the Ruhr
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area on the autobahn heading for Hamm with particularly heavy traffic developing into two solid streams doing around 60 to 70mph and I felt concerned enough to do as I still do today under such circumstances....get into the 'slow' lane where there was at least room to duck onto the hard shoulder if there was trouble. I was suddenly aware that way ahead stop lights were coming on like strobing airfield approach lights and was immediately on the alert. I suppose other drivers concentrating on the vehicles directly in front were not aware that the stop lights were coming on were getting closer and closer and then as it was obvious to me what was going to happen I jinked out onto the hard shoulder. I must have done it with split second to spare as some 200 vehicles shunted each other with the screeching of brakes, bangs, thumps and the sound of tearing metal and breaking glass. It was followed immediately by the cries of the injured when all other noises had stopped.
No-one in our immediate area was badly hurt although there were numerous head injuries and the odd broken limb with a fair bit of blood splashed around so it was out with the first aid kit and to the rescue. Fortunately, in addition to the mandatory first aid kit I had for years kept a large package of war-time wound packs in the car and they came in very useful although I what some people thought when they found that they were British Military packs dated 1943 I couldn't say. They did the job despite the fact that in most cases the safety pin was rusted!. Small matter. I had found them in an abandoned store in a pill box at Oakington in 1947…..I was not the sort of a bloke to waste things!. They lasted many years. In that instance we were luckier than the majority and it took an hour and a half before the autobahn ahead was cleared sufficienty [sic] for us to proceed past piles of smashed up vehicles, and then we came to the root cause of the pile-up. Unbelievable!. There were [underlined] two [/underlined] white police cars mangled together more or less standing on end up against a bridge support. We subsequently learned that they had been heading the long snake of cars to keep the speed down but had been playing 'tag' and had obviously not-been very clever.
I felt at the time that 'someone' was definitely out to get me having so far escaped all other intentions of the Germans to eliminate me and it did not improve Dorothy's attitude to
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sitting in what was often classified as the suicide seat, ie, the passenger seat of a right hand drive vehicle being driven on the right hand side of the road. There was even more apprehension by the time that particular week-end was over. We had just got into Hamm and rounding a corner had to duck to miss the car ahead that had lurched around the corner, bounced off of one of the large concrete cylinder things that were liberaly [sic] sprinkled around their street corners and then finished up with the front wheels over a small garden wall. It was a British Forces registered vehicle also heading for Hamm school but no-one was hurt and the driver declared that he needed no assistance so we pressed on. Nevertheless it was a great weekend with the girls who enjoyed their visit to Munster zoo we thought no more about driving and it's associated problems until we were on the return journey.
I was gaining slightly on a VW Beetle but held back for a while as it was lurching about over both lanes in very light traffic. It was some time before I ventured alongside and was somewhat shocked to find that all of the windows were closed and steamed up and all four occupants were asleep, including the driver, hunched over the wheel. I gave the horn as much as I could for as long as I could to rouse everyone, making signs to wind down the windows until it was safe to pass and felt after that that I had done my good deed for the day as that bloke was very close to running off of the road. He would not have known much about it though as he was doing what most beetle drivers did. Foot still flat on the floor regardless.
As always there was continual movement of personnel, most people having settled into a 2 1/2 year tour. We had with us people that we had known at many units including Amman and Egypt as well as Mareham [sic] and Wyton so of course the usual thing was happening with the married quarter waiting list as we went up and down like a yo-yo. There was one movement that had occurred just before we arrived although would not have made any difference to our quarters list, that of the Station Commander whose Adjutant I had been at Marham but he had gone on with more promotion. After that apparently almost every move he made was with further promotion until he eventually retired as an Air Marshall with a Knighthood and a handsome string of awards and
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decorations including; GCB, KCB, CB, CBE, OBE, DSO, DFC, AFC, and I must confess that I am proud to have received a great deal of instruction from him in the three years that I was his Adjutant.
The eventual allocation of married quarters at Laabruch could not have come at a better time. 53 Weeze Strasse was not the most suitable of places but it had enabled us to recover our finances to the satisfaction of both the bank manager and our-selves, and I hope, Frau van Cooke, so we moved into our comfortable centrally heated house shortly before the winter set in and had a damn good house warming party to celebrate.
Everything sailed along quite happily despite the girls dislike of boarding school and our youngest was soon into her third year but we were outgrowing the little Ford Popular and it's three speed gear box was a bit tedious at times. It was time for a change and we considered all the options. In the end I ordered the new Ford Classic (tax free) from a firm in Chichester in Sussex with a part exchange deal and it was all done when we went back to the UK for a holiday covering the school term break.
That was going to be the car that would see me through for the maximum number of miles before another change became neccessary [sic] . I ran it in carefully and the engine was treated with all the right things to achieve longevity and when our leave was up it was fully prepared to do anything asked of it, nevertheless, no sooner than we were back into Holland on the way back one of the first things we came across was a car upside down in a ditch at the side of the road with arms and legs hanging out of broken windows. I only stopped for a quick look and decided that there was little I could do that would not involve and upset the family so I pressed on for about half a mile until I saw a house with the sign outside denoting that they had a phone, nipped in and asked them to telephone ambulance and police to get to the scene, and then continued my journey. I've sometimes thought that I might have been able to do more at the scene but the inside of the car was like a butchers shop with not a lot of hope for the occupants.
The Classic was soon re-registered with British Forces plates and as it was a new model it always attracted a great deal of interest wherever we went. There was usually a crowd around
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it wherever it was parked.
There was one place just over the border in Holland that we visited regularly. The village of Well was an interesting little place and one of it's most comfortable establishments was a little restaurant and bar on the side of the River Maas. 'Auntie' Nellie was mine host and she was a remarkable person. She was well known for her resistance work and had been responsible for numerous evaders to pass along another link in the chain back to the safety of their own lines. It had obviously needed someone like that who was handy to assist in the river crossing. The Maas was quite wide and fast flowing at that point and the nearby bridge was a war-time Bailey built especially to carry military traffic from Eindhoven; still carrying heavy traffic. Our free week-ends were often spent there for shopping and for refreshments in the restaurant, watching the barges chugging by with all manner of goods piled on them and the bargees washing, bicyles [sic] , dogs, or watching a UK football match on the tele. but there was a bit of a problem with that. The football commentary was usually in Dutch so a radio was set up alongside and we had a commentary in English for the same match that suited the Dutch, English and German patrons who all gravitated to that place. Great fun greatly assisted by good strong Dutch beer, or possibly something hotter and stronger on cold days.
We visited the area many years later and it had not changed much and one of the girls plus her own family visited many years after that and it was still pretty much the same. We had a lot of time for the Dutch people and found no difficulty in integrating. In fact, we could quite happily have taken up residence there.
Crossing the Dutch/German border just North of Goch a few months after getting the new car the windscreen disintegrated in my lap and of course being a new model not yet on sale on the continent it took a week before a Dutch Ford agent could fit another but that was nothing to what happened later. With a new car I thought that I had overcome the love/hate relationship that I had always had with motor vehicles, but I was always
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to be in trouble with them one way or another.
Something else cropped out that I was not overjoyed about. The 'cold war' that was the very reason that we were out there demanded emergency establishment manning in the event of going to 'Red Alert' and on that deployment I would have been immediately on my way to my war establishment post. To Gatow, Berlin!!!, right in the middle of the contested Russian Zone. Just my luck. I would much rather have been going in the opposite direction!, away from any conflict but due to it's security classification I had to keep that possibility under wraps.
Life was anything but dull. The job of Station Fire Officer landed in my lap again almost as soon as I moved into quarters although it was the usual arrangement. A senior fireman did the work and 'Sir' was the dogsbody who took the flak if anything went wrong but it still helped to know as much as possible about the job. I had learned the hard way but the crash/rescue element was always under the operational control of Air Traffic Control and I thought that having got that job it would be enough---wrong again!.
There was plenty to occupy my mind and my hands. There were liaison visits of all sorts on a two way basis. The local German and Dutch fire services were entertained and visa versa (but not both at the same time). At one time I had two Luftwaffe NCO's for several weeks to polish off their GCA training although their initial training had been with the Americans and we all used the same procedures. Even our GCA was of standard American design. All very interesting!. A very daft situation arose with them on one occasion as naturally they were billeted with us and it seemed natural for them to use their camera's. It is true that we did have one very secure area in the vicinity of the Canberra dispersals on the far side of the airfield but the Service Police were I think a little over security concious [sic] when they pounced on them in the domestic area and ripped the film out of the camera's. Typical. I did have a word with the senior policeman but it was a waste of time. He reckoned that he was not having Germans photographing our installations. Bloody daft!. They had built the station for us in the first place!
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My interest in photography had developed further to the extent that I joined the unit photographic club, a move that I was to regret later and although the facilities were a bit run down I was able to widen the scope of my activities in that field as I had sold all my processing gear back at Wyton when finances were taking a bit of a hammering. What happened next was just waiting to happen. The current Officer I/C (in-charge) was posted and they did not look very far for his replacement. There were no terms of reference so I was instructed to write my own for approval and then my brief was simple. "It's a mess, put it back on it's feet". I knew it was a mess, the trouble was that I had told too many people. In the main it was used by people for standard processing at a profit, and who were not very interested in cleaning up. It did not take long to find out that there was about twice the number of people booking out the keys as there was on the register so it was a matter of going back to 'square one' to lock the place up and out of bounds to all but a selected few who were formed into a committee until a new system was set up I had the place refurbished with all the enlargers overhauled by a local German photographic supplier, new black-outs and racking resulting in four good booths. Eventually we agreed the maximum number of people that we could have on the register, all old membership cards were invalidated and new cards issued against the subscription register which was to be renewed annually and 'bingo'. With new rules, a studio and lecture room we opened up and it flourished. One feature I introduced was processing on certain nights only and a weekly 'beginners night' series of talks for the benefit of those, schoolchildren, wives and all, who wanted to know the basics. I well remember my own first efforts when every other word the 'experts' said was 'double dutch' to me so I was determined that each of the four talks was pitched as low as possible and repeated every month. It worked well and it was popular.
As we went into the first Winter we were glad of the design of the married quarters. Airmen's and Officers were all built along the same lines albeit to a different standard. The typical concrete box built on top a cellar and around the plumbing. There was no piping showing inside or outside. The cellar was
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the utility area, with concrete wash tubs, floor drainage and other mod. cons. and a store room. It all looked rather like the inside of a submarine with huge pipes and turn cocks along the passage…..but there was no boiler!. Hot water was provided by a huge boiler system to the whole station along deep insulated piping on a communal basis, the only base in Germany to have such a system and it made everything very comfortable and convenient. Especially when an Officers wife went 'down below' to see how the plumber was getting on with a job only to find that he was sitting in one of the wash tubs, in the buff, happily blowing bubbles in oodles of hot water. Now that's what I call initiative and it caused a bit of a giggle when the story got around.
Later on our store room became the 'Den' where the girls and their friends congrgated [sic] to get away from the 'oldies' but at least they had their own space. Goodness knows how many there were down there at times after we got fed up answering the door and fixed up a string and a bell system through the outside grating.
Being a house of concrete the attic had a concrete floor as well and all the roof beams had built in hooks for what I assumed to be hammocks if ever they were needed as barracks providing a very useful sleeping area particularly if anyone was overwhelmed with visiting friends and relations from the UK.
As it happened we never were and although my father-in-law expressed an interest to visit us and take the opportunity do the tour of the WW1 battlefields he found it more than he could bring himself to do and could not set foot on German soil; and he never did. The memories of his brother being blasted into eternity at his side, and his own wounds were too strong for him ever to forget that episode in his life.
Before the winter was out we skated and tobogganed. Everyone enjoyed themselves in the light fluffy snow of the kind that one did not normally see back home until at last Spring broke through and work and play took over the scene again. The Winter was a bit hard although nowhere near as bad as the one to follow but a lot happened in between.
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One tour we put together for the early Summer holidays came unstuck. It was planned as a round robin right down through Central and Southern Germany, into Bavaria, Austria and Switzerland, France and back home over at-out ten days. It did not quite work out like that although we were making the most of it until it went wrong.
We went to Nuremburg and found the site of Stalag X111b but there were no huts left, only a police Guard Post and we were allowed to browse around. Then on to Stalag V11a Mooseburg and back to Munich for a night stop. The memory plays funny tricks though. Despite my notes I found it very difficult to locate some places and even when I did positively identify places from the notes they were sometimes unrecognisable. We had already found the same problem around the UK!. However, our navigation went a bit haywire down in Austria when we took a wrong road up in the mountains and instead of going into Switzerland we found ourselves back in Germany again. Not that it mattered much. All of the scenery was absolutely splendid and eventually we were into and out of France crossing the border into Germany again near Strasburg. We were ahead of our schedule so we decided that we would head for home rather than go for another night stop and were about ten miles South of Heidleburg when some idiot driver pulled a stunt that upset a few people; us included and so we finished up with a night stop anyway.
I was the tail ender of seven or eight vehicles in convoy doing near enough 70mph in the 'fast' lane with no traffic in the other lane when a light truck going like a bat out of hell came up behind making angry signals with his lights for us to get out of the way, which I did and then I resumed the tail end position. I did not stay behind him long as obviously no-one else was going to move over for him so he pulled out and went through on the wrong side. No doubt he had worked himself into a frenzy of agressive [sic] behaviour, (what is called road rage today is nothing new) and as soon as he got to the head of the column he did something quite unexpected. I could see the whole thing happening as if in slow motion as he literally hurled his vehicle across the bows of the leaders and them stood on the brakes. What happened next was anything but slow motion but long before
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anything happened directly I was on the brakes and everyone on board slid up against something solid before each and everyone of the cars shunted one another with a series of thuds until despite my heavy breaking we slammed into the one in front with such a wallop that it shot forward again into the one in front and our roof rack landed in the road between us. It was very fortunate that I was 'tall end charlie' as I am quite sure that we would have had one in the back of us as well.
After a quick check to see if we had any injuries, to be very relieved to find that only the eldest had had a scratch from a broken Coke bottle I dispatched her immediately to about fifty yards back along the centre section to start waving her white cardigan like mad, and got everyone else out onto the central reservation in case some damn fool back-ended us. It was not difficult to get out of as the impact had given us a 'droop snoot' and the doors had sprung with an overlap of some four inches. One could see at a glance that that we were not going anywhere in that car for a long time.
Checking on the vehicle in front and recovering the roof rack disclosed that the middle aged couple in the BMW that I had hit were badly shaken but otherwise unhurt although their car was quite badly damaged. The front end was bent, the back end was scrunched, the boot lid had sprung, and the exhaust had fallen off. They were both in tears though as the car was absolutely brand new, direct from the factory on delivery with only 22km on the clock but that was the least of my worries.
Between listening to their tales of woe, refixing the roof rack and repacking some of our spilled goods with a very watchfull [sic] eye on the traffic that was still hurtling by I still had time to take a few photographs before the police arrived and my daughter could retire from her rather exposed position to the relative safety of the central reservation where all the damaged cars had been pushed once the police were satisfied with explanations and that the exchanges of insurance details had been attended to. That's the way German traffic law worked; 'he who does the bumping does the paying', so you dealt with the one in front and the law is satisfied.
Breakdown vehicles appeared as if by magic but we had to wait a lot longer than most to get cleared as I, being a member of
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the military, had to be dealt with by the appropriate military authority, in that area, the U.S. Army, who could not have been more sympathetic and helpfull [sic] . The car was eventually winched onto a civilian break-down vehicle, (which I subsequently had to pay for) and off it went with us following up in a staff car to see it settled in a field full of other wrecks. Our surplus goods were left in the care of the driver of the breakdown-truck before we were finally deposited at the steps of a very nice Hotel in Heidelburg.
In normal circumstances we would have enjoyed that visit to the beautiful city of Heidelburg but not that time. We were just about broke. I had a Hotel bill to consider as well as the train fare back to base. I did not have a German bank account and there were limits that one could do then with a UK chequebook. Nevertheless, we dredged up every mark and phenig [sic] that we could, including the kid's pocket money but it didn't allow for a meal so we just had to picnic on the bits and pieces that we had recovered from the car and ultimately went to bed very tired if not a little hungry. It still took a long time before sleep came to me. Here I was again, virtually stranded in Germany wondering what was going to happen next. Every piece of the day’s action kept floating in frost of my eyes. Of all the damn silly things. All those occasions of war-time flying over enemy territory escaping injury by the skin of my teeth, to finish up in Germany with a pranged car and very nearly a damaged family as well.
I made myself a promise before I want to sleep, to never, ever again put myself or my family in such a situation again. There had to be a way to adjust one’s driving technique to reduce the risks, so I was going to have to swallow my pride. Meanwhile I had become one of 2nd TAF's motoring statistics having been told that nine out of ten drivers would have an accident I had scoffed at the idea...but they were not wrong.
The following day after paying our bill and buying tickets there was not much left in the kitty so it was rolls, butter, sausage and fizzy drinks bought locally for breakfast and for the journey, then we were off.
That part of the journey was a tour to remember for it's sheer
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beauty but I think that I was the only one to remember it in detail. The weather was perfect. The scenery along the Rhine was picture postcard stuff of vinyards [sic] and castles perched high up on hillsides especially the area around Koblenz was too good to miss particularly as I had run out of film and could not even afford to buy another. I kept waking the family up to look at, it but at that stage of the game they were not too impressed although I was out to make the most of it. To hell with the car, insurance would take care of that and the most important thing was that we were all together and all in one piece. That's all that mattered. We eventually arrived back at Goch, a colleague picked us up and that was the end of that holiday and touring for a while. There were letters to write and reports to make as we eventually settled down to life without a car. I tried to negotiate for the car to be transferred to Holland for repair as it was a new model not yet available in Germany although it was filtering onto the Dutch market but the agents for the UK insurers who were based in Hamburg would not entertain the idea and weeks went by as they deliberated. In the meantime my neighbour who had just bought a new car agreed to run it in by driving me down to Heidelburg to pick up all the stuff that we had been obliged to leave behind. It had all been prepared and packed and even lunch was provided for us. He and his Frau earned our gratitude and their remuneration for their thoughtfulness. It helped me overcome my dismay when I went to see the car sitting forlornly among the wrecks. It had already been vandalised, possibly on the assumtion [sic] that it would be a write-off. All the wheel trims and the front wheels had gone as well as the wing mirrors. The battery had gone and the petrol had been drained off all ten gallons of it as we had only just fuelled up for the home run. I had been relying on some of that to help us to do the 300 mile round trip but someone had beaten me to it. Of course no-one knew anything about it. The yard did not belong to the recovery chap and there were notices around in German disclaiming responsibility for any losses etc. It was to be expected!.
The months went by and were particularly frustrating. Having looked the car over carefully on that visit I figured that it ought to be classified as a write-off but the insurance company
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disagreed. I tried to get it taken to Cologne, the German manufacturing centre for Fords but eventually it was transferred to Mannheim for repair. I found out later that the front was completely cut off and replaced, something that would not be acceptable today but that was it and they had the last say. I was without it for six months and a lot of annoyance which did little for my blood pressure.
I busied myself in work of one sort and another. We did not go out of camp much and the girls had settled themselves into local employment so it was the photographic club that received most of my attention which was soon flourishing financially and with a lot of enthusiastic new members. So much so that Laarbruch was selected as the venue for the Command Photographic Competition. It all went well with the cooperation of the Education Flight and the fact that I won two awards had nothing to do with the fact that one of the judges had been my neighbour at Wyton. All entries were coded which was standard practice.
Air Traffic Control was more or less routine. By that time I was convinced that I had covered just about every aspect and I was still making it known annually, that I wanted area radar training for the future. Nevertheless, I had one experience which I thought might have influenced a decision but it didn't.
I was doing stand-by shift in the radar track after I had been informed of a large formation practice of aircraft from 2nd TAP units to the South-East of us and I had been monitoring their progress when I was asked to take control of an aircraft being flown by the C in C who wanted see how the formation was shaping up.
It was really difficult after taking him on. I found out from the formation Ieader the detail's of the altimeter setting and then working him on a different frequency did a perfect fighter interception placing him just above and 100yds behind the formation. He even asked if I was a Fighter Controller and was somewhat surprised to find that he was being controlled by an airfield radar. He did say "as good as any fighter control interception" but he didn't bother to find out who I was!.
Our GCA was not without it's troubles though. There was one
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expensive internal item absolutely vital to it's operation that was costing dollars to replace and contracts had-been let to produce them in the UK under licence but they didn't always last for the expected running time but at least we had replacements. Our headphones were a different matter. Some of then were the original issue with the radar unit and were always in need of repair which was common in almost every similar equipment in the RAF. I found that intolerable. Aircrew helmets and associated communications equipment cost hundreds of pounds to ensure absolute reliability and safety and I was sometimes sweating a bit when we were obliged to operate in marginal conditions with our own equipment that could fail at any time. I indented for new head-sets to be told that they were too expensive and were to be repaired locally. I made a fuss and some were taken away by Command signals workshops for repair but very few people knew that I had got something else up my sleeve.
My contacts with my opposite number in the Dutch Air Force at Vokel was very helpful in finding out that their Bell helicoptors [sic] used the same sort of headset and were replaceable under a NATO agreement. A liaison visit exchanged three of them but I kept that quiet. The only time they came out was when we were operating in marginal conditions; and I kept up the pressure for total replacement much to the annoyance of the technical staff particularly when the refurbished sets proved to be unreliable. Eventually, wondering how long it would take to get something done before the next winter set in I really put the cat among the pigeons. I did a 'Douglas Bader' and signalled 2nd TAF HQ that the radar was declared 'non operational-training in visual conditions only due to technical problems'. Phew!, that really did get things moving. I knew through the 'grapevine' that new UK produced headsets were becoming available and that the C in C of Coastal Command had authorised the local purchase of replacements for his radars...that was good enough for me and was part of my argument and I flatly refused to change the status of our radar until something similar was done. As with Douglas Bader the result was dramatic. Within a week all the stops had been pulled out and I received replacements direct from the manufacturers completely by passing the normal stores
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procedure. All I had to do was to pass the invoices back through stores to confirm that I had got them and turn in the old one's for write off. We were operational immediately but I got a hell of a lot of 'stick' for it. Bader might have got away with it but I didn't. I had upset too many people along the line by taking a short cut and there were no thanks for my achievment [sic] .
In the late summer I did another liaison visit that was most interesting; to our Fighter Control Centre at Udem....in the war-time bunker that the Luftwaffe had used to track our bomber streams and direct their fighters although of course it had been modified to our sytem [sic] . It was similar to our UK fighter Control Centres that I had been in although it just felt different but what was interesting was the fact that there were a lot of Luftwaffe personnel around as a new generation was being trained by us. It led to to [sic] another liaison visit later when a few of us went to a radar controlled Luftwaffe ack-ack unit somewhere towards Wesel. Now that was interesting; less than ten miles from where a similar unit had shot us down in 1945 and very enlightening.
The winter was nearly upon us when I eventually received notice that the car was ready for collection so off I went to Mannheim only to find that as far as I was concerned it was not. It was lacking all sorts of bits and some parts were still unpainted so I returned without it. There was an angry exchange of letters between myself and Hamburg and claims for costs until I was eventually told it was positively ready so off I went again. Then the s……hit the fan. Hardly anything more had been done and although I phoned the Hamburg office and got the OK to take it subject to a settlement the repairers would not release it until it was paid for. Oh boy oh boy!, what fun and games. More phoning, Hamburg making arrangements to transfer money via banks, a night stop for me and eventually it was released so off set for the 230 mile return journey, and not before time. It was a good job that I had fuelled to the brim as the weather did not look at all promising. I soon connected with the Autobahn and had not gone more than 30 miles when I ran into a snowstorm that turned into a blizzard, just what I wanted!, although it
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slowed things down considerably and the traffic thinned out as snow came down in about the heaviest fall I had ever encountered. It was very soon some two or three inches deep and going was getting difficult although mostly I was in virgin snow and still getting a grip. I pressed on nevertheless having in mind that it looked as if I was going to have to make another night stop somewhere but then found that in the confusion of the poor visibility in the ten lane junction near Frankfurt I had picked up the wrong lane and was on my way North-East, towards Wuppertal!. There was only one thing to do and that was backtrack. Although the snow had stopped leaving a depth of about 4ins. it would have been quite impossible to go across country so it was back 20 miles and then find my way through the network of the ten lane junction again until I was on track for Cologne once more. By that time it had got dark and I was somewhat relieved to be heading in the right direction at last and was working out my ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival) when there was a hold up. It took some time for the traffic to creep forward and over the brow of a hill before I could see what had caused it all. There was a large articulated lorry on it's side blocking most of the carriageway and the police were only allowing one vehicle at a time down the hill past it as by now the snow had become impacted and it was a bit like an ice rink. When my turn came to make the descent I was amazed to find that the firemen and the 'wreckers' were actually cutting the lorry to pieces with blow torches to remove it in sections and was very relieved when I was finally in the clear again and heading for home. It took a total of twelve hours to do the journey. I had left in daylight and arrived with the dawn feeling hungry and very very tired. It was just "Hello, don't ask qestions [sic] and Goodnight”.
I finally came too, refreshed, reported that I was back and started the negotiations with Hamburg to restore the car to it's new state which I estimated would cost another £300 and they paid up in full. That was not the end of it though....
Winter soon descended with a vengance [sic] . It got cold and then colder. The bottom fell out of the thermometer and one morning, in common with many others I found the car locks frozen. Possibly
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like others I poured almost boiling water on in an attempt to unlock it but it froze as it hit the car and it was several days before the temperature went up a little to allow everything to release. then a great deal of the new paintwork came away with the defrosting!. I was very cross to say the least but I had it all renewed within the allowance that had been made by the insurance company. That still was not the end of it………but then the winter really set in.
Even the underground pipes froze in places and the works department produced a device that had not been used for years. It was a mobile motor driven generator producing a low voltage high amperage current that was attached to the fire hydrants and when the power was switched on it virtually heated the pipes up and they thawed. I had never seen anything like it before but at least the Fire service was kept in business. Even in the readiness areas the immersion heaters in the fire vehicles were needed to avoid freezing up. I put the fire dept to work to flood and freeze a fairly large depression of grassed area which produced an ice rink for several weeks. The centre of it was nearly two feet of solid ice and it was so cold that even the moat around Well castle in Holland was frozen to a depth of over two feet. Nevertheless we were still in business until it snowed again. We had been waiting for it and all the snow clearing machinery had been brought out and made ready but when it did start it made what I had been through when I brought the car back look like a little flurry. It snowed and snowed continually until there was a good ten to twelve inches over the whole airfield; and not the sort that would go away!.
With no flying possible we started to tackle it with everything we could muster to get the airfield clear. One machine had flame heaters for melting an icy surface, a hopper with finely graded sand with a worm feed which distributed the sand on the melted surface before it froze again. Result; a sandpaper type surface that was ideal for braking on at the upwind end of the runway. That's the way I figured it but everyone had different ideas particularly among those who had taken charge of the operation. It was attempted on snow, it was overworked and eventually it had a major breakdown. The various teams pushed and shoved snow all over the place with the snow ploughs and one crew even
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managed to put a twelve foot bank right in the runway threshold!. The equipment was the best with four wheel drive MAM diesel trucks with chains, and the blades could be swung either way for a left or a right cut, two splendid 'Snow-go’s' with flail intakes and plume blowers but the whole lot was being used piecemeal. Some ploughs had been used as bulldozers and a lot of snow was just being shifted from one place to another without opening up areas. After 24 hours of quite useless effort I stuck my neck out and produced a sketch plan of my own and there was very little argument. Obviously I couldn't make a bigger cock-up than had already been made and it was accepted. I assembled six ploughs in echelon with a half blade overlap followed by the two Snow-go’s and working on a plan to shift the snow [underlined] away [/underlined] from the taxyways [sic] we were off. It worked like a charm and mountains of snow was being cleared without blocking up other access points. At the end of the first cut I took the whole lot into a dispersal to swing the blades for the next run in the opposite direction when the CO turned up and 'suggested' that I would be better employed clearing snow instead of messing about changing the angle of the blades. He was not amused when I 'suggested' that "I was doing it my way" but really, there was no basis for any argument. I had already cleared half of a mile long taxyway [sic] in one sweep which was more than anyone else had done in the last 24 hours so with his permission I would like to carry on and prove a point, and perhaps he should judge my efforts by the result, particularly as others had not achieved much. How to get on and influence people!!!!, but I was cold and tired and past caring.
However, it did work as I expected and we were the first 2nd TAF airfield to be declared 'open' despite the fact that after I had left a colleague in charge whilst I went for a meal on my return found that he had managed to put 200 tons of snow back where I had just cleared it from. At least I had justified my plan and we were invariably the first 2nd TAF airfield to be declared clear after subsequent falls of snow. There was only one way to do it and I spent hours out on the airfield in -15 to-20 degrees. I followed it up with a written 'Snow Clearing Plan' with sketches and techniques to show how the basic plan could be adapted for any airfield and it turned up
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in print later. There were no thanks, just hard work and chilblains although there was a certain amount of satisfaction in having done something practical and useful. It was a relief when the deep freeze gave way to the first signs of Spring though and thoughts turned to planning the last holiday we were likely to get in that area. Before that happened an urgent problem put Dorothy into the Military Hospital at Vegberg near Rhiendalen for about ten days and we very nearly did not get the holiday but the planning was well advanced so we decided to go for it.
We had been fortunate in purchasing a slightly used but almost complete camping outfit so the destination was the Costa Brava in Spain. There were several dummy run exercises in the garden for putting up the tent until everyone knew what they had to do and the day came when all was assembled, loaded on the car and off we went.
Up to that point in time we had done no long distance travelling since the car had been repaired although there had been no problems. They started when we reached the area around Frankfurt when we were on long hill climbs when there were signs of overheating in the clutch and the most terrible noises from the gear box. With a little experimentation I found that the heat and the noise could be reduced by holding the highest gear for as long as possible which was not easy as the car was so heavily loaded. Eventually the decision was made after our first night stop at Frieburg that we would press on to the half way point at Geneva and that if it did not improve we would turn about. Strangely enough it was only lower gear hill climbs that produced the problem and in fact when we tried the odd run unloaded it was OK. We pressed on although I still had no idea what was causing it. I just wanted to be on holiday.
Actually we nearly abandoned it for other reasons. Dorothy did not like camping!. Not after our first night stop anyway. It was the way we had pitched the tent on a very slight slope in the semi-darkness and the natural movement in our sleep that found us up against the sides of the tent. That and the noises of the frogs at the lakeside did not exactly induce sleep.
Somehow we managed to retain some sense of humour even when in the early hours of the morning Dorothy had twisted herself up in her sleeping bag and I was awoken by gurgling noises and
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"get this b……zip out of my mouth"!!!!. That and the fact that it had started to rain heavily did not improve matters. It did not stop us moving out though. With a wet tent on top that then weighed twice as much as when we started!.
The next stop was Geneva where we were aiming for a camp site on the banks of Lake Lemon and it rained nearly all the way. What fun!. We had to put up a wet tent and I very nearly turned about at that point. Nevertheless, there was a pleasant little restaurant not far from the site and we indulged ourselves to the point of feeling a lot more comfortable by the time we turned in.
It had at least stopped raining but everywhere was clinging cold mist and these were the conditions when we packed up and moved out again, heading for Orange in the south of France where we were planning to stay with friends. We just ploughed on and on and on in those conditions through the Swiss mountains not seeing much more than the road is front of us until we got into France and the weather cleared up at last. We had a comfortable night stop in real beds and managed to get the tent up to dry out. We had arrived just in time for the May Day celebrations and had a great time dancing and drinking in the square on the fringe of the ampthitheatre [sic] . I think somehow that managed to bring us back to some sort of normallity [sic] .
Rested, well fed and with a dry tent packed off we went the following day heading for Spain and for a long time the weather was fine until shortly after we stopped for a break in Perpignan. Then it started to rain again. That was just what I wanted through the Pyrenees! and there was still a long way to go.
By the time we got to the border we were enjoying a full blown thunderstorm with lightning, thunder and lashing rain but the French customs just waived us on and we only made a short stop at the Spanish customs. Just long enough for the customs officer to determine that we were a British family on a camping holiday. That brought forth peals of laughter and he brought all his mates out to join in the fun. What's the Spanish for "blood silly British"??!!!!. We just laughed with them and pressed on but I was getting very very tired by that time and we had another good laugh before we finally stopped for the night.
Some time after we had left the border post we were being........
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followed by a German registered mini-bus and the damn fool driver made several dangerous attempts to overtake. Why he could not have been satisfied in following someone who was doing the 'pathfinding' for him I do not know so when we came to the edge of a town I thought that I would give him the opportunity to pass as I groped my way through a left and a right turn and several inches of water which almost obscured the line of the road. The mini-bus driver thought his chance had come as he surged past on what he thought was the road straight ahead and finished up along a shopping boulevard and came to a grinding halt mixed up with cafe’ tables and chairs!. He certainly paid for his impatience but enough was enough. If we got to Tossa-de-Mar that night we would still have put the tent up so with about 60 mls to go we decided that a comfortable night stop in a Hotel in Gerona would be a good idea. It was!. A meal, a drink and I crashed out.
The weather had cleared up by the morning and it was only about 30 mls to our destination through the winding roads of the area lined with carbuncled cork oaks. We were on site, tent up, and prepared to stay for at least ten days.
I think it was worth the effort. With a family of five I don't think we could have done it any other way even though there had been a few problems on our 1062 mile journey. We were not the only people ever to have had problems. One of our neighbours in the previous year had undertaken a motoring holiday to the North through Hamburg and on to Denmark and Sweden but had lost most of their baggage when their roof rack had seperated [sic] from the car and was very nearly pulped. There is no guarantee that all will go according to plan even with the more modern form of air transport to exciting places; not when several days may be lost sitting around an airport lounge or the hotel has been double booked. We had ten supurb [sic] days bathing, taking in the sights, and cruising around. The strange thing was that the car behaved itself so it didn't seem worth doing anything about. Perhaps one of the most interesting roads that we took was the coastal mountainous route from Tossa de Mar to San Feli'u. Only about twelve miles as the crow fly's but with most spectacular scenery and [underlined] 365 [/underlined] hairpin bends which actually doubled the road miles but it was interesting to say the least. We cruised the
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Costa Brava taking in the sights, eating and relaxing where it took our fancy, had a day in Barcelona and the scenic route through the Sierra de Montseny area to return stopping at numerous unspoiled villages where we were welcomed with open arms. Today there is always the tendency to want to dash from place to place along the new coastal motorway system and miss a great deal of the real Spain but we lapped it up. We even got used to the Spanish style of driving!. especially in the wrigly [sic] mountain areas. The locals had a tendency to maintain the maximum speed come what may, with the result that they approached blind corners at high speed, on the wrong side of the road, blasting away on the horn. The theory was that if there was no answering blast from anyone approaching from the opposite direction then it was safe to continue fast; and on the wrong side!!!. A bit dodgy nevertheless.
We have many recollections of that holiday, like the first time one of the girls took to the water in her new bikini only to find that as soon as it got wet it went transparent. A bit embarrassing for a sixteen year old, and we found that there were quite a few British on holiday there including one RAF couple who actually lived in Gogh. We made the most of it anyway and the day finally came when we had to be homeward bound.
The weather had generally improved and after getting back into France we took a different and very scenic route through the foothills of the Cevennes to Lyon and on to Bescancon and Belfort to finally pick up the motorway system northbound and home only making two stops en route. I was glad to get home. Being the only driver on a journey like that does impose a certain amount of strain but I was soon back to work and an opportunity to find out what had caused the heat and the noise but everything seemed OK until I checked the gear box oil level. Absolutely empty!!. I cross checked the detailed worksheet that the workshop had provided (in German of course) which showed that they had for some reason stripped both the engine and the gearbox and meticulously recorded every nut and bolt removed and/or replaced.....except the replacement of the gearbox oil. I think that possibly the only reason the gear box survived some 6000 miles without lubricant was because I had treated all the original lubricant with a propriety molybdenum after it's running
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in but to say I was annoyed is an understatement. It resulted in an absolutely stinking letter to the insurance company, who typically, would not accept the complaint without comment from the workshop.....and the workshop made every excuse in the book to avoid the issue. I gave it up in the end as I had just been notified of my next posting with nearly six months notice. Unheard of for me. I was going to Valley in North Wales so there was not much more time to finish our touring. We did the area towards Berlin to visit friends at Gutersloh who had visited us previously. That was the chap that had also been a POW with me, and at Wyton, and Marham, who had visited the Reichwald War Cemetery with me and whilst walking around was telling me how he was the only survivor of his crew when they had been shot down a year earlier than myself in a Halifax, near Krefeld. Naturally he wondered where his crew had been buried as we viewed some of the 5000 aircrew graves when he stopped with a gasp. There they were, all six of them in one row!!. Talk about "There but for the Grace of God go I"!. I retired to a respectful distance to allow him to compose himself. Whilst we were that way we visited the Mohne Dam and the Sorp and back at Laarbruch we visited Amsterdam and did the tourist thing by canal bus. We visited the amazing scenic park of De Efteling and another place in Holland which was an inland sort of water park. Probably the for-runner of Centre Parks, Bad Boekelo. Inland but just like the sea-side with fine sand and lots and lots of safe water fun. The first time we had come across the wave making machine but it will always stick in my mind for one incident. Everyone was lolling about and Dorothy was returning with some ice-cream with her sandles [sic] producing spurts of sand as she walked. Just as she approached a young Dutchmen in a reclining position who was inspecting the inside of a sandwitch [sic] , one of the spurts of sand left the toe of her sandles [sic] and joined the mustard, splat!!!. He looked up in amazement and then burst into laughter as we all did. So much the easier way of dealing with it and he shared our sandwiches!. We finally found the area of the windmills. There is only one area where they are plentiful and that is in the canal area east of Rotterdam. Kinderdyke. One of the few areas where national dress is often worn and very photogenic. About the last interesting event that I recall
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in Air Traffic Control matters was at the commencement of a flying excerise [sic] when our Javelins were sitting on the Operational Readiness platforms at the end of the runway hooked up to the Fighter Control network as we were so that we were able to listen out on the net but I was not prepared for what came out of the box…….. “Achtung……. Achtung……. XXXXXX(callsigns) shcramble [sic] ……shcramble [sic] ."…followed by the interception instructions. It was the first time the Luftwaffe controllers had been placed in the 'hot seat' and I must confess that it raised a few eyebrows among among [sic] a few of Bomber Harris's 'old lags" who formed about 50% of our controllers. As ironic as it was we had no option but to move with the times.
We were coming to the end of our visits to our favourite cafe at Nijmegen. A delightful family run establishment where no order was too much trouble for the somewhat rotund proprietor. We invariably topped off our shopping expeditions there and it was one place where I saw muscles [sic] served up as a meal on their own....in a large enamelled washing up bowl!. I like muscles [sic] but enough to fill a kit-bag in one go would be bit too much for me but one of the national dishes I believe. I wouldn't like to cope with that if any of then was a bit 'off'.
With plenty of time to sort things out and having been told that quarters would not be immediately available I managed to arrange a rental at Amlwych [sic] on the North side of Anglesey and our friends who were also posted to Valley more or less at the same tine arranged a rental in Holyhead. Of course there was packing to arrange. Goods in store in St.Ives to be transported to Amlwych [sic] , travel arrangements to be made etc, etc. The process was no longer a daunting prospect, we had done it often enough!, and eventually we cleared the station and we were on our way.
Dorothy and the girls went under service arrangements and flew from Wildenwrath on their way to Worthing and I set off with the car loaded to the hilt via the Hook and Harwich. It was an absolutely dreadful crossing in a Force 9 gale. People were being sick all over the place, and it was virtually impossible to sleep. All the berths had been booked and a good good [sic] many others and myself were making the best of deck chairs lashed to the decks. The usual seats and benches offered very little comfort as people were being thrown off of them all over the
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place and the bar and kitchens shut early as it was so difficult to cope with the pitching and the tossing. There were some very unhappy looking passengers around when we docked in the morning and I must confess that at times during the night it would not have worried me if we had foundered....I think I just wanted to die!. Nevertheless we started to dissembark [sic] and I was not in a hurry but one Army Officer who had obviously been well ahead of me had allowed his discomfort and his haste to get the better of him. It does not pay to get 'stroppy' with Custom Officials!.
He was standing by his car, tearing his hair out as they were removing absolutely everything from it which had been as loaded as mine. And I mean everything!. They had removed the seats, emptied every compartment and opened every package. It was strewn all around the car. I felt bad enough as it was so I declared every cigarette, gram of tobacco, and drop of booze and when they had deducted my allowance only asked for a nominal payment on the excess!: There was a little fuss over the car which I had already re-registered and re-placed the UK plates. They reckoned that I had jumped the gun but the documentation was all in order although there was some other documentation that was not quite right that at least we had a laugh about. I was bringing back our Budgie and [inserted] I [/inserted] had pinned it's import licence to the cage. Trouble was there was only half a licence, the other half was in the Budgie!. There was enough of to get by with and I was off to Worthing.
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Water under the bridge
Description
An account of the resource
Part 1. "By the Seat of his Pants". Covers from Alan Gamble's years as a schoolboy in Worthing in the late 1930's, up to joining the RAF in 1943, where he trained as a wireless operator in Blackpool. He joined 620 Squadron, which was equipped mainly with Stirlings and based initially at Leicester East, then Chedburgh, before it moved to Fairford in 1944. He flew 29 bombing and mine laying sorties over Germany and elsewhere. At Fairford '620' also supported SOE and participated in the Horsa glider operation at Arnhem.
Part 2, "No Problem Sport".Covers Alan Gamble's short flying history over France in 1945 before being shot down, and his experiences as a POW in southern Germany and subsequent liberation. The manuscript of Part 2 appears to be complete except for one or more pages missing about two thirds of the way through. This is at the beginning or the end of a fragment bound by metal clips, and could easily have become detached as the outside pages of some fragments' in Part 3 were also lost. It is therefore possible that only one page is missing.
Part 3. "Nil Desperandum".Covers Alan Gamble's post war experiences up to about 1963. This has not been read.
The manuscript of Part 3 is missing pages 24-86, 120 and 170, the latter two being the outside pages of bound fragments. (Page numbering here has assisted in reconstruction).
Additional information about this item was kindly provided by the donor.
Creator
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A T Gamble
Format
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Multipage printed document
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BGambleATGambleATv1
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Wehrmacht
Wehrmacht. Luftwaffe
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Bedfordshire
England--Lincolnshire
England--Skegness
England--Suffolk
England--Lancashire
England--Blackpool
England--Wiltshire
England--Norfolk
Wales--Gwynedd
Wales--Porthmadog
England--Cumbria
England--Barrow-in-Furness
England--Oxfordshire
Germany
Germany--Krefeld
Atlantic Ocean--Bay of Biscay
Germany--Gelsenkirchen
Germany--Cologne
Germany--North Friesland Region
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
Germany--Hamburg
England--Cambridgeshire
Germany--Nuremberg
Italy
Italy--Turin
Germany--Peenemünde
Germany--Berlin
France
France--Modane
Germany--Kassel
Germany--Düsseldorf
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Jordan
Jordan--Amman
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943-06-13
1943-06-17
1943-06-22
1943-07-03
1943-07-24
1943-08-10
1943-08-12
1943-08-17
1943-08-27
1943-08-31
1943-10-03
1943-11-03
1945-01
1945-02-03
1945-02-07
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Peter Bradbury
115 Squadron
149 Squadron
15 Squadron
214 Squadron
3 Group
620 Squadron
622 Squadron
9 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
Anson
B-17
B-24
bale out
bombing
bombing of Hamburg (24-31 July 1943)
bombing of Nuremberg (30 / 31 March 1944)
Botha
C-47
coping mechanism
crewing up
debriefing
Defiant
Do 217
Dominie
Dulag Luft
evading
fuelling
Fw 190
Gee
gremlin
ground personnel
Halifax
lack of moral fibre
Lancaster
Lancaster Finishing School
Me 109
Me 110
meteorological officer
military discipline
military living conditions
military service conditions
mine laying
Morse-keyed wireless telegraphy
Operation Exodus (1945)
Operational Training Unit
P-51
Pathfinders
petrol bowser
prisoner of war
Proctor
promotion
RAF Barrow in Furness
RAF Cardington
RAF Chedburgh
RAF Feltwell
RAF Marham
RAF Mildenhall
RAF Stradishall
RAF Turweston
RAF Waterbeach
RAF Yatesbury
recruitment
Red Cross
searchlight
service vehicle
Stirling
strafing
tractor
training
Wellington
Window
wireless operator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1515/28679/SDryhurstHG1332214v10018.2.pdf
e1d4f531f78c97aa87fb70d4ab2e7618
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
Dryhurst, Harold Gainsford
H G Dryhurst
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-06-08
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Dryhurst, HG
Description
An account of the resource
42 items. The collection concerns Harold Dryhurst (1923 - 1967, 1332214 Royal Air Force) and contains his log books, letters, memoirs, documents, newspaper cuttings and photographs. He flew operations as a pilot with 103 Squadron before being shot down and becoming a prisoner of war.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Glen Dryhurst and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
OPERATlON KASSEL .....
Crew: Pilot - Denis Toombs
Observer- Taffy Evans
Front Gunner- Sam Embury, W.op/Ag. R.C.A.F.
Wireless Operator - Mac McCormick W.op/Ag.
Rear Gunner - Bob Henderson W.op/Ag.
Squadron: No. 142, No. 1 Group, Bomber Command.
Station:
Waltham, nr. Grimsby, Lincolnshire - satellite of RAF Binbrook
Mac - recent transfer from Training Command to gain operational experience.
Taffy had done one operation; a mine laying op off the Dutch coast in bad
weather conditions - (the only aircraft from 1 group operating on that
particular night).
Checking flight details in the B flight office we were down for an N.F. T. - night
flying test - which was flown showing that our aircraft "N", a Wellington Mark
1/. was serviceable.
Later at briefing the target named was Kassel, a German Army HQ and
garrison town in the Ruhr.
Briefing followed its usual pattern but the met. report was for clear skies and
moonlight making for easy identification of the target - also ideal conditions for
enemy defences, including night fighters: my 13th opt
Six aircraft from B Flight were to be part of a medium sized bomber attack;
our aircraft being in the first wave and to carry a full load of bombs and
incendiaries.
Airborne at 21.45 hours, routed some 10 miles south of Munster. Over the
North Sea, approaching the Dutch coast, found the Flak ships very active.
Evasive action taken must have placed us slightly off course as we were
coned by searchlights and received the full attention of Amsterdam's
defences - very heavy flak, the only aircraft over the city.
As rear gunner J gave the skipper a commentary and advised on evasive
tactics. We successfully avoided any damage and continued a weaving
course across Holland.
Flew over an aerodrome carrying out night flying - the Luftwaffe soon
switching off their lighting systems.
Shortly afterwards the Observer reported we were on course and time. About
10 minutes later we were attacked from underneath by night fighters. We
were about 15 minutes from target and the first we knew was severe jolting
4~ cannon shells hit us. In the rear turret I seemed to be sitting in the middle
Of if. Managed to get in a short burst of fire from the Browning’s at a single
engined fighter as it peeled away. Immediately a second fighter attacked but
I got in a long burst of fire resulting in a glow of fire from the mid section of the
fighter. There was just time to see him dive earthwards before seeing and
feeling the flames that were streaming past the turret. Found the intercom
useless, also the emergency call lights system no long working and the
hydraulic system would not turn the turret.
Using the manual system, I centralised the turret, obtained my chute pack,
deciding it was too hot to stay and with the aircraft diving slightly to port,
turned the turret fully starboard, clipped on my parachute pack, put my forage
cap inside my Irving jacket, jettisoned the turret dome and bailed out.
When clear of the aircraft I pulled the rip cord, jerked the chute open, it was
very quiet - just the whisper of the air passing through the chute lines.
Drifting down but not facing ~he direction of drift, I had to look over my
shoulder to see that the drift was over forests and areas of water. Several
attempts to turn were unsuccessful so, not wishing to push my luck too far, I
left things as they were, crashing through branches and thumping to the
ground. I was unable to disentangle the chute from the tree, reached into my
hip pocket for my cigarette case to find it all crumpled up but the cigs OK.
One of my flying boots was charred, part of the sole missing and, except for
blood flowing from a long scratch down one side of my face. No apparent
injury. After checking my escape kit. I set off running and walking
alternatively, in a westerly direction making good progress through the forest
except for odd collisions with bushes. Later the noise of bombers flying back
to England died away and all was quiet amongst the trees on a warm
moonlight night.
To detour around a village, I set off across an open field; after about 60 yards I
heard a thumping noise, on looking in the direction of the sound I saw a large
"white" horse galloping towards me. I took off, running faster than I thought
was possible, towards the forest with the horse gaining with every stride!
Finally, I jumped clear over a barbed wire fence, hiding behind a tree,
watching as the horse stopped and reared up before trotting off. Heart
pounding, it was a while before I collected myself to seek another route
around the village. Never before had I felt so frightened.
By daybreak I had reached the limits of the forest so I found a good spot of
cover to hide during the day - sounds of trains in the distance providing a
target for the morrow. Resting, I ate some Horlicks tablets, checked with my
silk escape map and watched several people moving, walking a nearby dirt
Trail.
Soon after midday, feeling very thirsty, I decided (must have been in a daze)
to raid an orchard near a farmhouse about 1/4 mile away - picked up some
apples but the farmer appeared, directing me to the house and leaving me in
a parlour alone. I looked at a photograph above the mantelpiece to see
Hitler's face so I took off quickly towards the forest.
Within half an hour I was surrounded by armed "Home Guards", taken to the
local Burgomasters house, and later handed over to a Luftwaffe officer,
marched to the village square where a lorry and trailer loaded with coffins
awaited. Sam Embury was in the back of the lorry, we shook hands,
pretending not to know one another. Also lying on a stretcher was Mac,
wounded in the chest, upper arms and thighs, conscious and stoic.
We were then driven to a convent a few miles away where we picked up
Denis wearing a large bandage on his hand; bright and cheerful as ever. We
were then taken about 20 miles to a copse of scorched trees where a Stirling
had crashed. The Luftwaffe men searching the still smouldering bomber for
the remains of the crew. Bodies and parts thereof were then placed in the
coffins. The Luftwaffe officer in charge said, "That's war; you were lucky -
they weren't. For you the war is over. "
We were transported to the town of Krefeld, confined along with two Luftwaffe
N. C. O. s who were supposed to be awaiting trial for some offences but they
spoke perfect English and asked pertinent questions so we assumed they
were intelligence officers.
Mac's dressed wounds began to smell septic; he was now in great pain. We
demanded that he be seen by a doctor. Soon a Luftwaffe M.O. came and
agreed he must be taken to hospital immediately.
That evening the M.O. returned telling us that surgery had been performed
successfully saying, "Your comrade will recover; don't worry about him. He
will get the very best of treatment. "
Next day, escorted by two armed guards, the three of us went by train along
the Rhine Valley to Cologne Rai/way Station; arriving in the middle of the
night. Disregarding his two shouting guards, an Aussie airman walked over to
greet us. Guards and prisoners then went into a troop canteen for soup
before entraining for Frankfurt Am Mainz. All allied airmen taken prisoner
after being shot down over mainland Europe, including North Africa, were
taken to Dulag Luft for interrogation. The procedure was to place prisoners in
a cell which was heated in Summer and kept cold in Winter. Clothing was
taken away for searching, a wooden bench bed followed by interrogation by
two intelligence officers in alternative shifts. Both spoke perfect English - one
being very sympathetic and considerate in approach, the other being severe
and aggressive; the former being much more dangerous.
Both had an extensive knowledge of one's R.A.F. history - the first one saying
that I would be pleased to hear that a certain Squadron Leader I had flown
with had now been promoted to Wing Commander after being awarded a
D.S.O.
The aggressive type produced a Red Cross form to complete; a form which
included details of station, type of aircraft, squadron details etc. Filling in my
name, rank and number I put a line through the rest, then being told that as
no one knew where I was, they could take me out and shoot me - no one
would know.
It was not easy to stick to name, rank and number and show no expression of
surprise at the detailed information which they already knew but we had been
thoroughly briefed about all this prior to going on ops. From their; questions it
seemed that they were puzzled about three wireless operators/air gunners
taken prisoner in the same area and could not match us up as a crew. We
must have been successful as I was kept in the cell for a couple of days more
than normal. They may have concluded that I was a sole survivor of another
crew.
My clothing was returned (compass buttons still in my battledress) and I was
transferred to the adjacent POW camp. After a few days we were transported
by rail to Stalag 8B Lamsdorf, Ober Silesia near the old Polish border.
The book - "Wellingtons at War" - A. C. Bowyer - gives an account of the
night of 27th August 1942 .... Six aircraft from B Flight, No. 142 Squadron took
off to bomb Kassel. His aircraft, H for Harry, badly shot up, full of holes and
big chunks was forced to land at R.A.F. Harwell none of the crew hurt but on
arriving back at base learned to their horror that they were the only surviving
aircraft of the six to return to England.
ON THE MARCH ....
Evacuating Stalag VII/B Lamsdorf, Ober Silesia on 22. 1.45. we marched to
Friederberg, arriving about 0300 hours 23.1.45. Slept in a barn.
23.1.45. After nine and a half hours reached Priebom, billeted in a brick
factory.
24.1.45. Arrived at Rogau Rosenau about 1700 hours. Stayed overnight in a
barn.
25.1.45. With two other fit men, placed to care for a party of about 25 sick
aimen. Two Jerry Postens in charge. Stayed in horse stables, straw
bedding, horses very noisy at night kicking wooden stable partitions.
26. 1.45. Demanded medical attention for sick; after long argument with
guards they allowed parole for two of us to seek help. Walked a few
kilometres to a Luftwaffe station. (Very similar to many RAF bases).
Marched through main gates to guard room where N. C. O. in charge gave us
permission to go to station sick quarters where medical officer refused to see
us but a medical N. C.O. gave us several tubes of ointment (b/ack/green! in
colour) named Frossheisse or something like that.
Called at guardroom on way out where an N. C. O. was severely reprimanding
main gate guards for letting us into the camp. Returned to stables to treat
cases of frost bite. This treatment, massaging ointment into frost bitten areas,
continued several times a day until 6.2.45 - very effective.
26-28.1.45 Bartered and stole potatoes, barley and joints of ancient mutton -
farmer allowed us to use old pig swill copper to make soup.
28.1.45 Left fann stables marched to Strehlitz - overnight in a barn.
29.1.45. Arrived in Wiesenrogau at 1600 hours. Stayed in a lager within a
large 'sugar fabrick'.
30.1.45. Stayed one day- got some rations, bread and potatoes.
31.1.45. Marched via Friebom to coal mine at Walchenberg staying in an old,
damp and bitterly cold barrack. Demanded fuel for cast iron stoves, Told by
Jerries - if you want coal go down the mine - there were thousands of tons on
the surface but they were adamant. We had to go down the mine near coal
face to fill two large raffia baskets. Soon had stoves glowing red hot. Very
lucky; kitchen staff were survivors of General Bor Komoroski's Warsaw
Revolt who warmly embraced us when told of the sick RAF personnel, they
said all RAF were heroes who had attempted to fly in supplies to them in
Warsaw. They provided marvellous soup, potatoes and bread: The warmth,
food and ointment treatment resulted in an improvement in the health of the
sick.
2.2.45. Left at 1450 hours, walked 8 kilometres to Rothebach.
3.2.45. Marched 20 kilometres via Landeshut to Pfaffendorf. Stayed night in
carpenter's workshops, supplied with potatoes.
4.2.45. Made 13 kilometres to Schmiederberg; slept with cows in stalls,
copious flatulence by cows! Potatoes as rations.
5.2.45. Reached Hirscheberg - slept in a barn. Potatoes.
6.2.45. Joined up with main column. Delighted with the general improvement
of the health of the sick. Our two postens in charge of the small party were
not too bright and after early disputations they went along with what we
wanted. Stayed in a barn. Had a sixth of a loaf of bread.
7.2.45. Marched 29 kilometres. No water all day - very thirsty.
8.2.45. Arrived Gorlitz.
9.2.45. Stayed at Gorlitz.
10.2.45. Left Gorlitz.
TOWARDS LIBERATION .....
From Ober Silesia westwards across Germany the 800 kilometre march is
covered in the book "The R.A.A.F. P.O.W.s of Lamsdorf" and the following
account is a personal recollection of events of the final days leading to
liberation.
The brick factory near Duderstadt ranked a high priority in a list of places
where one did not wish to be.
Many prisoners, weakened by malnutrition, physically nearing exhaustion
after the long march and suffering the effects of dysentery, were unable to
make the journey to the temporary outside latrines. Consequently, there was
a constant drip of urine and faecal matter seeping from each floor to the
ground causing a foul stench to pervade the building. Food was minimal, the
rumours of Typhus spreading decided W/O Bemie Hughes R.N.Z.A.F., David
Crabtree, Corporal - British Army and self to barter our wrist watches for
bread and to attempt another escape.
The Germans, however, ordered us out to march again on 3.4.45. in a north-
easterly direction. In driving rain, the column moved through forested terrain.
The guards on the right hand side of the column moved to the left hand side
to seek some shelter from the rain. Approaching an S bend in the road we
saw an opportunity to escape. Asking the lads around us to try and distract
any guards who might try to shoot at us, we dashed towards the forest cover
about 70 metres away, successfully hiding, watching the colulmn go past.
We then set a westerly course through the forest for about three hours when
halfway across a clearing we were seen by a group of foresters eating their
lunch. These men had guns and were accompanied by two armed Hitler
Jugend. One of these was detailed to march us back to Duderstadt.
GOing along a minor road we were stopped by a German officer riding a
pushbike. He immediately berated the youth for consorting with prisoners.
Dave Crabtree, who could speak German, seized the opportunity to support
the almost hysterical reprimand of the officer, who ordered the sullen,
dumbstruck youth to return to the foresters and the youth sloped away. The
officer ordered us to go back to Duderstadt, mounted his bike and rode off!
Later that day we contacted Polish slave labourers at a state farm; they gave
us !/bod from their meagre rations directing us to keep going across country
ancl to contact other Polish workers. We took their advice.
On 5.4#.45. we made a mistake by resting too close to a road. Round a
comer appeared a platoon of S.S. and at the head of the column, an S.S.
officer. We decided to brazen it out. As they got near we "sprang" to
attention, threw up our best parade ground salutes. He saluted back and the
column march on!
On the 6.4.45. a Feldwebel from a road block house spotted us whilst we
sought cover for the night, as it was late afternoon with rain threatening. He
asked us what the hell we were doing so we spun him a yam saying who we
were and that, tired and hungry, we were on our way to the nearest town to
surrender. Whether he believed us or was just fed up with war, we never
knew, but he ordered us to proceed to the nearest town and so we went on
our merry way!
Later we met a Russian P.D. W. - the sole survivor of a small party of
escapees, the others had been shot by foresters. We suggested he stay with
us but he decided to give himself up.
Next day a Pole driving a tractor directed us to hide in a large bam as the
Americans were advancing towards the area. The 7th and 8th April we spent
in a bam fifty yards from a manned blockhouse.
The night of 8. 4. 45. a Polish girl, about 15 years of age, arrived with a loaf of
bread and a small bottle of medicine (probably Chlorodyne) for Bemie who
was suffering exhaustion and dysentery. To reach us she had crawled part
the Germans who, if they had detected her, probably would have shot her.
She told us the Americans were continuing to move towards the area and to
stay where we were.
On the early morning of the 9.4.45. a Polish man collected a tractor from the
bam confirming that American tanks were only a few kilometres away. After
he left many 2nd Tactical Air Force Typhoons and Mustangs shot up targets
in the area; including barns. Fortunately, not ours! Then a tank battle ensued
with shells from both sides whistling overhead. Soon after 1300 hours all
went quiet, after the Germans retreated eastwards. Moving a board from the
wall of the bam we saw that the blockhouse was deserted. We remained on
the top of a high stack of straw at one end of the bam. About 1500 hours we
heard a vehicle driving up the dirt track towards the bam. It stopped, the big
doors swung open. We peered through the straw, saw three soldiers armed
with automatic weapons. They' were Yanks.
We scrambled down, the guns pointed at us, we were told to get our hands
up. I said who we were, asking very politely if we could show our identity
tags. The Master Sergeant was, "OK Bud but use your right hand only." I did
exactly as ordered. Great joy and jubilation, cigarettes and K rations before
being interrogated over a field telephone about German troop movements.
We were joined by a party of Poles including the girl who had brought the
medicine. Thanking the Poles for all their help, leaving them our old blankets
and a liberal supply of cigarettes and K rations we went on our way staying
with the Recce patrol in the van of the American advance. They armed us
with automatic guns, ordering us to keep our heads below a steel cable fitted
on the front of the jeep - the Germans strung piano wire across roads to
decapitate the occupants of vehicles. That night the 2nd Division took over a
village, desultory fire soon silenced by tanks blowing to pieces any house
which sheltered snipers etc. White flags (usually sheets) hung from all the
buildings - all the inhabitants on one side of the village given 10 minutes to
clear out to the other side.
Within 2 hours the Americans set up kitchens (all stainless steel), telephone
exchange, officers compiling lists of casualties etc. We were taken to meet
Lt. Colonel William A. Smith who gave us a great welcome telling us that we
were the first allied ex P. O.W.s they had picked up and inviting us to' dinner.
He said he would arrange for us to be flown back to England. That night as
we bedded down an artillery and mortar barrage started. We asked rather
anxiously if there was a counter attack but were told. "Nope, we are just
.'
softening up Kraut targets for tomorrow. "
The 10.4.45. was spent advancing and after delousing on the 11.4.45. taken
by trucks to a Luftwaffe aerodrome near Gottingen where Dakota aircraft
were landing petrol supplies. Bemie and Dave were put aboard one plane
which flew off to England. I was put on another plane with four soldiers being
flown back to an airport on the outskirts of Paris.
There to greet us, or so we thought, were brass bands, dignitaries and a
crowd of people. As we stepped down the band music petered out until only
a bass drum could be heard - we were not the expected guests!
An R.AF. Wing Commander took us to his office for tea, sandwiches and
cake before loading us on a bus decorated with Tricolours - we went on our
way through a cheering crowd as we waved regally to them.
So, to R.AF. Headquarters in Paris, given money, a Pay Book and a series of
hot showers - the first since Lamsdorf!
Next day a tour of Paris conducted by a lady who had been a leader of the
French Maquis Resistance. That night taken by train to Le Havre, thence by
open car, driven by a maniac, to an aerodrome; warned about land mines we
didn't walk too far before boarding a R.G.AF. Dakota.
On board I met W/O Hughie Houghton who I knew on 142 Squadron. shot
down some months before me. He was a very sick man, but on approach to
the white cliffs of Dover, the Canadian pilot asked jf there was a pilot amongst
us. We assisted Hughie into the cockpit and he flew us back over the coast -
a very touching gesture by our Canadian crew.
We landed at an aerodrome in Buckinghamshire, were welcomed by an Air
Vice Marshall and his staff who congratulated our party of seven. One soldier
was completely overcome when assisted by two W.AAF's, burst into tears
on hearing their voices - I think we all felt the same way - we were free and
home.
Warrant Officer Robert Roy Henderson
R.AF. 953388
P.O.W. No. 26838
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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Operation Kassel
Description
An account of the resource
Account of 142 Squadron crew operation to Kassel wriiten by rear gunner Bob Henderson. Was attacked by night fighter and had to bale out. Continues with account of evading and capture. Reunited with wounded crewmates and transported to prisoner of war camp. Describes interrogation and evacuation of Stalag VIIIB and 800km march to Gorlitz. Concludes with account of liberation and return to England in April 1945
Creator
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R Henderson
Format
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Eight page printed document
Spatial Coverage
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Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Germany
Germany--Kassel
Poland
Poland--Łambinowice
Germany--Krefeld
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Görlitz (Görlitz)
Germany--Münster in Westfalen
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1942-08-27
1945-01
1945-02
1945-04
Identifier
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SDryhurstHG1332214v10018
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
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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David Bloomfield
Language
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eng
Type
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Text
Text. Memoir
1 Group
142 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
bale out
C-47
crash
Dulag Luft
evading
fear
killed in action
mine laying
P-51
prisoner of war
RAF Grimsby
shot down
Stirling
strafing
the long march
Typhoon
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/501/22419/BCurnockRMCurnockRMv1.2.pdf
dd6c1f8bb85b78fcd0c5a2ab7464a67a
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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Curnock, Richard
Richard Murdock Curnock
R M Curnock
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Curnock, RM
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-04-18
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.
Description
An account of the resource
92 items. An oral history interview with Warrant Officer Richard Curnock (1924, 1915605 Royal Air Force), his log book, letters, photographs and prisoner of war magazines. He flew operations with 425 Squadron before being shot down and becoming a prisoner of war.
The collection has been licenced to the IBCC Digital Archive by Richard Curnock and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed document
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
[photograph]
Richard Montague Curnock
My War Story
[page break]
[underlined] CONTENTS [/underlined]
Page Number
Foreword 4
World War II begins 5
Samuel William Curnock 7
Dick's War Begins 10
Dalcross 10
Wellesbourne- Warwickshire 11
Heavy Conversion Unit - Dishforth (York's) the crew is completed 13
Tolthorpe - Squadron station 14
Our First Mission 15
The Second and Final Mission 16
Prisoner of War-number 2108 17
Stalag Luft VI - Heydekrug 18
Kriegies 10 commandments 20
Torun Stalag Luft 357 25
Oerbke near Fallingsbostel 27
The Long March 27
19th April 1945 28
The end of the War nears 31
Military Transport Training 33
Horsham 34
Egypt??? 35
To Italy 36
On the Road to Bari 39
Mercy Mission to Egypt 43
Dakota back to Italy - Treviso 46
2
[page break]
Reunions 49
Appendix 1- RAF flying log book 52
i) Gunnery course results 52
ii) Gunnery training 53
iii) - vi) 22 O.T.U 54-57
vii) - viii) 1664 Conversion Unit 58 - 59
ix) 425 Squadron 60
x) Flights to visit Bob in Egypt 61
Appendix 2 - Berlin cemetery plan 62
Appendix 3 - The March 63
Appendix 4 Red Cross map of prisoner of war camps
i) Long march route and map correction information 65
ii) Long march route 66
iii) Blue cross in circle marks where Dick was shot down. Red
cross near Frankfurt where he was moved to 67
iv) Red line shows route taken by Dick. Torun (Thorn camp) 68
v) Poznan - Stalag Luft XXI D 69
vi) Stalag Luft VI - Lithuania 70
3
[page break]
Foreword
The following writings are a combination of Dick's recollections as he remembers them in 2013/14. Also within are additions (in blue) from earlier recordings by Barbara, and information taken from his Wartime log (given to him by the Red Cross when in his first POW camp). And from his RAF navigator's; air bomber's and air gunner's flying log book.
Richard Montague Curnock (in his own words January 2014)
I was speaking just recently to Shirley and Steph about the anniversary of the shooting of the 50 POW's that attempted the escape from Stalag Luft 3, as I was at that time also a prisoner in another camp and was recounting how we took the news of this wholesale murder of our fellow airmen, also what the Germans retaliated with was an excuse for their prisoners over in North Africa having to sleep in tents (which anybody knows most troops lived that way in the desert) they took all our mattresses off the bunk beds, which left us with about five or six bed boards only and one blanket too sleep on, also we had two tables and a few chairs to each room, these they also removed.
All this happened whilst we were herded out of huts on to the parade ground where we were surrounded by hundreds of the German army in lorries with mounted machine guns, also the troops were on the ground with machine guns also lying on the roofs of the huts were virtually surrounded and all you could see guns pointing your way.
4
[page break]
[underlined] World War II begins [/underlined]
Guess it is time for me to start this saga of my war time story, which started when it was announced that Hitler had not replied to our letter stating of no reply had been heard from them by 11am on 3rd September 1939 then we would be at war with them, no reply so we were at war again.
I was a fifteen year old and had been working for a year and half, the first twelve months in a piano shop on Belgrave Road, was sacked for not dusting the violins and bows that hung on the walls "enough times".
My day started at 8.45 washing the front of the shop which was on a corner, so had two large windows and tiles along under the window, then dust all the pianos and they needed polishing regularly, sweeping regularly, attending to customers who wanted to pay for the their [sic] pianos which they paid for weekly. Pianos were priced at the lower being 12 pounds for an upright and 15 pound for an over strung, we had a special made for a customer a baby grand, the wood used was walnut and cost 35 pounds was on show for a week.
[photograph]
Dick, Sam, Bob and Mary, Minehead Street. 1940-1
Next job was making boot polish and paint that was used in the boot and shoe industry. My job was delivering the product to a lot of factories in Leicester and as far as Wigston and Oadby on a bike with a large basket over the front wheel, which held quite a lot of cans, they weighed nearly as much as I did that's another story.
5
[page break]
[photograph] [photograph]
Dick in ATC uniform 1941 Bob, Dick, Sam and Mary (1941)
6
[page break]
[underlined] Samuel William Curnock [/underlined]
[photograph]
Samuel William Curnock RAFVR: newly qualified sergeant pilot 1942
Brother Sam was already in the RAF and over in Canada training to be a pilot and I had then joined the Air Training Corps on third September 1941 as an aircrew cadet, brother Bob I believe was waiting to go into the RAF as a trainee pilot, I believe that during his tour over there Sam was killed in a flying accident at Gibraltar in 1942 (26th September 1942).
7
[page break]
[photograph]
Our flying crews have their recreation room at the United Kingdom landplane base
Sam (second from left) in a recreation room
There was nothing to how the accident happened but that the aircraft crashed into the sea at Gibraltar with no survivors. The pilot was a senior captain, Sam was a second pilot officer and they had an officer wireless operator. We were led to believe it could have been sabotage but no one knew.
It was then I decided I would get in the RAF quicker if I re-mustered as an air gunner instead of waiting for my pilot navigator course to come through.
In 2009 Peter and Jayne received a phone call from Jonathan Falconer who was researching Sam Curnock, the extract below gives more information on the circumstances of Sam's death than the family had ever known before.
Extract from "Names in Stone"-Jonathan Falconer.
Sam had volunteered to join the RAF in October 1940 on his eighteenth birthday, just as the fortunes of the RAF seemed to be swinging in its favour after the desperate air battles of the Battle of Britain in the summer months. He learnt to fly on Tiger Moths at 7 Elementary Flying Training School, Desford; Leicestershire. Before sailing to Canada; for further flying training at 73 Service Flying Training School; north Battleford, Saskatcheqan [sic] .
Sam qualified as a pilot and returned to England. With a shortage of flight crews for civil aircraft he was transferred in May 1942 to fly transport aircraft with Britain's national airline; BOAC.
in September 1942, Sam was Second Officer in the four-man crew of Whitley MK V, G-AGCI, which was operated by BOAC on its route between the UK and Gibraltar. Thirty-three year old Capt Charles Browne was in command of "Charlie-India".
8
[page break]
Charlie-India had flown into Gibraltar from England on 10th September 1942 and the aircraft's Master had stated in his Voyage Report that the aircraft was tail-heavy for the landing. The aircraft left again for England on 13th September, but her Master decided to turn back after only 25 minutes, reporting that Charlie India was now flying nose heavy.
Not long before his death, Sam was second pilot in a BOAC Whitley that crashed in England on take-off due to engine failure. He was uninjured and managed to walk away from the wreckage. In the fortnight that remained before her fatal crash, Charlie-India was the subject of several engineering inspections and three test flights after report by several pilots of nose and tail heaviness during flight. These problems appeared cured, but on 19th September the Master reported that Charlie-India was underpowered during take off and the initial climb, and unstable in flight. A further detailed inspection was carried out and another test flight was arranged.
To add to Charlie-India's woes, on 24th September the twin Bristol Hercules engines of an RAF Beaufighter was run up on Gibraltar's tarmac, tail on to the BOAC Whitley. The powerful propeller wash from the two radial engines caused damage to the trailing edge of the Whitley's elevators and the rudder trim tabs. Engineers made temporary repairs to the elevators, the damaged trim tab mechanisms were replaced, and a test flight was arranged for 3.56pm on 26th September.
With Charles Browne in command and Sam and the rest of the crew, Charlie-India took off normally from Gibraltar's east-west runway at 3.56pm and climbed out over the Bay of Gibraltar to about 300 feet, whereupon Browne eased the Whitley into a left-hand turn. Then something went badly wrong because the aircraft assumed a power glide attitude and continued in a shallow dive until it struck the sea at 3.59pm, sinking almost immediately in more than 900 feet of water.
Naval vessels were on the scene within minutes. Apart from a few small items of wreckage floating on the surface, the aircraft was not recovered. There were no survivors from her crew of four, and no bodies were ever recovered.
BOAC's technical investigators launched an immediate inquiry into the crash and on 29th October 1942 they made their report. Its conclusion was based more on informed speculation than hard fact, but in the absence of any wreckage or survivors this was the best that could be hoped for: "The precise cause of the accident cannot be determined, but a possible cause was an uncontrollable elevator trimmer tab due to a fracture in some part of the actuating mechanism .... There exists a possibility that subsequent to the take off one or both of the elevator trimmer tab mechanisms fractured, with the result that the Master was unable to maintain longitudinal control of the aircraft."
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[underlined] Dick's war begins [/underlined]
22nd March 1943; When l was 18 and 11 months I was called up (RAF (V.R) volunteer Reserve) and was sent a rail warrant for travel to London and Lord's cricket ground which was the Aircrew Receiving Centre (A.C.R.C) for al! aircrew candidates were we were kitted out and billeted in hotels all around the St Johns Wood area, loads of marching around going from one lecture to another with lots of marching exercises around the hotels, and in between times you were taken to a medical centre for inoculation, stand in line both arms bared, left arm two injections one inoculation right arm then out to the street, where there were bodies al! over the place, some bodies flat out other holding their arms and moaning. When they managed to get all of us in some semblance of order, we marched back to our hotels, but swinging of arms was painful and was not done with any energy.
After our initiation into RAF life we were on a train to Bridlington to learn navigation, armaments mathematics- aircraft recognition plus as always plenty of marching from one lecture to another, one other pastime was Morse code and the Aldis lamp, this was done with someone being sent to the end of the breakwater with an instructor with an Aldis lamp and they sent signals to the rest of us on the beach in twos, one reading the signal being sent and your friend writing it down, we used got some very weird messages at end of a session.
My next stage of training after Bridlington was Bridgnorth where unfortunately there was an outbreak of scarlet fever and German measles and unfortunately I happened to catch German measles and was put into an isolation hut, one of many for the recruits who had caught one of the diseases. I was put into a room of my own and had two weeks being looked after very well by a WAAF nurse during the day, and my night nurse who looked after me exceptionally well and was a lovely young lady. And as my condition improved she brought a radio into my room and we managed to have a dance and then she would tuck me up for the night with a cuddle and kiss goodnight.
After two weeks it was back to work where we did have a lot of lectures about armaments - aircraft recognition - Morse code with mathematics also but mainly armaments, how to dismantle a machine gun and also put it back and hope it worked alright.
Aircraft recognition was a priority knowing which the enemy was and which ours. My time spent with aircraft recognition at home kept me getting top marks in every exam we did, we had night vision exams where pictures were shown on a screen as if you were in a turret and had to identify the aircraft shown, my trouble was the fellows around me were always asking me what the aircraft was, the instructor stopped me helping them, he said that they would not be any use unless they got to know themselves. From then on I was removed from my seat and had to sit by the light switches turning them on and off as required. After finishing this course my instructors gave me a very good report and should get on well.
[underlined] Dalcross [/underlined]
Dick RAF flying log book information can be seen in appendix 1
My section was then sent on leave for a week after which we had to board a train to Scotland, destination was a place called Dalcross (near Inverness, Moray Firth) which turned out to be our Initial Flying Training course on Avro Ansons.
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Pilots converting on to twin engine Airspeed Oxford after training in Canada. This was now 17.7.43 and my course here lasted until 28.8.43 (appendix i) and ii)). The training consisted of being taken up in Avro Ansons six training gunners and an instructor we took it in turns to sit in the turret which had one gun in it attached was a camera which we had to train on a fighter aircraft which made a dummy attack on you, all exciting stuff, except when the fighter was late arriving and you had to fly round and round a church steeple, that was when my last coffee and biscuit decided to reappear, this happened three times, each time I was sent to the sick bay and gave an explanation of what was happening, I was given a glass of horrible liquid and told to report back for more flying. This occurred twice more by that time my stomach stopped playing around and settled down to the rigours of flying.
We also had firing with the one gun at a drone towed behind another aircraft and our bullets had colours on the tips so that they could record the number of hits. Our results were pathetic as the guns would only fire two bullets at a time and then jam so you then had to rearm it; we also used camera guns with which we had more success.
It also happened to be a training camp for pilots on night flying on airspeed oxfords.
Bob had by this time gained his pilots wings in Canada and was back in England and was posted to Dalcross near Inverness. I think this was during July 1943 and August 1943 to train on twin engine Airspeed Oxfords. Neither of us knew we were there until one evening we were going into Inverness and just happened to be walking down the road to catch the bus into town when I spotted Bob who was as surprised as I was; from then on we spent a bit of time together until he was posted elsewhere.
I continued at Dalcross to become a Sergeant air gunner had quite a good report from all the training staff and was given above average report from most of the tutors, not that it helped much as the ammunition we were using had a wide flange on the bullet casing as it was American and caused it to stick, you could only fire a couple of rounds and then you had to re-cock it again, life was hard on us.
[underlined] Wellesbourne- Warwickshire - meet the crew [/underlined]
18.9.1943. (Appendix iii) t [sic] vi)) My next posting was to Wellesbourne (Warwickshire) the Operational Training Unit to start being crewed up with members of a crew. The procedure was for the pilots to have a chat with the navigators, wireless operators, bomb aimers and air gunners and then ask the ones he wished to be his crew if they would join him Charlie (Chuck) Stowell, the pilot picked Bob Friskey as navigator then Eugene Fullum our wireless operator, the next was our bomb aimer Gordon Dinsmore, which left the rear gunner, which I believe was unanimous decision by them all that was me. We then spent our time getting to know each other; that is we went out at night doing a spot of drinking and rather a lot of talking or the other way round.
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[photograph]
Bob Friskey, Eugene Fullom and Chuck Stowell
[photograph]
A copy of the only photo of the crew: Back row: Bob Friskey, Gordon Dinsmore
Front row: Eugene Fullom, Dick Curnock, Chuck Stowell
This was at Gaydon the satellite airfield to Wellsbourne, here we started flying as a crew in the Wellington bomber, doing practice bombing at targets on the coast and various places also we had
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fighter aircraft doing dummy attacks during which I had a camera gun and it recorded my success against these attacks we also did firing at a draught [sic] towed behind another aircraft, with our bullets being painted different colours so they could count the number of hits we scored. This proved to be very hap hazard as the ammunition we were using was American and every second round got stuck in the breech and had to be manually ejected so our scores were very low. We did quite a lot of cross country flying for the navigators to gain experience a lot of it at night time.
We also did a lot of circuit flying at night so that the pilot could manage to get us back to the airfield safely. Some nights were a bit bumpy as he misjudged his height, my head used to get a lot of knocks on these occasions and the skippers name was anything but "Chuck".
[drawing]
Picture drawn by Dick whilst a prisoner of war
[underlined] Heavy Conversion Unit - Dishforth (Yorks) - the crew is completed [/underlined]
14.1.1944. ( appendix vii and viii) We moved on next to a conversion unit which meant going onto four engine aircraft this was at Dishforth (near Ripon, Yorks) 1664 Heavy conversion unit. The aircraft was a four engine Halifax bomber for which we needed two extra crew; a mid upper gunner and a flight engineer. These we met and we all moved into a hut so that we would could get know each other. The mid upper gunner was a Canadian from a farming background a rather slow on the uptake but we got on well together. The engineer was from Salford a tall lad and red haired. The mid upper gunner was Wesley (Wes) Skerick and the engineer was Ginger Wheadon.
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[photograph] [photograph]
Ginger Wheadon Wes Skerick
At this stage we were beginning to get to know each other and in the evenings we were usually down in mess having some light refreshments, Bob Friskey didn't very often come, as he had not been married very long and took to writing to his wife almost every evening, so the rest of us went into Burroughbridge [sic] the nearest town to have a few beers, this we managed quite well with a another couple of Canadians from another crew who Chuck knew, and we each bought a round of drinks which lasted us most of the evening.
[underlined] Tolthorpe - Squadron station [/underlined]
7.2.1944. (Appendix ix) We then moved from Dishforth on to our squadron station which was at Tolthorpe near Easingwold still up in Yorkshire. It was the only French Canadian squadron from Canada, although all spoke English there was a lot of French spoken between most of the other crews, also most of the senior officers were from French ancestors. They could get very aggressive to each other as happened one evening later on.
Here there were four squadrons of Halifax bombers with around 60 planes. The squadrons with mainly Canadian or French/Canadian crews were:
[picture of 425 Squadron crest]
420 Snowy Owl
425 Alouette (the Lark- Dick's squadron)
431 Iroquois
434 Blue Nose
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We did lots of night cross country to various parts of the England to give the navigator, targets to find and which would be our target to bomb later on, also we had a bombing range which we had to find and drop practice smoke bombs on and from a certain height, some pilots tried to drop from a lower height so that they were getting better results and a higher percentage of hits. Not our pilot he said we would go as high as the aircraft could climb and then drop our bombs, which we did, only to be told on our return we were still too low, to which the skipper said that the Wellington couldn't climb any higher, and the rear gunner had a tin of drink in his flying suit pocket that was frozen no more was said on the subject.
We as a crew were sent to a camp which was to improve our fitness, which we didn't think was necessary as we all felt fit and well, we were allocated a hut and promptly forgot, we went for meals regularly and were not called on to do anything apart from eat and sleep, Eugene Gordon and myself walked around the fields and found where they were growing swedes, carrots, turnips, so we borrowed a few and cooked them on our stove in the hut and with other bits from the cookhouse and had some good meals in the evenings. Fortunately we were only there for about 10 days, and then were sent to squadron.
The squadron was from Canada and had only been in England a short while and we joined it at the end of January 1944 in which time we got to know the aircraft we to fly in, it was a Halifax MK3 K.W.U for Uncle. Unfortunately for us we only did about 14 hours training on our aircraft.
[photograph of Halifax bomber]
Halifax Bomber
[underlined] Our First Mission [/underlined]
February 24th/25th we were called for a briefing and found we were due to fly a bombing trip to a place called Swinefurt [sic] , a long trip to the south of Germany which would be an eight hour round trip but unfortunately the port outer engine decided to cause a problem and stopped altogether, we couldn't climb to our bombing height due to lack of power and could not carry on at this low height, so the skipper decided we had best abort and return to base dropping our bomb load at sea. Which we did, and landed back at air station about three hours after take off. Not a good start at all, but the fault was found to be a blockage in the fuel pipe to the engine.
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[underlined] The Second and Final Mission [/underlined]
February 25th/26th we were on our second trip which was a bombing raid on Augsburg (North West of Munich) to bomb a factory making ball bearings for tanks, from which we failed to return. Our aircraft was hit by anti aircraft fire and both the engines on our left side were put out of action and caught fire. The noise it made when the shell hit our left side was like a firework being let off inside a dustbin. Then the next thing was flames coming past my turret Chuck our skipper came over our intercom asking if we were all uninjured which he did by calling each one by name. Then he said that we were not going to keep going, so had to bale out, each one of us saying we understood, good luck and made ready to bale out. What to do first I thought, disconnect my intercom, then the oxygen tube, think we were flying at a height of around twenty four thousand feet so would I have enough oxygen to keep going to get my parachute which was in a rack in the fuselage and then get the panel open in the fuselage floor for myself and mid upper - which was Wes to jump out. We shook hands and shouted good luck and looked down through the hatch to see the flames from the engines flying by so put my leg out and flow of air pulled the rest of me out!!
Suddenly everywhere is quiet, you are supposed to count to ten before pulling the ripcord to your parachute by the time I counted up to four I didn't hear any noise so pulled my ripcord and was instantly jerked upright, with my flying suit collar up round my ears and it was very quiet.
My thoughts whilst drifting down were varied and very worrying to say the least, it had my thoughts in turmoil.
Below was a patchwork due to snow and could have been fields, but from a height of 20000 feet there was no telling what it was going to be. My thoughts of a church spire came to mind or there was an industrial town down there with factories with tall chimneys also electric power cables, or a town with tall house and me hanging from the roof. The later [sic] was near to it as I came down between two poplar trees and I landed in a town house garden in an apple tree. I had my parachute hanging up in the tree, which I decided to pull down but it must have snagged and a piece ripped off and was left hanging in the tree what I had pulled down and bundled up and slipped under some buses [sic] . I then decided to find a way out of the garden; so removed my flying kit as I would be very conspicuous walking around in it. At that time I was just in my battle dress getting very cold, I then found a road running alongside the garden, so jumped over the wall onto a road started walking past some large houses all about five stories high, I had landed in a large residential area of a town. Then the siren for what I presumed was an air raid starting, so I walked up another road to miss people around that area, then the siren started again and people started running around (I discovered later that they had two sirens at the start of a raid and also two all clears) by which time I was back to where I had landed in the garden. So I hopped back over the wall and decided to put my flying suit back on as I was feeling very cold.
What to do now I thought; sleep seemed the best option or wake someone up and tell them who I was and call the police. I ended up curling up and sleeping and was woken by a squirrel running around me and then two elderly ladies coming our of the house next door and saw a piece of my parachute stuck up the tree, they shouted and ran back indoors and about 10 minutes later a policeman came down the garden path with a little pistol pointing at me and said hands up or words to that effect. Which I obliged, he then told me to take off my flying suit and go in front of him where
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he had left his cycle, and for me to put my clothes on his bike and we walked into the town to a police station. There were lots of people in the police station a lot were ex army with battle scars but quite polite, except one old boy who should have been in a home for the elderly along time ago, saying we would never win the war by sending us over to spy on them.
[underlined] Prisoner of War -number 2108 [/underlined] (Appendix 4 - iii) -Red Cross Map of prisoner of war camps)
I was then escorted to the Gestapo headquarters in the town which I discovered was Darmstadt (South East of Frankfurt) (on this journey Dick cut up his parachute with his penknife so that it couldn't be used by the Germans), and there met up with Wes, Eugene and Gordon whilst waiting there a rather irate man came in and picked up a chair and was going to hit Eugene with it, but fortunately I was able to stop the blow hitting Eugene with my flying suit, we found out later that Eugene had fractured his spine, releasing himself from his parachute harness whilst still hanging along way from the ground, which meant he had to go to a hospital so we didn't have any further contact with him.
Wes, Gordon and self were then taken by two armed guards to a building being used by the Police and handed over to Dulagluft Interrogation HQ on a tramcar with civilians on board who looked at us rather hostile, good job we had a couple of Luftwaffe guards with us, on the way through the streets there were a number of bodies hanging from lampposts turned out to be American airmen shot down on an earlier raid, quite a jolt to the system.
At the Interrogation HQ all our belongings were taken from us and we were then put into a cell with only a bed and a chair in it, no windows and an electric light on all the time, so you didn't know what part of the day or night it was. Dick became prisoner of war number 2108.
Then every so often an officer came in and said he was from the Red Cross and he would make sure that my parents would be notified where I was and was alright, but was being held in Germany as a prisoner of war and would be able to write once we had been sent to a POW camp. This treatment went on for quite a time you didn't know what day it was or time of day, we were fed soup and black bread and had brown water which they said was coffee, two or three times I was taken out and interviewed by an officer who told me who our commanding officer was and he had a daughter, had I met her, and then proceeded to tell me about the Halifax bomber but it wasn't doing much damage and we were losing them at a fare [sic] rate every night. When after a few days we were taken into the camp and given an American plastic suitcase in which was all manner of toiletries and clothes -a pair of slip on slippers, a towel, a face flannel, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, pyjamas, packet of pipe tobacco and a pipe, packet of twenty cigarettes, some vest and pants, a bar of chocolate a meal can opener, also an American army shirt.
We stayed there for a short while until they had enough bodies to fill up a lot of cattle trucks to take us to our next camp. I was then issued with our name and prisoner of war number, mine being 2108 and made of metal, we still had only our battledress uniforms and it was February so felt the cold. (Appendix 4 - iv)
Then one morning we were paraded on the square with our cases and marched off to the railway yard where our train awaited, there was no difference between first and third class, you were just herded along and pushed up into a cattle truck 20 prisoners into each end of the wagon (The wagons had written on the side - 40 hommes or 8 cheveaux, this became part of the POW insignia after the war),
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with the centre section for the guards, so each wagon was divided into compartments by a wire netting wall. There were no toilets so you had to wait until we had been shunted off the mainline and were then allowed to do your do's sitting on a log which was alongside the railway line, at first it was very embarrassing but after three or four days you didn't bother just got on with it.
We had a stop each day for a bowl of soup and drink of so called coffee. Forgot to mention that each truck had a guard sitting on top of the wagon and must have been covered in smoke from the engines. Sleeping was almost impossible with twenty people in a small space, but you managed you might have had feet by your head or a bottom, because the only pillow you had was your plastic suitcase.
I didn't keep a record of how long the train trip was but was told it was ten to twelve days, we passed through a couple of large stations but could only see out through the gaps in the sides of the trucks as the guards closed the doors, were surprised at one station when we went slowly past a train of open trucks packed with people they were either Jews or displaced persons being taken to places of forced labour, we couldn't pass them anything so had to just let them pass without being able to speak to them.
[underlined] Stalag Luft VI - Heydekrug [/underlined] (Appendix 4 - vi)
We finally arrived at our destination Heydekrug (in Lithuania) and Stalaf Luft 6 which meant in German prison camp for airmen. This was in East Prussia on the Baltic coast and was built on sand, so that tunnels couldn't be dug in the sandy soil, that didn't stop some of the hot heads from trying. Only one was tried and the Germans had some idea this was happening and brought a motor roller in to run up and down between the huts, it found a tunnel starting out between two huts and it sank into the sand about six feet and was stuck for two days, when they finally tried to move it, they couldn't start it as a lot of the parts had somehow gone missing, the Germans never did the same trick again.
All the crew members met up again here, except for Eugene, who was in hospital. The camp was divided into 3 compounds, two of which contained 2,000 men, the third being smaller held 1,000 men. Dick was in one of the larger compounds, with 60 men to a room. Dick and Ginger were in the same hut, the other crew members elsewhere.
We had some good men who cold [sic] turn their hands to anything and make things out of bits and pieces, one being a clock which went backwards made from an old gramophone. Also we had radios I think there were two, both were built inside Dixie's which was an eating and cooking pot.
We had some well educated lads with as a lot of early aircrew were from college undergraduates who were in the call up age range, so they started up classes in the camp on a variety of subjects, and you could qualify for a degree as the Red Cross got permission from the Germans for this to happen. One of the POWs that made use of the books was Peter Thomas, who became a Welsh MP after the war and later Lord Thomas.
My only inroad into anything like this was to draw in our POW book, we were issued with, like a diary was the drawing of the aircraft they flew in and the air force inscription over the top; and I charged one cigarette for each drawing, not a lot but helped out. I believe a number of people at home sent me cigarettes through the Red Cross but only two tins of tobacco got through to me, these were St
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Bruno and they lasted me some time. They would have lasted longer but I used to roll some into cigarettes and fellows used to drop by for a couple of puffs.
[drawing of book]
One of Dick's drawings
Dick also found a talent for needlework. He unpicked the silk lining from his flying boots, and made a cravat, with the RAF crest embroidered on it.
Cigarettes were used as currency for buying food, if and when the Red Cross food parcels arrived, they were divided up and were allocated, as 1 parcel between seven or ten men, not a lot, but as some kriegies didn't want some of the item they sold them for cigarettes. (Kriegies was short for Kriegesgefangenen which is the German word for prisoner of war)
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[underlined] Kriegies 10 commandments [/underlined]
[drawing of scroll]
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We had radios which were hidden in various places. In our hut we had the men who looked after the radios. One evening after being shut in, lookouts kept watch whilst repairs were being done. Suddenly someone shouted Goons up. An officer with three men plus an Alsatian dog walked in, the tables were cleared very quickly, everything dropped into a carton and passed down the lower bunks, it arrived at my bunk and I had nowhere to pass it to so I hid it under my knees under a blanket and picked up a book to read. The dog came sniffing around but kept on going by, when I sort of came too I found my book which I was supposedly reading was upside down. Good job the dog didn't notice it.
[drawing of hut interior]
Inside one of the huts in a camp
Mornings started with the overnight latrine bucket having to be emptied, not a nice job we had a rota in the hut and two of us had to take a 30 to 40 litre container almost full and take it and empty it at the toilet block you invariably finished up rather damp and needed a good wash.
Next it was the guards shouting "RAUS!" get out the parade ground for morning head count and anything that the Germans thought we should know, like how well they were doing in the war but didn't say where.
After the head count which could take quite some time, they couldn't agree on the figures and had to do it again sometimes it was our own faults [sic] for moving around whilst they tried to count us.
Finally all was right so off for breakfast the German rations were not very plentiful. It started with what they said was coffee, first in the morning, but what it was made with didn't question, but it was hot and with adding powered milk you drank it, it had to be fetched from the cookhouse in metal jugs.
Dinner was usually a soup of some sort could just be potato or sauerkraut and on a good day you were given corned beef which was send to the camp from Argentina, another soup was swede with potatoes, we were also issued with a fish cheese which was not very palatable but you ate it.
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Bread, black was issued per day, it varied in the amount which was either 6 or 10 persons sharing a loaf which was about 8 or 9 inches long about 4 inches wide and could be 3 1/2 to 4 1/2 inches deep that is they were thicker one end than the other, so one can imagine trying to share it out to either a combination of three or twelve.
Then to the cookhouse for our very large cans of ertzats [sic] coffee I still don't know what it was made of but it was wet and warm and washed down your breakfast if you ever had any. You were dreaming about eggs and bacon and toast and marmalade but didn't make a habit of it.
The next part of the morning was spent washing and shaving or not then cleaning up your space and making it tidy, then any washing you had to do for which you had to boil water which meant finding some material to burn, bed boards were used but there was a limit to how many you could sleep without and still have a straight back. As I previously mentioned classes were being held in huts all around the camp during the day also we had the parade ground on which was played sports, football, rugby, rounder's and also they had physical exercises for those who wanted it, we had a stream running through a part of the camp which was used to see who could jump it in one go! If not you had a free foot wash and legs and shorts!!
During the evenings one of our newsreaders would come in the hut, with days news that had been listened to on one of the radios (Daily Express reporter Cyril Aynsley was one who took it down in shorthand), some of us would keep watch at the door and be ready to stop the reader if any Germans happened to be about.
Most nights it was a nightly ritual to have a walk, around your section of the camp and have a chat with anyone and everyone. Then back to your hut for a late evening drink of tea or coffee which entailed lighting up your blower to boil the water. When we then had to either get to bed or light a candle and try and read but not for long.
[cartoon drawing of brew up]
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[photograph of washing facilities]
Washing facilities of Stalag 357 Fallingbostel
Our washing and shaving facilities were very limited, with some of the camps having the washing troughs in the open, ours were inside, just a trough with cold water running along it with holes in it about 18 inches in between to allow the water to run out into another trough below. If you wanted hot water it meant you had to get the blower out find some paper - cardboard or wood to burn to get some hot water. Wood was hard to come by unless you used your bed boards, which left you with another bend in your back. So it was usually a cold water shave and not everyday.
There was a shower room but this was situated about half a mile from the camp and we were taken there under guard once in about six weeks, why it was so far from the camp no one knew.
We were searched on leaving the camp and again when we returned, what they thought we would steal from room which only had showers and all in one large room. The water was switched on for about 10 minutes so you had to be quick.
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[letter confirming POW status]
Letter received by Dick’s Father, from the Chaplain at Tolthorpe
We were allowed to write home one letter and two postcards each month, which I think most of us took the opportunity, although it took quite a long time for the first ones to come from home. My first on arrived on August 14th having been sent from home on May 28th in all I think my mail total for my stay in Germany was a total of 42. 34 from Mum and Dad and a further 8 from friends and the caterpillar club confirming I had become a member.
[photograph of family] [reverse of photograph]
Family photo Dick received, the reverse shows the German censor’s mark
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There was a lot of aircrew arriving in the camp that they had to get two large tents and add them on to the rows of huts, each one held a further hundred men which didn't help our food rations. Not long after this we were told that we were to be moved into Germany.
[underlined] Torun Stalag Luft 357 [/underlined] (Appendix 4 - iv)
The place was actually in a part of Poland which had been the Polish Corridor and was Thorn or Torun Stalag 357. So we had to get packed up and ready to go in two days as the Russians were headed our way, so it was take the essentials, our pots and pans and the blower which was used for heating water mostly; any food plus your blanket and toiletries any spare clothes, some of the Canadian families had sent things over which were ice skates and baseball bats, most of which were left behind.
A wind up gramophone was smashed up plus all the records, and on the walk to where we had to board our cattle trucks which was about two miles away the road or more like a country track for carts was littered with discarded equipment people decided they could do without.
Once we were at the train which was waiting us at the trackside, no station. We were herded into the cattle trucks, 40 persons per truck; 20 bodies in each end of the truck. The centre used for the guards. They also had a guard sitting on top of each wagon wearing goggles and had a machine gun.
This trip took us about five days and nights on a slow train to Torun (on the river Vistula), and one wasn't very clean and tidy upon arrival.
The others at Heydekrug that were being shipped by boat from the port of Memel had a very bad time on the boat as they were herded into the hold of a boat and spent between five and seven days on board in horrible conditions on the way to a camp in Germany.
Our trip by train took about five days of shake rattle and very uncomfortable and one stop a day for the toilet, and sad to say we had to use a corner of the truck to relieve ones self.
We arrived at Thorun, which was a large camp mainly army prisoners and we were crowded into huts about 120-140 per hut and the meals we had were very poor in quality and quantity. We were only there for 6 weeks and once again were on our cooks tour again, back into our 40 hommes or 6 cheveaux carriages with a small amount of straw spread across the floor which had large gaps between the floor boards and no central heating, and again another train journey of six days to our next camp which was Fallingshostel [sic] which was about 80 miles north of Hanover. This again was an army camp but now accommodated American air force as well as us British and was split into three separate camps which also included a Russian compound. (Appendix 4 - i) and ii)
Also around this time I wanted some shoes as mine were about paper thin and I managed to get a brown pair of American army boots which was just what was needed if we were going for a long walk.
The huts were the usual having two tier bunks down each side of the room and a further rows [sic] up the centre of the room, with a large stove in the centre which wasn't used as there was no fuel for it.
The cookhouse supplied us with what was called coffee and made from what we really never found out what, but we called it coffee because it was brown. The food from the cookhouse was mainly
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some sort of soup, mainly potatoes with some sauerkraut like cabbage added. Sometimes we would have a ration of corned beef which the Argentineans sent over in bulk for us and very good too. We did also had what the Germans called cheese, but it tasted very fishy but never quite found out what its origin was our supplies of Red Cross parcels were getting few and far between with so much disruption on the railway.
Where they originally intended to have one parcel person per week, we were now having to make do with one parcel for ten men and had to last them a week or longer until more arrived.
Being closer to some large towns we now had the sounds of bombers targeting them at nights, we also had some low flying Mosquitoes shooting up the railway not far from us.
We all stood outside the hut watching when one of the guards shouted at us to get inside; of course no one moved so he took his rifle off his shoulder and put a bullet in the chamber. But forgot there was one already in, so it sent a round flying out onto the ground. The old fellow looked at us shrugged his shoulders picked up the bullet and left us to watch.
[photograph of prisoners]
Prisoners of war watching allied aircraft - inside Fallingbostel
Life here was not very good as there were too many of us cramped into huts, we did have an unusual game some evenings - because as it got dusk we had some large flying insects around, about an inch to inch and half long with a hard shell body. We used to wait them and then hit them with a wooden stick, scoring two points for a certain hit and one point for a probable; you had to produce a body for the two points. But there wasn't any prizes for a high score only a mess of squashed bodies.
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[underlined] Oerbke near Fallingbostel [/underlined]
The news we had from the Germans was that during the next couple of weeks we would be leaving camp and would be marching north to a holding area somewhere near Hamburg.
Our last camp at Oerbke near Fallingbostel was very large and housed British soldiers - some Russians also American airmen, the war was drawing to a close and the Russians were approaching us from the East and the Allies from the South so the beginning of April 1945 we going to be made to leave the camp in sections and carrying all our possessions. (Appendix 4 – i) and ii)
[underlined] The Long March [/underlined]
There is more information on the Long March in appendix 3
Whatever a holding area was meant to be for and why they would want us there was never discovered. There was a lot of speculation that they were going to drive us into the Baltic and drown us or otherwise just put us in barbed wire enclosure and leave us, but they didn't.
Instead we were marched out of the camp early April to begin a long trek northwards. The first lot we were marched out of camp April 6th in parties of about 500, everybody loaded with bags and blankets a box of food, a water bottle and all your clothes which didn't amount to much. I was glad that I had been given a new pair of army boots, also an overcoat, French army blue but very thin and not very waterproof but better than nothing. We covered varying distances each day, the weather varied from wet and windy to very cold, and we were not sure where would be sleeping the next evening.
It turned out that first night which was rather wet with rain, our accommodation was a field, no trees or high hedges to shelter us so it was rather a nasty start to our walk, which was on rough tracks through farmland and we managed to collect some vegetables from fields we passed although the guards were told to shoot anyone found doing it, which meant just about everybody.
Our second night was under the stars in a field.
It was on our third day we arrived in a village and were taken in to the church for our nights lodging sleeping anywhere you could lay out on the pews and under them and in the aisles. We had to boil water outside for our tea, on our blowers.
As we progressed each day through the county we saw American aircraft by their vapour trails going on some bombing mission.
There were some days after marching or should say walking, or hobbling, that we would finish up in a farmyard, this was welcome as we soon found eggs about. Some lucky lads found barns that were not in use as the cattle were in the fields; this allowed chicken and sometimes a small pig to enter the barn which was quickly turned into a meal.
One occasion was a nice bit of garden behind a barn that was full of ripe rhubarb, must have been about 10 feet wide and 14 feet long, within a very short time it was clear, the farmer was furious, he got an officer who said he would punish any prisoner found with stewed rhubarb. He walked around
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with the farmer looking in every saucepan or a fire, in which lo and behold they were full of stewing rhubarb, he just shrugged his shoulders and that was it.
Later in the month we had to cross the river Elbe by a railway bridge, but as we approached it there was a column of tiger tanks coming over and their tracks were breaking up the road as they passed. Our guards suddenly vanished into air raid shelters and circling over the bridge was one Spitfire. With the Germans firing at him with machine guns mounted on the ends of the towers at the ends of the railway bridge, but they were nowhere near hitting him as they fired miles behind him. They were useless.
When it quietened down and the tanks had all gone our guards came out of their air raid shelter and herded us across the bridge.
We must have covered a fare [sic] distance as we have been walking every day from the 6th April and it is now midway through April and the weather is improving, but our lodgings don't improve, the villages we go through gave us drinks of water and now the guards turn a blind eye.
It must have been mid April that was about the 18th April that we stayed at a farm that was rather run down and neglected. Cow sheds were filthy and hadn't been cleared so no one could sleep in them so we were in the open up against walls. I was itching around my waist and found that it was lice, so I needed a good wash, but where so had a look around and discovered a duck pond covered in greed [sic] weed, there had to be water under the weed, so clothes off make a hole ain [sic] the weed and lower myself into about 8 inches of water and a foot of mud, it was wonderful and I got rid of a lot of the lice.
We stayed one night in a farm where the farmer had a stable for a couple of horse, on a walk round with another chap, I found this stable and it had a water tank on top, so we had a look and found a pipe leading down from the roof with a large tap at the base, we hurried back for our toiletries and towels. I said you sit in front of the tap which was about 4 inches across and I will turn it on, which I did, and oh dear the water came out with such force he shot backwards across the cobbled floor on his bottom. He said you wait until it is your turn. It was a wonderful feeling to get your self refreshed.
[underlined] 19th April 1945 [/underlined]
Still moving North on about the 19th April we were informed that at our next stopping place we were going to get a Red Cross food parcel, one parcel per man at a place named Gresse, this was very good news as it was about three weeks since we last had one.
We were walking through a rather large forest for quite some miles now and were informed that on the other side we would be issued with our parcels.
We had been living on soup some overnight stops and now and again ertzats [sic] coffee reputedly made from acorns.
So to be handed a parcel for your self was out of this world and very much needed. So we came out of the forest along a track which was about 18 feet wide and had about another 6 or 8 feet either side which was about a foot lower and then a few trees sort of along the edge after them were fields and quite a lot more trees.
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At this time we were having a rest on the track starting to open up our parcels, when we heard some aircraft flying parallel to us about half a mile away. They sounded like Hurricanes so could be ours so kept sorting our parcels, when we heard these load explosions coming down the road towards us. The aircraft turned out to be our own Typhoons equipped with rockets and cannons plus machine guns and anti personnel rockets.
I flung myself down and into the ditch which was only shallow and behind a plant which was about a foot high and about eight inches wide. it was just something to hang onto. The guard who had been sitting by a tree had been wounded and next to me an Aussie Sergeant wireless operator had been shot through his head and chest, my nearest bullet hit my boot heel, as I felt it but it just left a line across the heel.
The two others I shared everything with were Ginger Wheadon and Alec Laing, who were no where to be seen. So I decided to walk back and found Alec not far away but very shaky. So told him to stay put and I would look for Ginger, on my way back up the track, I was giving drinks of water to people who had been wounded and were waiting for treatment either shock or wounds, but couldn't find Ginger.
There were people calling out for their friends, I came across one fellow sitting by a tree with the lower part of his body a mess, although he asked me for a drink as if nothing was wrong. Just as I had given him a drink a couple of his pals came and took over whilst I carried on my search for Ginger.
At one hedge I passed there were legs sticking through so I hopefully looked on the other side, but hastily moved on as they were all there was.
There were quite a few bodies lying about on the track but not Ginger, someone suggested I looked in the fields near where we had been; a lot of men had run across them, so I did and found him but he had been hit in the chest whilst running and was dead.
He must have left his belongings in his haste as I never found them.
In Dick's Wartime log book he wrote on April 20th 1945 - "to our engineer Ginger Wheadon. Ging was killed by a bullet from a Typhoon whilst we were resting during a march on April 19th 1945, he was killed instantly. We are trying to get some of his personal kit to bring home for his Mother and Mary his girl. He was buried at a village of Heydekrug, 4km from Gresse where we had just drawn food parcels. He was buried by our Padre and a parson. The time of his death was about 12 noon.
Having looked after one or two other badly wounded lads, l went back to Ginger only to find that all his kit had been taken and his pockets empty. Some thieving B……. had pinched everything he had on him.
I only hope the food choked them and all the other things brought them the worst luck possible."
The count was 35 POW were killed also 6 of the German guards.
I searched around and found one of our seniors who I gave him Gingers name which apparently someone else had already done so after finding his name and number on his dog tags. So I returned to where I had left Alec and we moved on down the road to the next village where we stayed for the
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night in field with a couple of barns in it but some good thick hedges to bed down under and found a barn with some straw in which we used as bedding.
Dixie Deans our camp commandant spoke to the officer who was in command of the Germans guarding us to let him go through the German lines accompanied by a German officer with a safe conduct note, to then contact the Americans, and let them know that there were 20,000 allied prisoners on the line of their advance and to advise them to let their airbase know of this situation. This was done and Dixie Dean and his accompanying German officer cycled back through the lines and after sorting out the burial of our lads in the churchyard at Gresse.
They were buried in a mass grave and the German priest held a service for our lads and also the guards that were killed. (After the war the RAF personnel killed in this attack were reburied in a new Commonwealth War grave cemetery outside Berlin see appendix 2).
The injured where taken to a hospital at Boizenburg for treatment, and no doubt sent home for further treatment.
Our English Padre was to march on with the others as he would not attend the church service as it was not his parish.
That was April 19th 1945 which will always be remembered as it was just a few days before my 21st birthday which I very nearly could have missed, that was a dream that haunted me for quite some time.
We constantly saw American aircraft around but they were mainly bombers heading Hamburg way we did pass an airfield that had JU88's on it but it had been bombed and most of its aircraft destroyed.
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[War Graves Commission citation]
Ginger's burial place, to the right of the building in the distance (see Appendix 2 for cemetery map)
[underlined] The end of the War nears [/underlined]
We carried on Northwards and the farms that we stayed in were larger and did have some decent barns, but were rather a lot bodies and not everyone got in a barn. Alec and my self usually found a well and stayed out with the weather now being quite good. My birthday on the 26th April was nothing special I think maybe I had an extra piece of chocolate and maybe made a cigarette with my pipe tobacco and smoked it all myself, otherwise we usually passed them around.
It's now the beginning of May the weather is quite good and there are lots of American aircraft leaving vapour trails, we think Hamburg or ports in the North were their targets.
We settled down on the 2nd May in a small outhouse with no windows or doors just three walls and a roof that would have let in more rain than it kept out and wondering what tomorrow would bring.
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When we woke to a fine morning and made a drink someone said look all our guards have gone during the night, so we then went to find what our next move was.
We were told not to go out on the roads running North as there were German panzer troops still in that area, this information we got from an officer in jeep which came on ahead of the English and American troops who pushing the Germans back in this area.
We were then informed by Dixie Deans that we were to find some means of transport and make our own way South to Luneburg where our troops had built a pontoon bridge over the river Elbe and from there proceed to a German airfield situated near Luneburg, which had been turned into a reception area for POWs.
The area around the airfield became littered with vehicles we had acquired including a fire engine, a few tractors some civilian cars, horse and carts, motor cycles and a couple of buses.
My mode of transport was in one of the buses so had a comfortable ride to the reception centre.
May 8th 1945. The road we had to use to get the river crossing was littered on both sides with German and English military vehicles which had been bulldozed off the road so that others could get through to the pontoon bridge at Luneburg.
We spent a couple of days here being subject to a delousing period that incurred someone with a spray gun putting it down your back and front and also each trouser leg.
After which they took your particulars and you were given an identity card with your name, number, rank, and squadron number and told to find a bed in one of the huts and report back in the morning. If we had anything which we didn't need there was a bonfire on which we could get rid of old clothes not that we had much. But some of the prisoners had picked up guns and ammunition on the way which they decided to get rid of, there was a lot of exploding ammunition going off all night and the next day.
We had a breakfast of coffee and a slice of toast and then had to go on a parade ground and form up into groups of around 40 to await the arrival of aircraft for our homeward flight to England and a POW reception centre at RAF Cosford in a Dakota, used as transport and troop carrier the workhorse of the air force.
Here we were met by nurses and WAFs and again given the treatment of delousing, then a check over by doctors and lots of questions as to how you felt. Then it was a sit down meal, but our stomachs would only take a small amount, l can't remember what was on the menu but I know I could only manage a little, and a nice young WAAF sat with me and talked me into eating a little more. I really couldn't eat anymore, but had more tea so I could keep her talking with me.
We were then subject to being kitted out with new uniforms and glad to be out of the old stuff. The only [sic] I kept was my American army boots which had walked many miles or should say kilometres over German countryside, they lasted a good many years as my gardening boots. They still have the mark on the heel where a bullet from a typhoon clipped it when we were shot up.
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We only stayed at Cosford long enough to be kitted out and given some idea of how would carry on until our number for demob came up.
I had still about a year to do so was given a choice of ground trades which was, clerk in accounts, pigeon keeper or store keeper. What a choice is that it I asked and said that I didn't like any of these and wanted to be assigned to the transport division either as a driver or in admin. The Officer said he would put my choice forward but didn't think I would be lucky as so many had chosen transport as an option. So it was then we had to collect our travel warrants and any pay we had coming plus identity cards and ration book.
It was now late May and a start of long awaited leave which was for about four weeks to get me back into being fit again, I arrived from Cosford at London Road station and a neighbour who was a taxi driver happened to be at the stand and so he shouted over to me to get in his car. After putting my bags in and much hand shaking from other people I was on my way home. Mr Shuker talked all the way and got me up to date with what had been happening in Minehead Street, and upon arriving there he slowed down and hooted so people could know that he had arrived with a neighbour. There was quite a lot came out and gave me a cheer, and upon arrival at home I [sic] most of our neighbours were there with Mum, Dad and Mary. It was quite a homecoming with lots of hugs and kisses from all the close neighbours, it was something I’II never forget.
It took a while to get used to a normal bed and home routine but it was good to be home.
My two pals Ken and Derek who were both in the air force Ken was an engine maintenance engineer at fighter station, while Derek was a Corporal in the RAF police service. They managed a spot of leave whilst I was home so we spent a few days together.
The first evening they took me down to our local pub which was the Blue Moon. This was the first time for me to go out for pint.
Ken and Derek ordered pints, but I said that mine had better just be a half, which was just as well as when I got up to go the bar to order another round my legs gave way so I didn't have any more. So Ken and Derek took me home, I could manage to walk but not very steady, I guess that my system hadn't had any booze for quite some time but would get around that problem in time.
[underlined] Military Transport Training [/underlined]
My leave seemed to pass very quickly and very soon a travel warrant arrived to say that I was being posted to Melksham, and it turned out to be a course for Drivers-motor transport, I was told previously that there was no chance for this as so many had tried but were told they had no chance. Lucky me as my Aunts and Uncles all lived around this area at the village of Wingfield, so I would have some place to go at weekends.
So up one morning and off to catch the train for Melksham and becoming a driver for the air force in what sort of vehicles one wondered.
It turned out to be initial training was on vehicle maintenance as you had to be able to keep your vehicle in road worthy conditions at all times.
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We had a very rigorous course on engines and ensuring they were in good running order with oil and water checked daily, there were lectures every day on subjects such as Highway Code road traffic signs and use of hand signals and being courteous to other road users.
Our first driving lessons were with British School of Motoring civilian instructors driving mainly Austin cars, each car had three learners with tutor and took it in turns at the driving. I had some goes at driving but this was a trifle different as you had to double de clutch as if you were driving a vehicle without synchromesh gears. One instructor was very strict and if you didn't get it right he had a wooden mallet with which he used to clout your knee with, it worked well, my leg went up and down like a yoyo, after just one tap.
If you passed you then passed on to RAF instructors to learn the different types of vehicles you would encounter, these were classified as Hillman Minx used a lot by junior officers, then on to 15 cwt hundred weight [sic] for light loads, then three ton vehicles used for ration collection and general work. Progressing then to the lorries, eight ton and ten ton lorries and the five and seven ton cranes, last of all came the sixty foot long trailers for carrying aircraft when dismantled for repairs.
Having mustered [sic] this little lot you had to pass a driving test on a three ton vehicle and one of the other larger vehicles. After passing all this you had a written test on all subjects and if all was well you were given a driving certificate and were now an MT driver.
What was nice about this posting that every weekend I could spend on the farm with my Aunt and Uncle it was called Sparrow nest farm and they kept cattle for milking, and I was not at all good at milking but helped out fetching the animals in for milking and taking the milk churns on a tractor and trailer to a platform on the roadside ready for the lorry to collect which was twice a day.
Alternate weekends were spent in Wingfield village with Aunt Hilda and Uncle Bill and Granddad who was Aunt Hilda's Uncle, he and I used to play cards in the evenings and he used to beat me at cribbage quite often even though he was missing a lot of his fingers on both hands due to wounds in the First World War.
One morning I awoke and on looking out my bedroom window overlooking a field there was a white object there in a corner, so when l got up I said to my Aunt I'm just going to see what's in the field, and when I got there it was a mushroom the size of a dinner plate, yes I had it for breakfast.
Another time Granddad and I were walking down a lane when a rabbit ran out from the hedge, I had a walking stick which I threw towards it and it stopped running because I had killed it, broke its neck and so we took it home and Auntie skinned it and it made us a dinner.
I used to catch a bus from camp to Wingfield but Uncle Bill always took me back to camp on his motorbike and no crash helmet.
[underlined] Horsham [/underlined]
When I finished at Melksham I was posted to Faygate near to Horsham, it was a maintenance unit, where we were sent out to dismantle aircraft that were not required anymore.
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My vehicle that I was allocated turned out to be a six wheeled lorry a left over from the last war, a
1918 model it would not start on the starter motor so had to be towed.
I got up into the drivers seat to which there was no door only canvas panels which just hooked across also the whole cab was just canvas. The steering wheel was about 2 feet in diameter like a bus, the gear lever was about three foot tall and the handbrake was on the right side and about four feet tall, I wondered what I had let myself in for.
They towed me out of the gates with a three ton Bedford lorry on to a main road and I managed to get it started. They then left me and said over to you and don't forget that this vehicle has not got synchromesh gear so you have to double declutch on all gear changing.
After about two hours and 15 miles later I had mastered it all and found my way back to the unit.
There were no facilities for accommodation on the camp so we had to be billeted at Horsham and commute every day by train. But we were away quite often for three or four days, we spent two days at Monston [sic] airport dismantling an Avro Anson that had overshot the runway and went through a small plantation of trees, which left it a write off, so my band of lads reduced it down to a scrap heap. We had to stay there awaiting the vehicle to collect the parts so had an extra day there.
Over [sic] next trip was down to Boscombe near to Bournemouth and we were told we would be there for four or five days as we had to dismantle quite a lot of spitfires which had been made redundant at Christchurch airfield. So we had to look for accommodation in Boscombe, which we found in a Salvation Army hostel and had five days there.
I parked my lorry in the railway goods yard as there would be someone with a vehicle there to give you a tow in the morning. The old lady surprised me one morning and started first time on the starter motor but that was the only time.
That was my only trip with her as t was assigned to a brand new three ton Bedford lorry. It was the same that we trained on at Melksham and I was to use it to collect all the supplies for the officers mess also all the others so had quite a decent job, also whenever we had rations to collect I was
accompanied by a WAAF which was a nice change from a load of lads.
I was checking tyre pressures and as these vehicles were equipped with its own air pump driven by the motor it was quite simple, but as I was checking one of the front tyres the wind blew the drivers door open and I stood up and hit my head on a corner and finished up flat out, not very long though but decided I had better go to sick quarters and get patched up as it was bleeding a lot. I passed a few people who asked if I was okay but I just said yes and they carried on. At sick bay they patched me up and I went back to finish the job and the motor was still running. So switched off, locked up and retired to the mess prior to catching the train.
[underlined] Egypt??? [/underlined]
Next day I was back into camp and was informed that I was moving on. It was that I was being posted to Egypt, l made a request to see our commanding officer who was an ex aircrew Squadron Leader, saying that I wasn't happy being posted abroad and that I had done my bit for the country and thought it most unfair as there were lots of people who hadn't left England.
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He listened to me and yes, he saw my complaint but he didn't think he could alter the decision and if I gave it a bit of thought, look at it as a holiday paid for by the Government for what you went through. So, yes that sounds reasonable and I'll go along with that, and thanked him. He said he wished me well and try to enjoy your cruise. He would have liked to have joined me, he said.
Went home for a spot of leave and got ready for my next forage into the unknown.
I was then sent a travel warrant for an air force camp situated at Newhaven to be kitted out with my overseas uniform, two khaki shirts and shorts plus long trousers and socks, then some inoculations for tropical diseases then were claimed ready for travel.
We were then told we would be travelling by the Medlock route that is from Newhaven to Dieppe in France by boat and thence by train down to Marseilles where we would be shipped across the Mediterranean to Egypt.
After the trip across to France at night we then continued through Switzerland and snow, it was very cold, but the villages on the mountainsides looked like the one on postcards very romantic amongst the snow. The French trains were not the cleanest but must have moved a lot of British service men since the war had ended over here.
At Marseilles we left the trains at the docks and boarded an American Liberty boat for the next part of the journey. We were shown into the first deck which was fitted out with beds in tiers of three the whole width of the ship and about forty or fifty foot in length. I managed to get one of the lower ones. When we settled in I was told and shown to the bakery, and was put in charge of 6 airmen which was very good as we had very new bread at our meal times. The six airmen worked well and we got along very well with the American crew.
We set sail in the evening and had a quiet evening up on deck, the weather was calm so after supper decided to turn in but couldn't sleep, the motion of the ship wasn't helping me and it took ages for me to eventually nod off.
Our second day went well and my lads and I ate well, but this next night we had a storm and Liberty boats are welded together not riveted and creaks in every joint. I wasn't very happy but just kept lifting the bows up after it went down in a trough. Didn't get much sleep and was glad to reach Alexandria and then taken to a camp at Damunbur and it was very hot and our accommodation was in tents that were built over three foot deep dugouts which gave you a bit more head room than just a tent. We stayed here for about three weeks.
[underlined] To Italy [/underlined]
But apparently there was nothing for us in our line of work required here so we were shipped back across the Mediterranean to Naples in Italy, where we stayed for a couple of days. We made the most of it seeing a part of the world and some of the Roman era, also there were plenty of young and very beautiful senoritas.
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[photograph]
Stanco, Dick's dog
We stayed in Naples for two days and were then told that we would be moving on to any [sic] airfield a few miles outside of Udine in a northern village of Potsuolo, which was the desert air force headquarters known as D.A.F.H.Q. Here were 3 squadrons which flew Mustang fighters. We were attached to DAF headquarters transport section and did all the movement of materials and stuff. This was very good as it entailed collecting the rations from stores which was about twenty miles away, but the roads in places was awful and stony. One item was an open top tin of jam which an Italian was carrying in the back, unfortunately a back tyre exploded like a bomb going off, my poor Italian thought he had been shot as he was covered in jam. After changing the wheel we continued back to camp.
[photograph]
Potsuolo
Another job we had was taking personnel up to our leave hotel up in the mountains for a week at a time and the driver stayed with them and drove them to scenic places, one of which was a lake about thirty miles trip, but was well worth seeing. It was but the road was very rough running along the side of the mountains our wheels were on the very edge of a few thousand foot drop and were running on
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a log which had been built into the road where the edge had fallen away, very bad for the nerves. Other places were when crossing over the bridges from one side of the mountain to the other. These were just planks of wood about three inches thick and about ten or twelve inches wide about fourteen feet long spaced about six inches apart on wooden beams. There was just enough room to get the vehicle around the ends onto the bridge, I only bent the tool box that was on the chassis when we were going.
[photograph]
Dead Slow Ahead!
It was a wonderful place called Cortina quite scenic we stayed for lunch and then I decided to return knowing it was a long way back and I would be on the outside looking down into the valley.
I said to the chap sitting next to me when we get to the logs set into the road edge, tell me how much room I've got your side, his remark was that my side mirror was about two inches from the rock wall which meant when I looked out that my wheels were running on the top of the logs, my legs shook a bit but I thought we came through this way so should be okay going back hopefully.
[photograph]
Dick's leave hotel in Forni Avolti, to the left of the church with a cross marked on the roof
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The hotel was very good and there were quite a few locals and there was a lady there with her daughter, the mother worked in the hotel and her daughter who was about 10 or 12 decided that when a few of the locals and us went for walks she would come and hold my hand and look after me, her name was Tina. We walked across one field and the melting snow had made a three or four foot wide stream down the grass, there was about twelve in the group and it was decided to jump instead of finding a place to cross. We all decided it was no problem just a short jump should do it, but it didn't. I think we all had very wet legs far the rest of our walk, but we all enjoyed it.
[photograph]
Tina and Friends
Most evenings there were four musicians who would play for us, sometimes a good old sing song of tunes of the times, and that led into dance music which was very tiring, as the girls that worked there kept going most of the evening and made sure we kept up with them. Lana the Austrian girl if she got hold of you your feet hardly touched the ground. But they were all good fun. The week passed very quickly and it was drive them back to camp and back to work.
Every other week we were duty driver for a day, which meant servicing the commanding officers vehicles; that he wanted to use that day. You had to knock on his caravan door and go in and ask him which of his three vehicles he required that day. From a jumble of blankets a voice would say either Merc or Jep or Util, which interpreted was either Mercedes or Jeep or his Utility, so you checked all three to make sure you got it right. You were busy taking officers to meetings and also running them into town to various places sometimes just so they could do some shopping.
[underlined] On the Road to Bari [/underlined]
Some days I was office boy handing out jobs to the drivers, this I didn't like as I would rather be out driving, and I was very lucky, our M.T officer who was also ex aircrew said he had a job for three vehicles to go down to Bari, where they were closing down an airfield and we had to bring back the furniture from the officers mess. Would I like to be one of the drivers? Of course that would be very nice, he then said and I shall be going as well to make sure we bring back the right things. So my friend another ex aircrew now a driver and the third driver was a corporal who had spent quite some time in Italy and knew his way around. We also had three airmen armed with rifles as guards, on to each vehicle so we had all the bodies required for the trip.
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[photograph]
On the Road to Bari
So it was up early one morning, pack the essentials for the trip which we had no idea how long we would be, so we took a change of clothes for it [sic] we went out in the evening at some stage of the journey.
Out [sic] first stop was at Rimini which was a holiday resort on the coast and there was an air force station there where we could find a bed for the night.
We left Udine and passed by Venice into Padova then for Ferrari, the roads were quite good but the towns and villages had been taken quite a bit of damage. From here we headed for Ravenna on the Adriatic coast. It again was a holiday resort; like most places took a lot of damage, then on to Rimini and a well earned rest. Out [sic] mileage for this leg of our journey was approximately 432 kilometres.
Some of the vehicles we passed on the way were rather weary, the loads they carried were unreal some were the width of the lorry but finished up twice the width at the top. The tyres were smooth and the engines were held together with bits of wire. The Italians were noted for have good mechanics, we had one of them in our section who could just listen to an engine running and get to the cause of the trouble straight away.
Back to our trip, we left Rimini the next morning after checking our vehicles and filling up with petrol heading for our next stop which was to be Rome. Our next road was heading inland across Italy into the more agricultural part of Italy, the traffic was very mainly bullock carts with four of them in the shafts pulling very large loads which hung over the sides and took up a lot of road space. Also we kept passing a lot of women and children carrying canes on their heads and shoulders, l thought that if one turned to chat with another it would cause chaos down the line if we hit them.
One thing that we noticed was the lack of bridges crossing the roads, mostly the countryside was very flat and were either agricultural or cattle. The towns and villages we passed through were a bit showing the signs of war damage and were trying to get back to normal. In the villages there were always lots of children on the streets and all were begging for chocolate, no doubt remembering the times the Americans were there.
We reached Rome in the evening and found the army barracks were we to stay the night, we all decided we would have an early night as tomorrow was a shorter trip and we could spend a little more time in Naples which we did. The road from Rome was fairly good although there was plenty of damaged buildings everywhere and not much building taking place although it was mainly getting the
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places ready for residents to return to repair jobs mostly. Although in Naples we found that the night life was very much alive, and we spent a few hours around the night clubs, and the officer and we two warrant officers were quite happy after consuming numerous bottles of wine with some very good food. And so to bed quite happy, not looking forward the next day's trip which was going to be a long one.
Up early the next morning and had a good breakfast and refuelled our vehicles and away on the road to Bari which is situated on the North coast of Italy, known as the heel of Italy. The road out of Naples was very busy with most vehicles having enormous loads and engulfed in a fog which we were glad to leave behind and over to our right was Mount Vesuvius but only a trickle of smoke from it. We were then heading North East and the road was less busy, and was pretty rough, villages we passed through had been very heavily damaged. We stopped for a meal or I should say a sandwich, and a family in a nearby house were having their spaghetti, there was an old lady with a plate full which was devoured in a very few minutes, guess she was hungry.
[photograph]
Still on the Road to Bari
We pressed on as it was starting to look like we were going to head into some rather wet weather, we did, and finding the place we wanted was not easy. The leading lorry with our officer and corporal driving, found what they thought was the right track to the airfield which turned out to be a very narrow road just wide enough for one lorry. After about a mile the road finished and we were left with the prospect of reversing all the way back to the main road in the pouring rain. There was no where we could have turned round as the fields had been ploughed on both sides. So about half an hour later three very wet headed drivers, a very wet officer and a guard who had walked back along the track with torches to guide us. We found the right road and got to our destination, and a good hot meal was very welcome.
I seem to remember that we didn't need much rocking to sleep.
We found out the next morning after breakfast that what we were collecting was a lot of electrical equipment which was too valuable to leave and could be useful elsewhere along with quite a lot of furniture from the officers quarters some of which turned out to be large mirrors about 5 foot high by 3 foot wide with a very ornate surround, and I don't recollect whether they survived the journey, it would have been very lucky if they had. Our three young guards did alright and had an armchair for the ride back. After we had packed everything into the lorries it was dinner time, so we had a very
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good meal and washed down with some very nice wine, and decided to stay the night here and start at 8am the next morning, so we had a look round Bari which had a good port for ferries to Yugoslavia across the Adriatic. Retired to our beds ready for the start back.
The trip back to Naples was uneventful but in Naples our guards had their hands full keeping loads of youngsters from climbing up the sides of the Lorries and stealing anything. Most of what we had was furniture which was stacked on top of the wireless equipment so they left empty handled.
It was evening time when we finally arrived in Naples so didn't go very far around the town just had a drink or two and then retired to bed.
Next morning it is up and away on our next leg to Rome where we hoped to spend a little time looking around the place as there is plenty to see, and walked around the centre of the Coliseum where the gladiators did their acts, and I was glad that I wasn't acting in it, and I think the lions that did an act had already eaten that day.
[photograph]
Coliseum Rome
Later on we found a good restaurant where we had a good meal washed down with a very good Italian wine, and walked back to our billets in an army barracks and so to bed.
Not looking forward to our next trip as it is a long run and not very scenic from Rome up to Rimini, mainly farming country and only a couple of towns on the way, the one consolation was that it stayed fine all the way.
Rimini was an army controlled town so there were lots of tanks and all types of weaponry around and we stayed in army barracks that night and we were up early the next morning as it was a long trip back to Udine.
We took the road out of Rimini for Rarenna along the coast, hence our next town was Venice where we stopped for a short rest and found a restaurant for a meal which was steak mushrooms and tomatoes washed down with a red wine, very nice too.
We were then only a couple of hours from our destination and our own beds. The whole trip had taken us about ten days, but that said the items we brought back was it worth it.
Overall we had a good look at how the Italians lived and were good mechanics, as they managed to keep their Lorries on. the road tied together with lots of wire and a lot more faith.
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We had a football team made up of NCOs and we played against teams from other ranks and also from the squadron that was stationed here. I was given the position of right wing and was usually up against a six foot left back of the opposing team, I don't think we won many of our matches, but it was a bit of good fun.
[photograph]
Military Transport Football Team
It is now getting into September and we are still living in tents, and have had a lot of rain recently and the camp was rather badly flooded, my other occupant and I were lucky our tent survived the storm, we had a lot of tents blown down and the roads were flooded and it took quite a while for everywhere to dry out.
Our leave hotel in Grado on the coast was popular and we ran an evening bus most nights, and it was one of my jobs as a driver to take the bus down to the town at 5pm and collect them again at 10pm from the town square. Most made it in time and on my trips we seemed lucky and didn't have any missing bodies, most of them were quite happy. I had four days leave and stayed in our leave hotel, very nice food and comfortable beds also there were grapevines where we had breakfast, so grapes were on the menu every morning. First thing after breakfast I went down the road and at the store shop used to buy a melon and take back to the hotel and have a waiter cut a square hole in it and put in a good portion of wine then put it in the fridge and have it with our evening meal, very nice finished the meal with it.
[underlined] Mercy Mission to Egypt [/underlined]
it was around September 15th that I had a call from the office of the Adjutant to tell me that I had been given ten days leave to go to a hospital in Egypt where my brother Bob was ill, and it would help him return to good health if he had a relative to see him. I was staggered and amazed as I had no idea of his whereabouts and that he was ill.
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18.9.1946. So I had to sort my kit out what I would require and managed to pack it in my small side pack. I then had to collect the pass and papers needed and so to Udine airport, arrived there at an early hour as flight was at 9.00am in a Dakota aircraft next stop Rome. Had a hotel for my overnight stay and very nice too, good food and bed and a very good night sleep.
My flight next morning which was to be about nine hours leaving Rome at ten past seven in the morning and we landed in Malta at 9.45 to refuel the aircraft had a drink there then left for our next stop which was El Adam in North Africa. Only stayed fifty minutes again to refuel and left at 4pm for our next stop at Almaza which we arrived at 6.30pm which was my stopping off place for Cairo.
I was driven to the Heliopolis hotel and shown to my room and then taken to the dining room and had a good meal.
I was very hot after being quite cool in Italy so changed into my shorts, but it was still very sticky hot, so decided to have an early night see what tomorrow brings.
! was up early as the night was very hot and I didn't get much sleep. I had a good breakfast and had to sit around and await my transport to the hospital.
20th September a car arrived and I was driven to the Helmieh hospital, where I was taken to meet the colonel of the hospital, who welcomed me and hoped my presence would help in Bob's recovery. He then told me I was to be accommodated at the Sergeants mess of the main hospital. There were numerous sections to the hospital, a fracture unit, dental unit, isolation unit which Bob was in eye and ear unit, it was quite a large place.
I was issued with a pass the [sic] to the isolation ward in which Bob was in with note to say the above named warrant officer was permitted to visit his brother signalman Curnock in isolation ward 1 and full preventative measures should be taken.
The sister I gave the note to just laughed gave me back the note, took me by the arm and gave me a hug, and said how lovely it was that I was able to have leave to go there, and then she took me to see Bob. He was surprised as he had no idea where I was, but he was very thin, white, and I looked like an Indian next to him as in a photo of us together.
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[photograph] [photograph]
Dick and Bob at Helmieh hospital, Egypt
My time at the hospital was spent on visits to Bob every day, having a game of snooker with some of the other members of the mess, or at other times some of the nurses and sister would ask me to escort them into Cairo to do a spot of shopping which I did quite willingly.
My ten days leave passed rather quickly, but when I rang the air booking centre in Cairo, I wasn't on any of the flights so had to wait another week. In fact it was the 25th October before my flight for Italy was finally here, so I had about 6 weeks of a 10 day leave.
Each unit had its own Sergeants mess and most evenings there was entertainment in one of them. Once or twice a week there was horse racing in one of them, and in the dental mess one night they had a Derby meeting, the horses were bid for at the start and I bought number two for two pounds after bidding against the colonel. And it won the race and I was twenty two pounds richer for a while, but lost a bit on the following races, good fun though.
The other entertainment was a quiz night which was quite hilarious, with answers to some questions quite ridiculous but funny. Others had classes which were well attended by all, as we had lots of nurses and sisters to make a good evening of it.
At another sergeants mess they held a bingo night with some other entertainment as bingo wasn't very popular.
In the sergeants mess some of them had nicknames, one was known as bash he was a boxer in Civvy Street; we also had a slash as he was always cutting himself when shaving, so I had to have one and was known as the parachute kid.
We had a snooker table in the mess and I had plenty of practice on it as I had quite a lot of time to fill in.
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Time passed and I finally had my seat booked for my return to Italy. So then I had to say my farewells to all the friends that I had made during my stay and to Bob of course and also I went to see the colonel and thanks him for all they had done for Bob and also making my stay a pleasant one.
[underlined] Dakota back to Italy – Treviso [/underlined]
So on the 26th October my flight was at 6.30am so was up early for the return journey. One of the sergeants had said the night before that he would take me to the airport as he was duty driver for that day. So once again I joined up with a Dakota of the South African Air force at Almaja airport stopping at El Adam to refuel then on to Malta where we stayed the night. The next day we were away at seven am on the last leg to Rome.
At Rome airport I was informed that the personnel of the 239 Wing Desert Air Force; had been moved to a place called Treviso so that where I was being sent. They said my kit had been transferred already so I had to get to this place, but found out that I was booked on a flight to an aerodrome just outside of Treviso.
[photograph]
Sergeants Mess Treviso 1945, Dick and friend
There was transport at the aerodrome and I was taken to our sergeant mess which was a town villa in Treviso and was shown to my room and where I was reunited with my kit bag.
This was luxury after living in tents for a long period with wash basins and baths and there were ladies to do your laundry and any repairs to your clothes.
I certainly enjoyed having a nice hot bath and retiring to a good bed and hoped that I wasn't to be moved again, as I had had enough of travelling for a while.
At Treviso it was usual routine doing runs into town and around the airfield, towing petrol trailers around to the aircraft for refuelling. Also fetching blocks of ice for the bars of the officers and sergeants also messes of other ranks. By the time you got back to camp there was a lot of water in the back of the truck and you had to lift blocks of wet ice into the various messes, a cold job.
From Treviso it was only a few miles into Venice and we spent a few weekends there, and got to do a lot of walking, you could have a gondola ride but they charged the earth, so we usually walked.
St Marco's square was very popular with lots of shops and cafes around. There was an abundant supply of jewellery shops and also the square had hundreds of pigeons, making it quite messy.
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There was a bell tower in one corner which had a large bell on the top. Apparently an Italian gent decided to inspect it too close and his head flattened by the bell hammer, very nasty.
There were lots of bridges over the canals and as you went into the centre where they had warehouses it was a rather different place, the canals were not so dean, and people living alongside them just threw rubbish out of the windows, not a good healthy environment to live in.
We found a very good restaurant in Treviso down a back street a very smart little place, who did beef steaks, which you could pick from a large selection and then you could see them being cooked and you then selected what you wanted with it.
Time passed very quickly at Treviso and was January before we realised suddenly that our demob numbers would be coming up soon. And it was January when we were told that some of us were going home and that we could be going to Villach in Austria to catch a train for the trip across Austria, Switzerland and France and home.
The day arrived when we were notified that we had reached the final week in Italy and would travel by train to Villach, and thence start our journey home. We cleared with all the necessary forms as was needed, paid any mess bills and said our farewells to rest of the transport department and was then taken to the station.
It was an uneventful journey to Villach where we had to stay overnight and there was thick snow there and rather cold with long icicles from roves [sic] of our huts.
[photograph]
Villach - with icicles
I met up with some of the other lads who had travelled with me on our trip out earlier, when we were leaving; waiting on the road for transport to the station a whole lot of youngsters arrived with sledges, so all we had to carry was our small kit, the kit bags were loaded on the sledges and so on to the station.
Our train was in and so we went aboard with kit bags on the corridors and rest of our kit on the racks, it was then that we all got into the spirit of finally going home. The trains were French so the toilets had no seat, just two places for your feet and a hole in the middle, not very comfortable.
With it being January everywhere was very white with snow and I took some pictures of the mountains as we passed into Switzerland which was wonderful. Coming out of a tunnel on the
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mountainside and there was a village and it appeared to just be hanging on. It went on like this from many miles as we went through Switzerland and into France.
[photograph]
Switzerland from the train
We stopped in Paris station for a hot drink and a sandwich and managed to have a wash and brush up before our next stop which was to be Dieppe and a channel crossing to Newhaven.
The trip over was uneventful but the sea was rather rough and there were one or two heaving stomachs to prove it, and we arrived in the dock, and then when we had sorted out our kit bags from a very large heap, the train was waiting in the station to take us to the demob centre, which was at No 101 Dispersal centre at Kirkham in Lancashire.
This was the place where you returned to civilian life once again. It is now the 21st January 1947 about to sort out from a large selection of shirts, underwear and suits and find some that is a reasonable fit. After which you went and tried on the items you had selected and handed in your uniform, well most of it, l remember that there was a shirt, a pair of shorts and some desert socks along with the boots that I wore during our sight seeing tour of Germany. Then you had to see numerous sections who dealt with your pay due to you and the amount of leave which turned out to be eighty days from the 21st January 1947.
You then had to collect your travel warrant, your pay also was entered in the back of your service release book and you had to collect it from the post office when it was due, and they would date stamp it in the back of your pay book.
My return home was a wonderful feeling after all my travels. At the station the neighbour of ours who had a taxi cab saw me and had me in his cab very quickly.
Upon arriving at Minehead Street the first thing I saw was the street still decorated with flags and bunting after the end of the war in Japan and not for me.
Mr Shuker sounded his horn and slowed down and there were a lot of people came out to welcome me home and of course Mum, Dad and Mary and our close neighbours were all waiting and I was smothered with their welcome.
And so I looked forward to a nice long holiday and getting used to civilian life once more.
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[underlined] Reunions [/underlined]
Dick's mother (Arabella Curnock) had welcomed several of the Canadian crew members into her home, and had corresponded with members of their families back home in Canada during the war.
Bob Friskey's wife Isabella in Abbotsford also wrote to Dick and Barbara after their marriage, as well as continuing to correspond with Dick's mother. It was from them that the news came that "Chuck" committed suicide some time after returning home.
Rob died sometime after, but Isabella continued to write to Dick.
Wes and his (Scottish) wife Mae made contact again sometime in the 1970s, when Dick received a phone call at the Thurmaston plant of Thorpe and Porter where he worked. The call was from the railway station in Leicester where Wes and Mae were - accompanied by the youngest of their five sons!
Dick went to pick them up, and they stayed overnight with [sic] at Queniborough before carrying on their journey to Scotland. Wes and Mae paid a short visit to Dick's mother, as Wes had stayed with her during the war when on leave.
In 1984 a lady who lived on Upperton Road (Mrs Tobin) was clearing out a house on Minehead Street (no 59) which was formally the Curnock family home. Amongst the papers was an unopened letter from Eugene Fullum in Montreal. She looked in the phone book and found a R Curnock and rang and this got Dick and Eugene back in touch.
[photograph]
Eugene and Dick 1985 (Leicester Mercury photo)
Eugene came over the UK in 1985, and when Dick and he met it was the first time they had seen each other since the police station in Germany the day after they had been shot down.
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[photograph]
RAF Prisoner of War insignia
[photograph]
Gordon, Eugene, Dick, Wes, 1987 Reunion
50
[page break]
[photograph]
Dick in the rear gunner position of a Halifax bomber; at Elvington, Yorks. 2004
[photograph]
Dick exiting the Halifax, the last time he did this, the Halifax was on fire and he was about to parachute into enemy territory
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Appendix 1 – Dick’s RAF flying log book – 17.7.1943 to 25.8.1947
i) Gunnery course results
[document]
52
[page break]
Appendix 1 - ii) gunnery training
[flight log book document]
53
[page break]
Appendix 1 – iii) 22 O.T.U.
[flight log book document]
54
[page break]
Appendix 1 – iv) 22 O.T.U.
[flight log book document]
55
[page break]
Appendix 1 – v) 22 O.T.U.
[flight log book document]
56
[page break]
Appendix 1 – vi) 22 O.T.U.
[flight log book document]
57
[page break]
Appendix 1 – vii) 1664 Conversion Unit
[flight log book document]
58
[page break]
Appendix 1 – viii) 1664 Conversion Unit
[flight log book document]
59
[page break]
Appendix 1 – ix) 425 Squadron – shows the last mission Dick flew to Augsburg
[flight log book document]
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Appendix 1 – x) Flights to and from Egypt to visit Bob
[flight log book document]
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Appendix 2
[drawing of Berlin War Cemetery]
Ginger Wheadon is buried in 6.B.19
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Appendix 3 -The March - source Wikipedia
"The March" refers to a series of forced marches during the final stages of the Second World War in Europe. From a total of 257,000 western Allied prisoners of war held in German military prison camps, over 80,000 POWs were forced to march westward across Poland, Czechoslovakia, and Germany in extreme winter conditions, over about four months between January and April 1945. This series of events has been called various names: "The Great March West", "The Long March", "The Long Walk", "The Long Trek", "The Black March", "The Bread March", and "Death March Across Germany", but most survivors just called it "The March".
As the Soviet Army was advancing, German authorities decided to evacuate POW camps, to delay liberation of the prisoners. January and February 1945 were among the coldest winter months of the 20th century in Europe, with blizzards and temperatures as low as -25 O C and even until the middle of March, temperatures were well below 0 O C Most of the POWs were ill-prepared for the evacuation, having suffered years of poor rations and wearing clothing ill-suited to the appalling winter conditions.
In most camps, the POWs were broken up in groups of 250 to 300 men and because of the inadequate roads and the flow of battle, not all the prisoners followed the same route. The groups would march 20 to 40 kilometers a day - resting in factories, churches, barns and even in the open. Soon long columns of POWs were wandering over the northern part of Germany with little or nothing in the way of food, clothing, shelter or medical care.
Prisoners from different camps had different experiences: sometimes the Germans provided farm wagons for those unable to walk. There seldom were horses available, so teams of POWs pulled the wagons through the snow. Sometimes the guards and prisoners became dependent on each other, other times the guards became increasingly hostile. Those with intact boots had the dilemma of whether to remove them at night - if they left them on, trench foot could result; if they removed them, they may not get their swollen feet back into their boots in the morning or, worse, the boots may freeze or be stolen.
With so little food they were reduced to scavenging to survive. Some were reduced to eating dogs and cats and grass-anything they could lay their hands on. Already underweight from years of prison rations, some were at half their pre-war body weight by the end.
Because of the unsanitary conditions and a near starvation diet, hundreds of POWs died of disease along the way and many more were ill. Dysentery was common; sufferers had the indignity of soiling themselves whilst having to continue to march, and being further weakened by the debilitating effects of illness. This disease was easily spread from one group to another when they followed the same route and rested in the same places. Many POWs suffered from frostbite which could lead to gangrene. Typhus, spread by body lice, was a risk for all POWs, but was now increased by using overnight shelter previously occupied by infected groups. Some men simply froze to death in their sleep.
In addition to these conditions were the dangers from air attack by Allied forces mistaking the POWs for retreating columns of German troops. On April 19, 1945, at a village called Gresse, 30 Allied POWs died and 30 were seriously injured (possibly fatally) in a "friendly-fire" situation when strafed by a flight of RAF Typhoons.
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As winter drew to a close, suffering from the cold abated and some of the German guards became less harsh in their treatment of POWs. But the thaw rendered useless the sledges made by many POWs to carry spare clothing, carefully preserved food supplies and other items. So, the route became littered with items that could not be carried. Some even discarded their greatcoats, hoping that the weather did not turn cold again. As the columns reached the western side of Germany they ran into the advancing western Allied armies. For some, this brought liberation. Others were not so lucky. They were marched towards the Baltic Sea, where Nazis were said to be using POWs as human shields and hostages. It was later estimated that a large number of POWs had marched over five hundred miles by the time they were liberated, and some had walked nearly a thousand miles.
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Appendix 4 – i) Stalag Luft 357 – long march route, and camp numbering correction information
Red Cross map of prisoner of war camps
[map]
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Appendix 4 – ii) Stalag Luft 357 and long march route
[map]
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Appendix 4 – iii) Blue cross in circle marks where Dick was shot down. Red Cross near Frankfurt where he was moved to
[map]
67
[page break]
Appendix 4 – iv) Red line shows routes taken by Dick. Torun (Thorn) camp shown
[map]
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Appendix 4 – v) Poznan – Stalag XXI
[map]
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Appendix 4 – vi) Stalag Luft VI – Lithuania
[map]
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26th April 2014
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
My War Story
Description
An account of the resource
A memoir written by Dick Curnock. It covers his wartime service and also his service after the war for the RAF. It covers his brother Sam and his accident as a pilot. Dick started his training at Lords in London, Bridlington then Bridgnorth and Dalcross. Next move was to Wellesbourne where he crewed up and practised bombing from a Wellington, then Dishforth for conversion on to Halifaxes. His squadron was 425 at Tholthorpe and he undertook night flying training. On his second operation he was shot down near Augsburg. He was taken prisoner and interrogated before being transferred to Stalag Luft VI. He describes his life there. As the Russians got nearer they were transferred by cattle truck to Stalag Luft 357 at Torun. Next they were subjected to the Long March in April 1945. During this the flight engineer, Ginger Wheadon was shot by an RAF Typhoon. After being liberated and returning to the UK he served briefly in Egypt then Italy as an RAF transport driver. During this time he went to Egypt to visit his brother, Bob who was ill in Cairo. Eventually he was demobbed from Italy via Austria and Paris.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Dick Curnock
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2014-04-26
Format
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71 printed sheets
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BCurnockRMCurnockRMv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Austria
Austria--Villach
Canada
British Columbia--Abbotsford
Québec--Montréal
Egypt
Egypt--Cairo
France
France--Paris
Gibraltar
Germany
Germany--Augsburg
Germany--Darmstadt
Germany--Schweinfurt
Great Britain
England--Bridlington
England--Horsham
England--Leicester
England--London
England--Melksham
Italy
Italy--Bari
Italy--Cortina d'Ampezzo
Italy--Naples
Italy--Padua
Italy--Ravenna
Italy--Rimini
Italy--Rome
Italy--Udine
Italy--Venice
Malta
North Africa
Poland--Toruń
Germany--Lüneburg
Poland
Lithuania
Poland--Żagań
Lithuania--Šilutė
Germany--Bad Fallingbostel
England--Christchurch (Dorset)
Québec
England--Dorset
England--Leicestershire
England--Yorkshire
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944
1945
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Peter Bradbury
22 OTU
420 Squadron
425 Squadron
431 Squadron
434 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
animal
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
arts and crafts
bale out
bomb aimer
C-47
Caterpillar Club
crash
crewing up
Dulag Luft
final resting place
flight engineer
ground personnel
Halifax
Halifax Mk 3
Heavy Conversion Unit
Hitler, Adolf (1889-1945)
Hurricane
Ju 88
lynching
mess
Morse-keyed wireless telegraphy
navigator
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
P-51
pilot
prisoner of war
RAF Boscombe Down
RAF Bridgnorth
RAF Bridlington
RAF Cosford
RAF Dishforth
RAF Elvington
RAF Gaydon
RAF Inverness
RAF Manston
RAF Tholthorpe
RAF Wellesbourne Mountford
Red Cross
sanitation
service vehicle
sport
Stalag Luft 3
Stalag Luft 6
strafing
the long march
training
Typhoon
Wellington
Whitley
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1794/35710/MWilsonRC1389401-170113-100001.2.pdf
e091b70217cd293106ad0a7b6528b79c
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Title
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Wilson, Reginald Charles
R C Wilson
Description
An account of the resource
166 items. The collection concerns Reginald Charles Wilson (b. 1923, 1389401 Royal Air Force) and contains his wartime log, photographs, documents and correspondence. He few operations as a navigator with 102 Squadron. He was shot down on 20 January 1944 and became a prisoner of war.
The collection has been donated to the IBCC Digital Archive by Janet Hughes and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-01-13
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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.
Identifier
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Wilson, RC
Transcribed document
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Transcription
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1
[underlined] MY PRISONER OF WAR DAYS
This follows the notes of my experiences in Bomber Command which ended with being shot down over the target in Berlin at 20:00 hrs on 20 January 1944) [/underlined]
My Capture (21 January 1944)
Parachuting from 17000 ft. in a strong north-westerly wind, meant that about 17 minutes later I landed, luckily well away from the bombed area of Berlin, in a quiet leafy place. I had descended through cloud and crashed through trees in a small wood in a suburb to the south of Berlin. I was amazed to find that I had sustained no injuries, apart from a grazed face and a sprained ankle. I released my parachute and removed my mae-west life jacket (these I hid from sight as best I could) and made my way to the edge of the wood.
I was now on the edge of a tree-lined street of suburban houses, and I could hear the voices of two or three people as they walked along the street. Somehow I did not feel scared, but nevertheless I dodged behind trees as they passed by. I think that the enormity of the occasion, and that I had survived almost without a scratch, had filled me with some kind of elation at that time, (although I had no idea whether any of the rest of the crew were alive or dead).
I proceeded furtively along the street and then quite suddenly I felt an urgent call of nature, and had to find a spot where I could 'do it' immediately! This was in somebody's front garden: I have often thought since what would have happened if I had been discovered in this position by a local resident, especially as I had just bombed their city!
The street lead out into a country road with houses scattered along it and I decided this was the best route to follow, as I might find a farm building where I could hide for the time being. It was now late evening, in January, and although cold it was dry and I did not feel too much discomfort apart from my sprained ankle.
I walked on through the night and soon it would be getting light and I needed to 'hole up' somewhere. I turned off the road towards a barn and disturbed a dog which started to bark. Almost from nowhere an old man appeared, who apparently was 'knocking up' people (farm workers start early in Germany like everywhere else). He saw me and he said "kaputt" and I nodded. I could have knocked him down, but I decided discretion was the better part of valour. As I was near the Berlin suburbs in Germany, not Holland or France where some help from the Local population was possible, any resistance here (in enemy territory) could end in disaster for me.
The old man telephoned from the farm and shortly afterwards two policemen appeared, one brandishing a revolver and a pair of handcuffs. He indicated to me that if I walked with them they would not handcuff me, but if I started to run away they would shoot me. As by now my sprained ankle was causing me
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trouble, I hobbled alongside them back to one of their houses, where I was exhibited to the policeman's wife before I was taken to the police station.
From Police station to Dulag Luft
At the police station I was searched and all my few possessions – my wallet, cigarette case, navigation watch, escape gear (some French francs, a map of Europe on a handkerchief and a tin of Horlicks tablets) – taken from me. They did not discover my special metal trouser button, which points north when balanced on a pencil point, and was sewn to my flies!
They opened my wallet which contained only photos and asked me quite courteously (by the odd word or gesture) whether I was married. They were quite impressed at the quality of my uniform (which happened to be almost new). They also asked me whether I was a 'Jude'. I often wondered what they would have done if I had said 'yes'! After that I was put in a cell in a yard at the rear of the station.
I spent the rest of the day until the afternoon at the police station, but it was not uneventful. Firstly a French foreign worker said, through the high cell window grill, that "sept camarades sont mort". As I still had no idea what had happened to my other seven crew members, this news was not helpful to my morale. Then an attractive German girl in high leather boots was brought to the cell door and talked to me in English. I do not recall whether she was practising her English or trying her hand at interrogation but she did restore my morale! This was followed by a police officer who appeared with my cigarette case and offered me one of my own cigarettes. I indicated that he should take one also. As these cigarettes were State Express 555 (a superior brand), it was a cordial meeting! He took me out of the cell and we walked beyond the yard to a small field, where he showed me several rows of incendiary bombs laid out, all marked with ICI lot numbers – obviously from some stricken bomber.
Some time later a sandwich was brought to me wrapped in newspaper. This newspaper showed a large photograph of an American airman who had been shot down. The words 'Murder Incorporated' were painted on the back of his leather flying jacket. These words were used by the Italian Mafia in New York who were killer squads in the 1920's. The German Press had lost no time in using this photograph, with the headline 'Terrorflieger'. I wondered at the time whether or not the newspaper 'wrapper' used for my sandwich was accidental or deliberate. If deliberate I was being labled the same as the American, although the police behaved quite correctly towards me during my short stay at the police station.
It was late afternoon when I was moved from the police station in an old Ford motorcar, which belched smoke all the way to a Luftwaffe airfield to the north-east of Berlin. As we approached the airfield the police drive stopped to ask directions from two immaculately dressed Luftwaffe officers. One of them peered into the car and looking at me said, in perfect English, 'last night?' I nodded 'yes' and he said, "We are night fighters", with a grin of satisfaction all
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over his face. In a few minutes we had arrived at the guard house of Werneuchen, a night fighter airfield, one of several defending the city.
I was soon locked in a guard house cell, awaiting the next event. Not long after, I was taken to the officers' mess and paraded like a trophy in front of the commanding officer and company. The commanding officer indicated to me not to look so glum. I suppose he was thinking that 'for me the war was over' and I should be relieved that I was ok.
I was returned to the cell and the guardhouse sergeant came in and talked to me in broken English for some time. He had been a bomber pilot and had bombed London some 60 times in the latter part of 1941. I told him I was a civilian at the time, living in that part of London, but that now we were quits!
I remember that evening, they brought in a large dish of macaroni milk pudding which seemed to me like a feast, as I had had nothing (other than the rye bread sandwich), since my eggs and bacon meal before we took off on the Berlin mission.
The following morning a corporal came into the cell. He could speak good English. He said he was in the guard house as punishment for some misdemeanour, but I think he was planted to engage me in conversation. He talked about the war. He had been in the siege of Leningrad and described the hardship for everyone. He said the Russians were almost sub-human, and were eating rats. The Russian hordes would overrun Europe if they were not stopped by the Western Nations. He also said he had been educated in England and his best friend was an Englishman. I do not remember anything controversial or anything that could be construed as interrogation.
Later this day I was moved from Werneuchan with three other RAF aircrew who had been shot down, one being a wireless operator from my own squadron. We were being transferred to a Luftwaffe station at Spandau West, which involved travelling with only one Luftwaffe guard (who was armed, thankfully) on an underground train through the heart of Berlin, crowded with civilians. It was quite a worrying experience (like travelling the whole length of the Central Line in London), wondering whether they would suddenly turn into a lynch mob and start attacking us! We were extremely relieved when we arrived at Spandau West without incident.
We spent the next two nights in a bunker, as the RAF were still active in the area of Berlin. Our number increased to 16 but still no sign of any of my crew. But I met yet another chap from my squadron who had been shot down over Magdeburg (just west of Berlin) the following night to me, and who had trained with me as a navigator in Canada.
Although up till now I was relishing the sheer joy of being alive, I now began to reflect on my position. Were all my crew killed? Would my parents have been notified by now that I was missing? If so, there would be weeks of agony before they learnt I was alive and uninjured. This was a time when all of us could talk to each other and we talked our heads off about our narrow
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escapes and capture. One chap had five pieces of shrapnel removed from his back whilst we were there.
The food we received here (in the bunker) was poor and indicated the sort of rations we should expect as POWs, the rye bread almost inedible – I don't think I got used to it the whole time I was a prisoner. Several of the chaps were in need of a smoke and tried to smoke straw from the bedding, wrapped in a small piece of newspaper! They kept worrying the guards for a cigarette until one of the guards gave them one of his. I learnt later that this guard had lost both his parents in a bombing raid just a short time before . . .
After two days we were taken in a Luftwaffe bus to a railway terminus in Berlin. Our journey took us through the Tiergarten area of West Berlin, This area was the largest park in Berlin and not industrialised at all, and as such did not appear to be damaged very much. (Perhaps the guards, because of this, thought it was a good route to take). As we approached the centre, the damage was more prevalent and Bismarkstrasse had certainly taken a hammering. On arrival at the railway station, our rather large party of guards hustled us directly on to the train bound for Frankfurt am Main, for which we were very thankful, as a number of Berliners on the platform started shouting and gesticulating in a threatening manner. The train reached Frankfurt the following morning and we were taken by tram to the town of Oberursal, to Dulag Luft, the Luftwaffe interrogation centre.
Dulag Luft
On arrival we were all searched again and put in separate cells, with just our clothes and no possessions. The cells were entirely plain and featureless, with just bed, a straw filled palliasse, a chair and a small table. There was an electric wall heater, not for our benefit but for our discomfort, as it turned out.
So here I was in solitary confinement, more or less in a void after all that had happened since leaving England. There was nobody to talk to, nothing to write with, no noise, nothing to see, just your thoughts to review over and over again.
It was almost a pleasure when an apparent civilian came into the cell. Of course it was the 'Red Cross representative' we had been warned about on the Squadron. He had come in with a bogus Red Cross form to get all my details, starting with my name etc, my next of kin, and ending up with squadron details etc. I said that, under the Geneva Convention, I was only allowed to give my name, rank and number, and after some discussion he left, having offered me a cigarette, which I took. Shortly after that the electric heater came on and the cell began to get very hot, so hot in fact that I was able to smoulder a piece of straw from the palliasse to an ember (by poking it into the heater element) but not enough to light the cigarette I had been given. The overheating was another ploy to unsettle you, because you couldn't sleep or relax at all, and the temperature could reach 120F or more. The next day I was taken to an interrogator, who was very polite and civilised. He started to talk about the war and then produced a photograph of the H2S radar
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equipment I used for navigation and blind bombing runs. He asked what it was, and I said I did not know. He then tried another tack, saying that I could be a spy and they needed evidence to prove that I wasn't. I was then taken back to the cell to endure another hot day and night. During this time, the only food we got each day was just watery soup, rye bread spread with 'marg' or some sort of jam, and a drink of acorn coffee. The following day was my 21st. birthday and I was taken back to the interrogator. He started off again on me proving my identity, I still quoted my name, rank, and number, and in the end he got bored and produced a dossier of my squadron (102 Squadron), saying that it was one of their best customers. I was amazed that he had details of my squadron and I would have dearly liked to have asked him whether any of my crew were alive. It was not until after the war that I learned the Dulag Luft were able to identify squadrons by the number painted on the side of the aircraft. Obviously they were able to match the crew survivors with the close proximity of the aircraft wreckage. He was also accurate about numbers of prisoners, as 102 Squadron was the second highest squadron for numbers of POWs taken in Germany for the whole of Bomber Command. After this episode my interrogation was over, and I asked the interrogator whether I could have a shave, as it was my 21st. birthday! He arranged this for me.
I was transferred the following morning to the Dulag Transit Camp at Frankfurt am Maine and my few possessions were returned to me – except for my photographs and cigarettes which had been 'lost', and my astro-navigation watch which was confiscated under 'war regulations'. But for the watch I got an official receipt!
My interrogation period was about average, but some were in solitary confinement for many days. I can only assume that much depended on the 'intake' of prisoners. In January 1944, the losses to Bomber Command (and presumably the American Air force) were high, about 10%. Because of the increasing numbers and the limited number of cells, it may not have been possible for Dulag Luft to arrange longer periods of solitary confinement at this time.
I was overjoyed to meet John Bushell (my rear gunner) in the party transferred to the Transit Camp. John had a bad cut over is[sic] right eye, which luckily had healed up reasonably well. After we were hit, the plane had gone into a spiral dive, causing him to hit his head on his guns, so he was in a dazed state. The plane blew up near the ground, and John only survived because he was blown out and able to open his parachute in time. He landed on a searchlight battery and was taken into custody immediately. I think he was 24 hours ahead of me arriving at Dulag Luft. He told me he had met Laurie Underwood (my bomb-aimer who followed me out of the aircraft) at Spandau in West Berlin. Laurie was captured by the Wehrmacht whilst he was walking westwards through the night, away from Berlin. We also learned later that George Griffiths (our pilot) was safe, but we had no knowledge of the four remaining members of our crew. Details of George's survival and the four missing crew were not known to me until after the end of the war.
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After my experience so far, the Dulag Transit Camp indicated a substantial change that would take place in our daily lives, due to the fantastic support of the International Red Cross. Without this Organisation many would have died, or at least would have suffered ill health for the rest of their lives. We were now prisoners of war but we would not be officially registered until we were moved to the next camp (although we had been photographed already with our RAF service number).
The Transit Camp, although under the control of the Luftwaffe, was run internally by a small group of RAF officers and sergeants (all aircrew prisoners of war). There were about 200 prisoners and we stayed for two days. During this time we were given essential clothing like boots, overcoats, and, almost unbelievably, a fibre case containing many items like, socks, underclothes, sewing kit, cigarettes, tobacco, pipe, chewing gum, soap, toothbrush, razor, and even pyjamas. On baling out some had lost their flying boots and had damaged clothing. It was also winter in Germany and no-one of course had any other kit. All these items were supplied through the International Red Cross. (At this time the items we received were mainly American.)
The Camp was well stocked with Red Cross food parcels and together with the basic German rations, the 'RAF Staff' was able to produce impressive meals in the communal mess. They were almost sumptuous considering we had hardly eaten for over a week or more!
We were also able to send a postcard to our next of kin, which hopefully would get home in a month or so. I wrote:-
"My Dear Mum & Dad, I am now in Germany. You cannot write until I reach a POW camp. Please keep in touch with the Red Cross. I am unhurt and quite well. Please tell Pat I am safe. Meanwhile do not worry at all. All my love, Reg"
On departure we were each given an American Red Cross food parcel. In some ways it was sad to leave the Transit Camp after such a dramatic change in our fortunes. But the Camp was within a mile of Frankfurt's main railway station and I knew the town was due for more bombing attacks soon. In fact the Camp suffered severe damage, with some casualties, seven weeks later and had to be moved out of Frankfurt.
A large party of us were assembled and moved to the railway sidings where we were put into 'cattle trucks' (presumably old French Army trucks), marked 8 chevaux 40 hommes, although there were more than forty of us to each truck. We were now in the hands of the Wehrmacht and not the Luftwaffe. These trucks, with a few bales of straw added, were to be our living quarters for the next three days. Our fortunes had come down with a bump!
John and I had not met Laurie nor George in the Transit Camp and I can only assume that they were ahead of us and were already on their way to Stalag Luft3. I might have been with them had my commission come through on
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time. As it was, John and I were travelling together on our way to Stalag1VB, Muhlberg on Elbe, a town about 30 miles east of Leipzig and about 65 miles south of Berlin.
The journey to Stalag1VB was a nightmare. Each truck had an armed guard, standing by a partly opened door (for ventilation), but there was barely room to squat on the floor of the truck, let along room for sleeping. There was one bucket for urinating in, slopping about in the straw in the centre of the truck. And occasionally the train would stop when we were allowed out in a long line, to drop our trousers and defecate beside the rail track! Our only pleasure was to enjoy some of the contents of our first food parcel (that which didn't need a tin opener!), together with a meagre portion of German black bread.
We arrived at Neuburxdorf railway sidings near Muhlberg, although we could not see the town, and we were ushered out on to the road about a mile or so from Stalag1VB. The scene looked like Siberia. There had been a recent fall of snow which had partially thawed and there was slush everywhere. Before us was a flat desolate plain and just a blur in the distance, which was our destination.
[underlined] Stalag1VB Muhlberg on Elbe [/underlined]
The road took us through the wide open space of fields to the east end of the Camp and we marched round it to the west gate.
The Camp was constructed at the end of 1939, then mostly tented, but eventually replaced with many wooden barracks either side of a main road, some in separate compounds. Each area had a latrine to cope with 40 prisoners at one sitting! (known as 40-holers). There were various other buildings, including two cookhouses (for boiling mostly rotten potatoes etc. and producing 'skilly' – watery soup, and acorn coffee). There were showers and delousing areas, and a hospital (of sorts). Also several small compounds with solitary confinement cells to punish prisoners for breaking the rules (like trying to escape etc.) There were several water 'reservoirs', (originally for supplying water for sewerage, planned but never completed) – a large one with a windmill driving a water pump. These reservoirs were often referred to as 'swimming pools' but were now stagnant and presumably retained to be available in case of fire. Two compounds had space for sports activities and exercise (walking).
The Camp was surrounded by a double barbed wire fence with an inner trip wire (if crossed you could be shot). There were six watchtowers, one at each corner, and one each in the centre of the two longer sides.
It originally housed French and Polish POWs, but by the end of 1944 it catered for the following nationalities – Americans 473, Belgians 66, British 7578 (including about 2000 RAF), French 1335, Italians 2321, Dutch 1269, Poles 2455, Serbs 736, Slovaks 652, Russians 4292 – Totalling 21177
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Each wooden barrack was divided by a communal brick and cement-built wash and boiler house. Each end catered for up to 250 prisoners, with one inside night latrine. By 1944, as the war developed, due to the continual influx and transfer of prisoners, the barracks became dilapidated, cold and dismal, and totally overcrowded. The wooden exterior of the buildings – a dirty black/brown colour – gave a depressing effect to the whole scene, especially in the snow, slush and mud of winter.
As we approached the west gate of the Camp, we passed through the Wehrmacht administration and barrack block of our German guards, to the formidable wooden two-tower structure, with a bridge across the road painted with the sign 'M STAMMLAGER 1VB'. On the bridge there was a sentry box with a machine gun and a searchlight on top, and two patrolling guards. As we passed under the bridge, we knew that our lives were yet again going to change to an entirely new experience.
Induction to Stalag1VB
We moved into the showers and delousing block, where we were searched for the seventh time before we stripped off for a communal shower, whilst our clothing and possessions were passed through gas chambers (not lethal I hasten to say). On return of our clothing they still smelt of gas, and I found that my flying boots (almost new) were missing. They had been 'appropriated' by the German or Russian helpers and I never saw them again. Instead I got a pair of ill fitting clogs made of bits of leather upper, nailed to wooden soles. I had to clomp around in these for the next three month, in all the mud and slush, before I got a pair of army boots from the Red Cross.
After this we moved to the 'hospital block' where we were literally stabbed with blunt needles by the French medical orderlies. These were our vaccination and inoculation jabs against all the diseases that could result from poor and insufficient food, filthy conditions and overcrowding. The one disease the Germans were really afraid of was typhus, as the year before, an epidemic of typhus had wiped out many Russian prisoners who were also working amongst civilians in the fields nearby.
Now we were registered as POWs on 1st February 1944, given a Stalag1VB number and issued with our 'dog tags'. We also received two blankets apiece. Mine obviously had been used before, as they were very thin and had traces of being soiled with excreta. Whether they had been laundered or not I don't know, but they certainly had been through the gas chambers for delousing! Luckily, the one process that was spared us, was having our heads shaved like convicts. We were the first 'intake' to escape this indignity. (We might have been in fashion, come another generation or so!)
Introduction to prison life in Stalag1VB
My first memory, now inside the camp, was the trail of British prisoners collecting their weekly Red Cross food parcel (not always a full parcel and not always every week). We were also lucky, as the camp, having had British
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prisoners since August 1943, was now benefiting from an established procedure under the Geneva Convention. The International Red Cross, operating from Switzerland, were the Protecting Power (who looked after the prisoners' welfare for Britain) and dealt with the German Government, who were the Detaining Power. British prisoners were represented by an elected 'Man of Confidence', who had contact with the German Commandant about all matters arising day by day. Our Man of Confidence was a Canadian nicknamed 'Snowshoes'.
Compared with ourselves the Russian prisoners were in a terrible state. They did not have the protection of the Geneva Convention and they had no Red Cross provision or repatriation of extremely sick or wounded soldiers. Those who were not sick or limbless had to work as slave labour (arbeit kommandos) in the fields and farms nearby. They were paid in 'lagermarks' but these were relatively worthless. It was fortunate that they had the opportunity to 'trade' for bread etc. with cigarettes got from POWs and also, with various 'rackets', were able to supplement their own meagre German rations. They were almost in rags, and the limbless etc. were in a pitiful condition, reduced to begging and crawling in and out of incinerators for scraps of food remaining in tins. They were often in competition and alongside stray dogs. The German guards gave the Russians no quarter and beat them for the slightest thing. Of course Germans taken prisoner on the Russian front were in the same position as the Russians, with no Geneva Convention to protect them.
Initially we were housed with the British Army who were originally taken prisoner in North Africa before the Battle of EL Alamein. They were moved from Italian POW camps in July/August 1943 by the German Army, when the Italian front line in Italy was beginning to crumble. John Bushell and I were together and we both appreciated the steadfastness of the British Army. They had been prisoners a year or two already and were attuned to the lifestyle. They were resolute and disciplined, despite the fact that they had not been liberated in Italy, and had suffered poor treatment and lack of food under the Italians in their prison camps. As we were only eleven days out of England they wanted to know all the latest news from home.
Our first impression of the barracks was abysmal. On the right hand side were three tiers of rickety bunks in blocks of twelve, separated by a small corridor between each block. These continued up the right hand side and some over to the left hand side. In the centre at each end, there was a stove and a hotplate connected by a horizontal flue to a central chimney. On the left hand side of the flue, there were 'gim-crack' tables built up from basic wooden forms, and further forms either side for seating. In this area, 83 ft. x 40 ft., (about as long, but 7 ft. wider than my back garden) up to 250 prisoners had to live, cook, eat and sleep. The overcrowding and noise could be overwhelming especially after curfew. Clothing and personal possessions had to be stored on the bunks. The bottom bunk occupant was lucky as he had some space underneath, and the top bunk occupant did not suffer from straw and dust etc. falling down from the straw-stuffed palliasse of the bunk above! The floors were like barn floors, with bricks set in earth. Lighting was supplied
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by four 25 watt bulbs. Daylight was poor as many windows were broken and boarded up. There was a night latrine in the entrance – just a seat with a concrete cesspit underneath – which stank like hell day and night. The wash and boiler house that divided the two barracks had large concrete troughs with several spray jets that had long since ceased to function. Anyway the water supply was sporadic and it was a problem to keep the boiler full, for making communal brews during the day. Here we washed our clothes when we could and had our daily ablutions. Washes were often carried out with a 'Klim' tin of water ('Klim', the reverse of 'Milk', was the name of the Canadian milk powder it had contained). It required great skill to get an adequate wash with that amount of water! The drainage system was poor and leaked most of the time. As a result there was a constant trickle of dank water down the main road that separated most of the huts.
After three weeks the RAF contingent were transferred to the RAF compound where about 2000 (mostly aircrew) were housed. This compound was lockable and when we got too boisterous we were locked in as punishment. Here I met several chaps who were on 102 Squadron or previously were on the same training courses. Those from 102 Squadron wanted to know whether they had been reported as POWs. Of course we didn't know, because 1943 – 1944 was a bad time for losses, and we were missing and in Germany, before they were reported, at home, as POWs.
Our lives revolved around food and keeping warm
There is no doubt these primary requirements of life are paramount in a prison camp. Under the Geneva Convention only basic provisions were supplied by Germany. We were not required to work (being officers or non-commissioned officers), thus food rations were the bare minimum and often of poor quality. The International Red Cross were the organisation to supplement the needs of prisoners of war. Operating from Geneva it co-ordinated the supply of goods and distributed them to Working Parties, Stalags and Oflags, throughout Germany. The supply was mainly food, but clothing, books, musical instruments, even correspondence courses for professional exams, were organised for some camps. Supplies were often erratic, governed by the war situation. It was obviously not the first priority in the German distribution system, especially as the war progressed, when their transport infrastructure was virtually destroyed by the RAF and the American Air Force.
The daily ration issued by the Germans consisted of about three boiled potatoes (often nearly rotten after months stored in clamps), and a ladle of watery soup (called 'skilly') made with turnips, swede, millet, barley, dried sauerkraut, or peas. These were issued at midday in skilly buckets, from the cookhouse. (There were two cookhouses one British, the other French which also catered for other nationals). The pea soup was the most desirable skilly, and many rows broke out on how the small leftover should be divided. Each barrack had an elected leader and two or three colleagues to assist him in making minor decisions and sharing out any communal chores – the pea soup share out was one of his problems. In our barracks, after a vote by everybody.
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it was decided that the leftover should be shared out equally, pea by pea if necessary!
In the afternoon, a piece of black bread, about an inch or so thick, a small piece of margarine and a spoonful of jam (made from beetroot); sugar or meat paste completed the hard rations. Several pails of ersatz coffee (made from roasted acorns) were usually put into the washhouse boiler for a hot drink later.
The Red Cross food parcel was based on the requirements of one person for a week. The parcels came from various countries, Britain (including Scotland), America, Canada, New Zealand, Argentine (bulk rations), and sometimes France or Belgium. A British parcel contained a number of the following: tin of condensed milk, 2oz tea, tin of cocoa, 4oz sugar, 8oz margarine, tin of biscuits, 8oz jam, marmalade or syrup, 2oz processed cheese, pkt dried fruit or tin of fruit pudding or creamed rice, rolled oats or oatmeal, tin of meat & veg, steak & kidney pudding or other varieties, tin of sausages or meat roll, sometimes a tin of bacon or Yorkshire pudding (instead of cocoa), tin of egg powder, sometimes a carton of sweets, 4oz bar of chocolate, tin of veg (peas, carrots etc.), tin of salmon or pilchards, bar of soap, sometimes pkt of salt, pepper, or mustard. American parcels and some others contained cigarettes, but alternatively there was a separate issue of 50 cigarettes a week if whole parcels were issued. But it could be only 25 a week or none, according to the availability of parcels. (Cigarettes were used throughout the camp as the main currency for trading and racketeering!)
Together, the German ration and a full parcel every week was Utopia for us. Of course there were weeks when we had only half parcels – or no parcels – when distribution was disrupted for a variety of reasons. So 'tinned stuff' had to be saved for hungry times. Most prisoners joined together in two's or more to share and prepare their food. The term for this was 'mucking in' and groups were called 'muckers'. John Bushell and I became 'muckers' and decided that we would prepare our food together everyday.
On arrival we were given a dixie and spoon each, not much for preparing food, cooking, eating and drinking. We had to acquire knives, drinking cups and plates etc. to start up, which we got with cigarettes from fellow 'kriegies' (established prisoners of war). The kriegies would have got the knives from the Russians, the cups and plates would have been made from Red Cross tins by a kriegie skilled in 'tin bashing'. Cups were Canadian 'Maple Leaf' butter tins with a handle made from a strip of tin attached to another strip, which was clamped to the top and bottom of the butter tin. Plates and dishes for heating or frying food, were made from flattened out Scotch biscuit tins turned up at the sides and the corners folded in. Scotch biscuit tins were ideal for all sorts of things, I don't know what we would have done without them!
The cooking stoves, one at each end of the barracks, were controlled by two stokers. The ovens were not used and only the hot plates were in action. Coal dust (compressed into briquettes) used for cooking and strictly rationed for each barrack, meant that the stoves would only operate at lunch time. The
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remainder of the briquettes were allocated to the washhouse, for use in the boiler for 'brewing up' during the day. Because the briquettes were rationed and were under the supervision of the guards, several attempts were made by various barracks to get more by false pretences. One barrack managed to get a spare set of keys to the briquettes store and organised a parade. By marching specially, with their familiar plywood Red Cross container, as if under the control of the guards, they got another issue. But I don't think they managed it twice! Our barrack was luckier in this respect. There was a German Jew in our barrack whose family left Germany before the war. He became a naturalised British subject, joined RAF ground crew and became a member of an Advanced Airfield Unit and was posted to the Island of Kos. He became at POW after the Germans invaded the Island in October 1943 and he was moved to Muhlberg. He could speak fluent German and was able to bribe two of the guards (who, with dogs, patrolled the camp after curfew) to stay away on certain nights from patrolling the French cookhouse. This cookhouse, adjacent to our compound and opposite our barracks, had a large store of briquettes in the cellar which could be accessed by cutting the barbed wire between our compound and the cookhouse. A group of volunteers in the barracks 'stood by' for these arrangements, and when the barrack leader announced, in true RAF parlance, "Ops on tonight", there was great activity.
Prior to the first of these operations, the floor bricks had been removed from under one of the bunks. A pit had been dug and covered up with a false floor made of plywood from Red Cross packing cases. The removed floor bricks were then put back on the plywood, and earth spread in between the bricks. In the gloom of the barracks it was almost impossible to detect any disturbance in the brick floor.
On 'Ops' night, the pit was opened up, kit bags were borrowed and half the night, kitbags full of briquettes removed from the cookhouse cellar, were unloaded almost silently into the pit. Well before daylight the barbed wire was reconnected, the floor and bricks replaced and everybody involved, back in their bunks. The pit, which also housed other things that needed to be hidden, was never discovered, despite many random searches that were carried out. This activity was carried out every few weeks and meant that we were the most 'well provided for' barracks for cooking and the warmest in the whole camp, until the autumn of 1944.
Back to cooking, the stokers maintained strict control over the hot plates so that everyone had an opportunity to heat, boil or fry their food either in the tin, dixie or dish, by moving them in progression across the hottest part of the hot plate. Nevertheless there were accidents, when dishes caught fire and tins exploded (many of the contents like creamed rice hit the roof above!), or food was cremated as the hot plate suddenly went red hot in one spot. BRC bacon when frying could spit hot fat everywhere and those near the stove had to dive for cover!
John and I, like most 'muckers', tried to add as much variety as possible to our meals. We would save barley soup for breakfast and convert it into porridge by adding sugar, or as a pudding at tea time, by adding dried fruit
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etc. Biscuits could be crumbled and mixed with various things. Sometimes our meagre almost inedible bread ration would be mixed with fruit, meat or fish items to make more acceptable bulk. Most of the 'skilly' (soup items), turnip, swede, or millet (bird seed), we consumed straight away, especially if we were hungry. During the period of receiving a weekly full parcel, most of the skilly and some of the dry rations were given to the Russian amputees and later, to the Italians.
Heating water for tea and coffee was difficult. The Army kriegies from the Italian prison camps brought with them a design of a water heater called a 'blower'. It was a fan operated device which, by means of a belt driving the fan at high speed, forced air into a firebox. The firebox was filled with anything burnable (pine cones, chips of wood and cardboard) and a dixie of water placed on top would be boiling in a few minutes. 'Blowers' were made from Red Cross food tins and plywood, mounted on a bed board taken from a bunk. They were hazardous devices and confined to the wash house. Unfortunately the guards did not approve of these contraptions and they frequently destroyed them. In a short time more were made, and then there were even fewer bed boards to some of the bunks!
The more organised way of providing hot drinks, an essential requirement in cold, draughty and damp huts, was to use the boiler in the wash house for communal brews. It was agreed that the issue of ersatz coffee would be reheated this way, and everybody would give up some of their tea, coffee and cocoa ration for regular hot drinks. The boiler-man would shout out "brew up" six or seven times a day and bodies would appear from bunks and everywhere with mugs and dixies for their ration.
Camp roll call ('Appel')
Everyday at 6.30 a.m. the camp was awakened by guards running through the hut shouting "rouse, rouse", and in quick time we had to dress and form up in rows of 'fumf's' (fives), barrack by barrack in the compound. Whilst the Army in their compounds, who were well disciplined, had their count finished in no-time, the RAF were always late and virtually had to be driven out of their barracks. The guards regularly found stragglers still asleep in their bunks, or they were not all lined up in fives. The German unteroffizier in charge (a relatively young guard who had been wounded on the Russian Front, nicknamed 'Blondie' for his flaxen hair), was often at his wit's end. As a result of these events day after day, Blondie would keep the offending barrack standing for hours in the slush and the snow. On one occasion, a member of another barrack brought out a chair for Blondie to sit on whilst this punishment was in progress, which he took in good part. But when, in another situation he drew his pistol, it was time to call this game to an end!
Although roll call was always at 6.30 in the morning, curfew was later in the summer months, up to 9.30 p.m., which made life much more pleasant as it shortened the time we were incarcerated in the huts.
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Not long after I reached the camp, it was probably towards the end of winter, typhus and diptheria broke out and the whole camp was quarantined. Typhus was to be expected at any time. It usually affected the Russians but it could break out anywhere. I can recall being bitten all over my body with bed bugs. Our palliasses were never replaced and were pretty filthy sacks of straw. Living in such overcrowded conditions, lice, fleas, and bedbugs abounded. It was one of the most depressing times I can remember.
Quarantine meant that there was no roll call in the compound. No-one was allowed outside the barracks for about a month, and this was enforced by having an armed guard posted outside each barrack entrance. Supplies were brought to the barracks and there was only the inside latrine to serve 200 or more of us, day and night.
The Honey Cart
When the camp was first built, a sewer system was planned to take the sewage to the river Elbe some miles away. Camp reservoirs were dug to provide the water supply. This plan was soon abandoned, and latrines with concrete septic tanks installed instead. Each barrack had an inside night latrine and to each compound, one or more forty-seater day latrine buildings were added. Inside these there were four rows of boxed seats, each with ten holes, mounted above a large tank. No-one felt alone in a forty-holer!
With more than 20,000 prisoners, the removal of the sewage was a permanent daily task for a small 'army' of the Russian Kommandos. Through a trap door on the ground outside the latrine a long pipe connected to a hand pump was inserted into the decomposed sewage. With every operation of the pump lever, decomposed sewage was squirted into the hopper of a long wooden barrel which was mounted on an ox-cart. The whole design could have been invented in medieval times and was about as labour intensive as in those days. It generated the most foul stench with every pump movement and was christened 'the honey cart'.
Many honey carts were in action daily all over the camp. They leaked and left their signature everywhere, in a trail on their way out of the main gate to the local fields, where they fertilized the crops. Some of the inferior crops we might consume in our skilly in a few months' time!
In my view the condition of the latrines and inadequate method of sewage disposal for over 20,000 prisoners, was beyond belief. The German nation, known for its discipline, thoroughness and cleanliness, had at that time a blot on its character in the way it dealt with prisoners of war in Stalag 1VB – and probably other camps as well.
There was also no provision for toilet paper and we had to resort to all sorts of solutions, Red Cross tin labels and reading books had to be sacrificed. On one occasion after a Red Cross inspection, when we complained about the lack of toilet paper, we did receive some 'toilet paper' from the Germans, in the form of propaganda booklets printed in English. One entitled 'Jews Must
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Live' and the other 'The Who's Who of Jews', which listed all the prominent people in the western world and whether they were Jews or not, including Churchill (who was not listed as a Jew).
Activities in Stalag1VB
With over 7500 British prisoners, there were many talented people – and those who discovered they had talents – in the camp. Some lectured on their subjects in a small hut set aside as a class room; others were actors or musicians (mostly amateur I believe) who produced fantastic shows in a theatre and in the barracks. And then there were the footballers, cricketers and rugby players, who played on pitches available in one of two compounds.
Studies
There was no facility to study for professional exams, mainly I believe, because the British had come to the camp only months before and there was no opportunity to set up a facility at this stage of the war. Also the overcrowding in the barracks made it impossible for serious study, due to the lack of space, and the noise of cooking, washing and general chatter etc. This was made worse in the winter months, because of the extended length of time we were herded together between curfew at night and morning roll call.
I did manage to study several subjects, mainly to keep my mind occupied on matters of general interest to me. These were radio, intermediate maths, photography and psychology. The latter two closed down shortly afterwards, due the removal of the classroom (that is another story!) The lecturer on radio communications was an interesting person, (Robert Crawford), whom I met when I was in the army barracks. He was a BBC engineer in the army and his roll was to assist a well known BBC war reporter, named Ward. In those days, recording events for subsequent broadcasting, especially in front line conditions, needed a qualified engineer to make the records. Ward and Crawford were captured in North Africa at Tobruk in June 1942. Crawford taught me a lot about basic radio and was obviously quite involved in the construction of radios for the camp. There was always some route for getting supplies of essential parts. He told me they were worried that the camp might be overrun by the Russians, before Western Allied Forces could get here, and we might need to be able to communicate with our Allies to get urgent assistance. To prepare for such an event they had built a transmitter, and had already selected a site for it. They had also acquired a starter motor from a Messerschmitt 'plane to generate the power for it! (Fortunately, in the end, events did not require such action).
Theatre
It was generally accepted that the camp theatre was a remarkable achievement. It provided first class entertainment and raised morale for everyone in the camp. A spare barrack was found for the purpose. The brick
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floor was dug out and the bricks replaced in tiers for the seating, so that the stage could be seen by everyone. A dimmer switch was acquired for better control of stage lighting.
The theatre group was in operation before I arrived and was now in full swing. With food parcels arriving more regularly, and the longer and warmer days of spring and summer ahead, our daily lives became more bearable in the dim, dismal, damp and dilapidated surroundings of the camp. The Second Front was expected soon and with an early prospect to the end of the war, spirits were high. This reflected in the energies of the theatre group, both in variety shows and straight plays, and the appreciation of the audiences.
My first 'visit to the theatre', named the 'Empire', was only a few days after I arrived. The ticket was purchased with cigarettes, but I can't remember how many. It was a variety show entitled 'Muhlberg Melodies of 1944' a totally internally written production. The female impersonations were fantastic, impressing seasoned kriegies and especially me, a newcomber to camp life. The theatre 'props' were wizards at making costumes from old blankets etc., stage scenery and furniture from Red Cross boxes and plywood crates. Even the production of suits of armour was not beyond them. The 'tin bashers' got busy with Red Cross tins, and by clever lighting with green tinted bulbs, were able to produce very realistic results.
The variety group produced several shows, some with leading camp comics, like 'Music in the Cage', 'Lets Raes a Laugh', Knee-deep' and 'Splash'. Musical Comedies such as 'Springtime for Jennifer' with lyrics and music both written by the leader of the orchestra. The variety shows were alternated with straight plays presented by 'The Cads'. Each one seemed better than the previous production. Such shows were 'Dover Road', 'The Man Who Came to Dinner', 'You Can't Take It With You' and 'The Barretts of Wimpole Street'.
There were light classical orchestras and more serious music, also dance and swing band shows. The latter participated in shows in the barracks providing suitable music. At leading football matches, boxing bouts and on Sunday afternoons a military band provided entertainment.
On some Sundays in the Empire, the Experimental Theatre Group presented some unusual plays based on melodrama and plays requiring 'audience participation'. One I remember called 'Waiting for Lefty' (about rebellious cab drivers) was highly successful. In this play the audience, together with members of the cast (who, unknown to us, were 'planted' amongst the audience) got involved in a trade union strike. It resulted in the whole audience, quite spontaneously, standing up and shouting 'Strike, Strike!' and 'Lefty' the ring leader being shot dead!
Also on Sundays, church services were held in the theatre, and the Padre (a New Zealander) organised entertainment and talks on some Sunday afternoons.
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Another organised event that the theatre was used for was a remarkable exhibition of pendulum clocks. I presume pendulum clocks were chosen because they operated by weights and not springs. All these clocks were constructed from flattened Red Cross food tins, which were cut into the various gears and other parts necessary to produce and display the correct time.
Barrack (hut) entertainment
Hut shows were very popular and were introduced in the evening in the summer months when curfew was extended. Stage sets were erected from the hut seating and structures brought in for the purpose. Such industry gave a feeling of involvement and this added to the enjoyment of the show that followed. Radio plays were very novel, being performed behind a curtain and in broadcasting style with all the sound effects. With the rest of the hut in semi-darkness (not difficult in a poorly lit hut) the right atmosphere was achieved, for such plays as 'The Tale of Two Cities', 'Ghost Train' and 'Pygmalion'.
On other winter evenings a series of talks were given on such subjects as 'Big Game Hunting', 'North West Frontier' and 'Russia'. Chaps with personal experiences such as 'HM Prisons' by an ex Prison Warder, an interesting one for us Kreigies! And a talk by a former Undertaker on some of his more gruesome situations. We also had two demonstrations of hypnotism, one by a Dutch therapist who practised in an Indonesian hospital, and another who did it purely for entertainment and sent us into fits of laughter, when he got one of the audience who knew nothing about the subject, to give us a talk on 'how to paint and decorate a room'. But the most impressive demonstration of all was when two Fakirs from the Indian Army demonstrated the results of self hypnosis. They reduced their heart beats until when cut they did not bleed, then over their stomachs they pinched two thick folds of skin and pierced them with spikes. When they pulled the spikes out there was no trace of bleeding. Their second demonstration was even more amazing. They broke glass bottles on the floor and when there was enough broken glass, one laid on it, back down, and the other stood momentarily on his chest. You could hear the crunch of glass under his back! Again when he got up there was no trace of bleeding.
Another popular activity in the winter months was playing cards. This was mostly contract bridge, a game I learned to play. It became an obsession for some partners and was played almost uninterrupted all day and sometimes into the night, only stopping to eat! This was possible with the larger groups of 'muckers', as cooking etc and playing cards, was shared on a rota basis.
Sport
The most active and universal sport in the camp was soccer and this was carried on throughout the day, but mostly in the evening during the summer months. I understood that football equipment was brought from Italy by the
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Army POWs. Each hut had its own team named after the 1st. Division names in Britain. Our hut's team was Blackburn Rovers and the degree of interest was amazing. Our team had its own colours and was well supported by the hut inmates. When we played in the League matches discussion reached tremendous heights. I think the knock-out cup was the most exciting of all. Semi-finals and final games were played off on Saturday afternoons as it was the main feature of the weekend. Newport County was by far the leading light in this competition and eventually won the Cup. At Easter, Whitsun and August Bank Holiday there gala matches such as England versus Scotland, Army v RAF, Amateurs v Professionals. The standard of play was very high indeed, and teams selected from several thousand possible players gave a good account of themselves. Other feature matches were introduced when a number of 'Clubs' were formed for chaps living in the same area, such examples were 'London Club', 'Heather Club', 'Notts & Derby Club', 'Kent Club', 'Invicta Club' and 'Lincolnshire Poacher'. All the clubs had badges, made by Russians, out of aluminium dixies and the clubs advertised their activities on wall posters. The Germans panicked when they saw the 'Lincolnshire Poacher' and issued a general warning that anyone caught poaching could risk being shot!
Other sporting activities
There was a Rugby League and they played their important games on Sundays. Perhaps the most notable members were the 'Springboks' and the 'Anzacs', and many a time blood was drawn between these two hefty teams.
During the cricket season, each hut entered a team and the matches were played off on similar lines to soccer and rugby, the main feature being a test match played between England v Australia or South Africa, over the weekend. Some of these were very close ending matches, England on one occasion beating Australia by a few runs only.
Two athletic matches were held and prior to the events, every morning and evening contestants could be seen on the track training with great zeal. (The track was the perimeter of the football pitch, an area many kreigies used every day to walk round for general exercise). Boxing also was a camp-organised sport and several times exhibitions, as well as competitive bouts, were carried out in a well built ring in one of the compounds.
The Canadians were very keen on basketball and softball, whilst vollyball was played by one and all. Others took up weight lifting and organised P.T. Many of the games were between the British and other Nationals such as the French, Dutch, Russians and Poles; the latter two excelled at volley ball, the former had a tough struggle when playing us at soccer - after all it was our national game (in those days).
There was no lack of exercise at 1VB. The outdoor activity during the summer months, coupled with a good supply of Red Cross food parcels and encouraging news on the war front, kept us all in good spirits at that time. But of course all this was no compensation for the abysmal living conditions and
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the lack of freedom we all experienced, especially when you are only in your early twenties.
Trading
I have already mentioned that NCO's were not paid any service pay in prison camps. The Russian working parties were paid lagermarks, but these were relatively worthless. There was a Russian canteen where items could be purchased but there was relatively nothing to buy. But items could be exchanged or bought and sold with cigarettes. Thus cigarettes became the camp currency and its liquidity. There was a rate that depended upon the amount of spare Red Cross food that was available, compared with how plentiful were the Red Cross cigarettes and cigarettes received in private parcels. In the summer of 1944 spare food was more plentiful, thus the cigarette rate was low – in the winter the position was reversed. The Russian canteen became the flea market (in more ways than one) where anything could be bought and sold or exchanged. The Italians, who became prisoners with their complete kit of clothes and utensils, were seriously short of food and were able to sell clothing, knives, scissors etc. for basic food. They even took on tailoring jobs for food and cigarettes. The Russians were in the best positions to trade because they were able to contact the farm workers in the fields and farms, exchange cigarettes and coffee for bread and small items necessary for day to day living. They would conceal these in their trousers, not very hygienic for the bread! I understand that the Russians who worked on the 'honeycarts' were able to hide bread in the opening of the 'honeycard' barrel (when they were empty!), on their way back to camp.
An event that I witnessed one evening not long before curfew: a British chap had filled an empty cigarette packet with earth, except for ten cigarette stubs at the end, to represent a full packet. He then, in the half-light through the wire of the Russian compound, exchanged it for a long loaf of crusty bread. Back in the hut he was full of his success in duping the Russian, until he discovered the side of the loaf had been sliced off, the whole of the inside hollowed out and filled with damp rags to give the loaf weight, and the side cleverly replaced with thin spills of wood to hold it in place! I often wonder who had the better deal . . .
On some evenings, the same RAF (German Jewish) POW who organised the coal stealing from the French cookhouse, would bring into the hut a German guard complete with rifle, who was on patrol inside the camp. The guard would stand in the middle of the hut whilst the gasmask case on his back (now minus its gasmask) was opened. Inside he had toothbrushes, razors, razor blades, combs etc. to trade for cigarettes, coffee and chocolate. Not every German soldier was waging war to the death!
I also remember a Dutch POW, still resplendent in his uniform with tassels and gold braid. The Dutch, until the Second Front, were well served with IRC food and parcels from home. This chap obviously, like many Dutch very commercially minded, used to appear regularly in the huts carrying a large tray of goods which he was trading for cigarettes.
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Escaping
Planning to escape was a very clandestine business, and unless you were personally involved you didn't know much about it. However there was an escape committee who would assist those who wished to 'have a go'.
There was one mass escape planned in the camp by the RAF and from the RAF compound. It was a very close kept secret, only known to those involved. A hut used as a 'school' for various classes was chosen. This hut was without foundations and raised on blocks. Also it was only a short distance from the camp boundary barbed wire on the north side. The first move was to ask the Germans for permission for us to put a mound of earth around the perimeter of the hut "to prevent footballs etc. from being kicked underneath it." A hatch was then cut into the floor of one of the classrooms, from which a tunnel was dug to the outer wire. The earth dug out was packed tightly, into the now enclosed space, below the hut. As the distance from the hut to the field outside the wire was fairly short, the space was sufficient, and did not need a complicated system of distributing the earth elsewhere. Also concealment was less complicated as classes were still being carried out in other rooms as before. I for one, who attended classes there, did not know what was going on and neither did the Germans. Bed-boards were used to shore up the sides of the tunnel and the hut wiring was tapped for lighting it. The bed-boards would have been taken bit by bit from bunks in various barracks. As boards were already being consumed as firewood, or for blowers etc., it was almost accepted that this was the natural erosion of the place. Although, for those who slept in the middle and lower bunks, more and more loops of palliasse were hanging down between bed-boards from the upper bunk.
The tunnel was completed in late summer, and the day before the planned night breakout, a tractor towing a harvester, cropping the corn in this field, tipped into the tunnel exit which was just below the level of the field. Immediately all hell broke loose as Feldwebel 'Piccolo Pete' our new German compound watchdog, appeared on the scene. Piccolo Pete was a nasty, small, bow legged fellow, who took over after Blondie was posted elsewhere. He consistently made our lives a misery, making raids on our barracks without warning. He would appear with guards to block each end of the hut. We would then be searched and driven out immediately into the compound, while he and his posse of guards turned over the bunks and prodded the floor and everywhere with picks, looking for signs of tunnels, escape material, blowers, radios etc.
Well, Piccolo Pete was in his element. The following morning, he turned up with the Russians and their cavalcade of honey carts, and they emptied our latrines and forty-holer of sewage and poured it into the tunnel. Of course classes were closed at the hut and we never went near it again!
Another means of escape, usually through our own Escape Committee and sometimes with the help of the French Escape Committee, was achieved by exchanging identity with other prisoners who were on working parties. These
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were usually army privates who, under the Geneva Convention, could be employed by the Germans in non war related industries. These industries around 1VB would be mostly in farming. New British POWs were often 'processed' through 1VB, as it was also a registration camp and where new prisoners could be topped up with essential clothing. These prisoners would be approached by the Escape Committee and offered exchanges. They would have the benefit of not having to work and the NCO's would have the chance to escape, which would be less risky than trying to escape from 'behind the wire' at 1VB. Both parties would of course lose their own identities during this time.
All those in 1VB who took this on, were given new identity papers, forged passes, travel documents, maps and money etc. In my view they would have needed, as a minimum, a good knowledge of German and know how to live rough, as they would be hundreds of miles away from any territory where they could expect help from anyone. To my knowledge nearly all those in 1VB who escaped were recaptured, returned to the camp, and given 14 days or more solitary confinement in the 'cooler' on basic rations. One chap who gave us a talk on his experiences, on having reached a railway siding, found that none of the railway wagons had destinations for his chosen route. But with a bit of quick thinking, he decided it would help the British war effort if he collected all the destination cards from the wagons, gave them a thorough shuffle, and put them all back!
Geoff Taylor who wrote the book 'Piece of Cake' about prison life in 1VB, tells his story about attempting an escape by stealing a JU88 'plane from Lonnewitz nightfighter training airfield near 1VB. He and a colleague used the French and British escape committees to do an exchange with two French arbeit kommandos. They got on to the airfield and into a JU88, only to be caught red handed by a Luftwaffe guard. Luckily they were wearing French uniform and Geoff's colleague answered the challenge in French. The guard, thinking they were French farm workers from a nearby village, chastened them and told them to clear off, which they did at a rate of knots! After some time trying to find another aircraft that wasn't locked, and then running out of food, they walked back into the camp with hardly a challenge.
After the murder (on the orders of Hitler) of fifty RAF escapees from Stalag Luft3 in March 1944 became known, the Germans gave out an official warning to all camps. It said that because of increasing action of commando forces in Germany, many places were 'no go' areas and anyone entering them would be shot on sight. Escaping prisoners were at risk, and to remember "escaping was no longer a British sport".
About the same time, a message was received from the British Government via the BBC news, which said it was no longer the duty of prisoners of war to try to escape(!)
Our mail and news in Stalag1VB
Mail
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We were allowed to write one letter and two postcards a month, so I had to ration them between family and friends over the 15 months I was a prisoner. But I received 111 letters and about 6 or 7 parcels over the period. Everybody moaned in the hut every time my name and number (098 Wilson) was called out – 'what, not him again!'
Letters to UK and from Germany took 2 1/2 to 3 months each way, so a reply could take almost 6 months. The first letter I received after being shot down took 5 months, and the first letter from my parents took 6 months. Mail arrived fairly consistently after that, 43 by September 1944, 110 by January 1945 and then only one, before I was liberated in April 1945.
My first parcel took 7 months to reach me. It was from home and contained 500 cigarettes – a fortune either as cigarettes or currency. My second and third contained books – fiction, biographies, technical drawing and – travel! My fourth, from home, contained clothing. Two previous parcels had been sent but never received. I had two further parcels of cigarettes and, I believe, some chocolate.
I also received a parcel of books from the Red Cross in which they had sent two books I had asked for, one on meteorology and the other on astronomy. I remember that I found great interest in the astronomy book. Stalag 1VB being located away from the town in flat countryside, with no lights on late in the evening, presented an ideal situation for viewing the night sky, even through the few windows available. With my knowledge of the star constellations in the northern hemisphere, required for astro-navigational purposes, I was able to identify the only star city outside our own galaxy visible to the naked eye – the nebula in Andromeda near the constellation of Cassiopeia in the north-eastern sky. It gave me a great feeling of space and freedom away from my dismal surroundings.
In my first letter home from Stalag 1VB on 2 February 1944, I told my parents that our 'plane had caught fire and I had to bale out. (I did not say how or where, as this might have stopped the German censors from sending the letter on). I also told them John Bushell was with me. We knew that Laurie Underwood and George Griffiths had survived but there was no news of the others. I asked them to send me underclothes, socks, toothpaste, cigarettes, and photographs.
My letters started with mixed emotions – I was glad I had survived and without injury. Also at that time we were receiving weekly food parcels and the camp was providing entertainment with fairly frequent shows in the Empire theatre. But the winter weather was miserable with slush and mud everywhere, and with only lashed-up clogs to wear, there was no incentive to walk round the circuit of the 'football pitch'. Being incarcerated in these barracks during the long winter days was punishment indeed. Writing letters without receiving any in return, became a burden, and it was not until I received my first letter in June did I brighten up. By then the Second Front had commenced, the days were longer, sunny and warm, outside activities had started, and the parcels
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were still arriving weekly. As the D Day invasion succeeded, a wave of optimism swept the camp. 'Home by Christmas' was the cry. Of course we were young kriegies and did not realise that old kriegies had made this cry for the last three or four years already!
As the year advanced, France was liberated, Italy had capitulated, everybody was at their high point and our letters home reflected this mood. But the success of the war on the ground and in the air across Europe, was having its effect on the German transport system, and our RC food parcel deliveries started to become irregular. Setbacks, at Arnhem in Holland and the Battle of the Bulge in Belgium, ensured that the war would continue into the Spring of 1945 and would make worse our conditions in the prison camp.
In the autumn and winter of 1944 parcels were reduced to a half and some weeks there were none. Coal for heating and cooking was reduced and as more prisoners came into the camp it became excessively overcrowded. My letters did not mention this, and said our Christmas was fine with a RC parcel out of the blue, which enabled us to dodge up some kind of festivities with concocted mince pies (don't ask!) and Christmas pudding. Although we were able to organise 'a dance' for New Year's Day, we entered January 1945 with the worst conditions we had experienced so far in 1VB.
News
News about the progress of the war was the very life blood of every prisoner. As the war moved towards its end, events around us began to coincide with the news we received.
We were lucky in 1VB inasmuch as the Army chaps had managed to bring their radios (in pieces) from Italy, concealed down their trousers, between their legs etc.! The RAF had managed to bribe the guards for parts to assemble their radio. So both compounds had radios and were able to get BBC news everyday. Despite random searches by Picolo Pete and others, they were never discovered.
The news was taken down in shorthand and transcribed so that every barrack leader could read it out after evening curfew. The leader would call for lookouts to see the outside was clear of roving patrols and the hut would remain in complete silence whilst the bulletin was read out. Thus throughout our time in 1VB we were well informed about events, except on D Day when the Germans told us first! That day everyone went wild. Many were making crazy forecasts about the date when the war would end, and when it didn't, they were unceremoniously carried to the stagnant reservoir and thrown in.
About this time Italy capitulated, but Germany continued to fight in Italy. The Italian Army, overnight became POWs and several thousand of them arrived at the camp complete with all their kit. They were in a terrible state, as the Italians were despised by every nation. Italy had declared war on England when we were 'on our knees' after Dunkirk; thus they were also enemies of Russia and all occupied nations. Now they were enemies of Germany. And
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the British Army POWs in 1VB, not long ago treated abysmally as POWs of the Italians, didn't think much of them either. They were soon starving, with poor rations, trading their kit for food, begging alongside the Russian amputees for surplus skilly and scraps.
In addition to the news we got from the radio, the Germans supplied a weekly newspaper called 'The Camp'. I do not know how many they distributed but I managed to keep three copies. These did not really supplement the BBC news, as they were a week or so out of date and were really propaganda papers. Their war reports never mentioned Allied successes. They printed lots of bland articles taken from recent British newspapers and football league results. Their leader articles were loaded with propaganda. However the 30 July 1944 edition was interesting, as it covered the 20 July bomb plot to kill Hitler. It showed a picture of Hitler, apparently uninjured after the attempt on his life, talking to Mussolini. It announced [italics] "that the plot by a criminal clique of German Officers had completely collapsed. The ringleaders either committed suicide after the outrage or were shot by battalions of the army. Among those executed was the manipulator of the explosive, Col. Count von Stauffenberg” [/italics]. Incidently [sic] he is now remembered as a hero by the German nation and a street in Berlin is named after him: "Stauffenbergstrasse".
This edition of The Camp also featured the launching of the V1 (flying bomb) weapons on London. These were followed by the V2 rockets and continued from their launching sites in Holland, mostly on the London area and Antwerp (a major Port for the British and Canadian armies on the North European Front), almost until the end the war. These weapons were totally indiscriminate and some fell in Essex, many of them in the Ilford/Romford area where my parents lived. One V2 fell in the road next to Joydon Drive, wiping out half-a-dozen houses and their occupants. Luckily my parents and two sisters had evacuated to Brighton during this onslaught. But our house was damaged and had to be patched up until after the war, when it was repaired. All this was unknown to me as my parents would not have mentioned it, and in any case mail might have been lost or arrived too late for me to receive it.
There was heavy fighting in Normandy after D Day and the German press made the most of it. At Caen, the first major city, the British and the Canadians suffered very heavy casualties, and the Americans on the Cherbourg Peninsular were held up for a time capturing the Port of Cherbourg. It was about five weeks before Caen fell, and the city was almost demolished by Bomber Command. But the fighting drew in much of the German armour. At this time the American forces made great headway in the Cherbourg Peninsular, swept around Caen to Fallaise to form a pincer movement. The Germans realising they could be trapped, started to withdraw their tanks, through what became to be known as the 'Fallaise Gap'. The RAF with their rocket firing Typhoon fighter bombers had a heyday destroying both troops and tanks. Eventually the Germans discarded much of their equipment and went helter-skelter to cross the river Seine to avoid capture. At this time the landing of Allied troops in Southern France had taken place and the Germans had decided to evacuate their troops from France.
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The German 7th Army was smashed at Fallaise with a loss of 250,000 troops (killed or captured), although a similar number managed to get away. Soon after, an uprising took place in Paris and the city was liberated by the French Second Armoured Division on the 25 August 1944, almost without damage. By 3 & 4 Sept 1944 the Allies had entered Belgium and Holland, and most of France was clear. We had followed all this news on the BBC throughout this time, and the camp was in high spirits.
Now aerial activity was recommencing over Germany. (The bombing of Berlin, Leipzig and other cities during the winter months had been suspended so that Bomber Command could assist with the Second Front. They were now released from this activity and night bombing restarted). Airfields were opened up in France and fighter and fighter bomber squadrons, British and American, moved to them. American Mustangs were fitted with auxillary [sic] fuel tanks and were able to support the squadrons of their Flying Fortresses all the way to Berlin and further east. Now, in the height of summer, we were able to see these raids at 30-40,000 feet, as hundreds of glinting specks in the sunlight and streaks of contrails in the sky. From now on the Allied air forces controlled the sky. Both strategic and industrial German cities were bombed night and day and their roads and railways were under attack from dawn until dusk.
In August 1944 on the Eastern Front the Russians were advancing on Warsaw. The Polish patriots believing that the Russians would come to their aid started an uprising in Warsaw. The patriots were not of the same 'political faith' as Stalin, and the Russian forces were ordered to hold off. Not only did the Russians hold off, they refused to allow the RAF to refuel in Russian territory and thus prevented them from dropping supplies to the Poles. The uprising lasted into September. The German SS and the German Ukrainian army perpetrated terrible atrocities in Warsaw, murdering thousands of civilians including women and children. As they murdered them they burnt their areas of the city to the ground. Eventually the whole city was virtually destroyed.
Sometime in late October or November a long column of young Polish women and children from Warsaw reached our camp and were housed in the transit compound adjacent to the RAF compound. They were in a terrible condition. These young people, many boys of 7 or 8 and girls of 16 years of age upwards, caught up in the patriot uprising, were serving as nurses, runners etc. They had been 'taken prisoner' and brought here by cattle truck and by marching westwards. They had no food or spare clothing and were desperate for help. The transit compound was filthy, dilapidated, and with few latrines. It was almost unbelievable that the Germans could treat them as they did. Most of the nationalities in the camp spent endless time along the wire between the compounds, looking at these young women who despite their condition were cheerful and sang Polish songs, often through the night. Also of course most prisoners had not seen a female form for years, and to see so many had awakened long forgotten aspirations! A number of RAF were Polish, and there was a fair amount of communication with the women through the wire, almost to the level of romance. Although at the time we were getting short of food
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and had limited amount of clothing, food and clothing was given to them. After all this excitement, one morning at roll call the adjacent compound was empty, the Polish women had gone to – I know not where. It was not until January 1945 that the Russians occupied Warsaw in their advance towards Germany.
After reaching the borders of Holland, the Allies decided a rapid crossing of the river Rhine into Northern Germany would shorten the war by several months. It was planned to drop airborne troops to capture the Arnhem bridge across the Rhine in Holland, and hold it for a few days until armoured divisions from the south broke through. The 700 troops of the British 1st Airborne Division dropped in Arnhem, were not joined by those dropped at Oosterbeek, and were thus isolated at the northern end of the bridge. The armoured divisions from the south were not able to reach the bridge in time and the 1st. Airborne fought to a standstill at Arnhem, having run out of ammunition. They had many casualties and all those still alive were taken prisoner, together with those from Oosterbeek who were unable to get back across the Rhine. The 1st. Airborne were regarded as heroes by the British and Germans alike. After several weeks walking and travelling in cattle trucks, many arrived at Stalag 1VB in an exhausted condition, but nevertheless they marched into the camp almost as if they were on parade. After a short stay for registration etc., most were moved out, to working parties, elsewhere.
The failure at Arnhem was a blow to our optimism about the rapid end of the war and we settled back in our minds to the fact we would see Christmas through in 'Kreigyland'.
December arrived and although Bomber Command had resumed its bombing deep into Germany, taking advantage of the long winter nights, not much had happened on the Western Front since Arnhem. Then to everyone's surprise General von Rundstedt's forces launched a massive strike into the American lines in the Ardennes on 16 December 1944. The 106th American Infantry Division came directly from America and had not been exposed to any action before. The Ardennes was a heavily forested area now under snow and 106th was probably thinking more about Christmas than a possible blitzkrieg. The Germans took thousands of prisoners initially, made deep inroads into Belgium, and the Port of Antwerp was under threat. It took some time for the Americans to halt the advance, and they were not helped by the bad weather, as initially air strikes could not be carried out against the German armour. Eventually the battle, known as 'The Battle of the Bulge', was won at great cost to the Germans, who had run out of fuel. There were many prisoners on both sides. As a result, Stalag 1VB was inundated with new American POWs. They arrived on Christmas Eve, the most dispirited group you would ever wish to see, suffering from dysentery and frostbite. The were starving, dirty, shivering, exhausted men. We had to sleep 2 or 3 to a bunk to accommodate the huge intake, and during the night how we dealt with men who had dysentery, with only one inside latrine, I cannot (or wish to) remember. Luckily, as for food, there was an unexpected issue of RC parcels, which to some extent 'saved the day' – it was Christmas Day after all!
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Some interesting comments were made to me at this time by some American prisoners. One said "Only three weeks ago I was in California where I could eat as much chicken as I liked for a dollar". Another complained that on being taken prisoner a German frisked him and took 60 'D Bars' (60 bars of chocolate) from him! Several said that some prisoners were mown down by a machine gun after they had surrendered. (There was a German SS atrocity, when some 86 Americans were shot, at that time.)
The Americans were with us for about two weeks. Then they were moved out to various working parties and our overcrowding returned to normal proportions! BBC news about the Western Front remained quiet, but we all brightened up when we learned about the Russians' sensational advance from the Vistula to the Oder rivers. This was the only news that made life tolerable in January 1945, after extreme cold and damp in the barracks and very little food.
News of events inside Stalag1VB
News was formulated by budding journalists and artists. A weekly newspaper designed like a normal broadsheet, with headlines, pictures and standard columns, was produced in manuscript. The pictures, portraits and cartoons were all hand drawn or painted. The pages were displayed side by side and affixed to a board made from a Red Cross crate which was moved from barrack to barrack each day. The content would cover outdoor sports events, the Empire theatre, and any topic of interest, gossip etc. When the RAF came from Dulag Luft Transit Camp with a Red Cross issue of pyjamas, this hit the headlines: RAF ARRIVE WITH PYJAMAS – a great source of amusement for the army POWs. A cartoon was published showing a RAF chap coming down by parachute, after being shot down, complete with his own Red Cross food parcel!
The French, the other major national in 1VB
The British in 1943-45 were the greatest number of POWs in the camp, but the French were the prisoners who had been there the longest (1939-45) and were the most involved during this time. They had helped to build the camp in 1939 and were well established with the Germans (I suppose that as the Germans were occupying their country it was politic to do so).
They ran the hospital, one of the cookhouses, did all the clerical work involved in prisoners' records within the German administration, and maintained the POW cemetery at Neuburxdorf, near Muhlberg. Over the years they organised many religious parades. They had a good canteen, university, and theatre which produced plays and musicals. But their greatest skill seemed to be in producing exhibitions and models. I saw two exhibitions – 'Paris' and the other on 'Mountaineering'. Their models were the last word in craftmanship.
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They lived well on the whole, getting black market food more easily than us. Their connections were well established long before we arrived. They seemed to have an 'ownership' of 1VB
British casualties in 1VB
There were about 60 British deaths. Most of these would be due to illness (a result of unhygienic living conditions and an irregular supply of Red Cross food, our mainstay for reasonable health) but there were three who were shot by guards, one suicide, and one accident.
Details of those who were shot:-
One caught stealing coal at night.
One seen trying to pick wild strawberries beyond the trip wire.
One caught at night trying to return over the compound wire to his solitary confinement cell.
The suicide hanged himself in the washhouse.
The accident was caused by a pilot from the nearby night fighter training airfield at Lonnewitz. He 'shot up' the camp at low level and hit two prisoners who were taking exercise walking round the compound football pitch. One was killed and the other seriously injured. The pilot was subsequently court marshalled.
All of these man had military funerals and were buried in a separate part of the Neuburxdorf cemetery. After the war they were re-interred in the 1939-45 Berlin War Cemetery.
My time ends in Stalag1VB
At the end of January 1945 the Germans, having received confirmation of my commission from the Air Ministry, arranged for my transfer to Oflag V11B in Bavaria. I knew from the letters I had received from home that I had been commissioned as long ago as 1 December 1944 and was now a Flying Officer, having been promoted automatically after six months. I was surprised that the Germans would bother to arrange this transfer, as the war could not last much longer. I had believed the move would be to Stalag Luft 3 in Poland, but I hadn't known the Russian advance had already forced the Germans to evacuate the whole of Luft 3 and march westwards.
I was sorry that I would have to leave behind Johnny Bushell (my mucker!), as we had been good friends throughout my period at 1VB, but I knew he would join another group after I had left. We agreed that we would have a grand party for 'us survivors' after the war.
The inmates of Stalag1VB had a hard time after I had left, with few Red Cross parcels, German rations cut and little heating. The theatre had closed down,
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and no doubt the outside activities curtailed during the winter period. I believe it was because of these conditions that John contracted tuberculosis after the war. In the last few weeks at the camp there had been much aerial activity at low level from American Mustangs, who were shooting up everything, including POW wood collecting parties in the woods nearby. So much so that the Germans agreed to have 'POW' painted on some of the roofs of the barracks.
On 23 April 1945 Russian Cossacks on horses, brandishing pistols and cutlasses, galloped down the main road in the camp, their tanks ripping through the barbed wire. Liberation day had arrived! The German guards, their families and some Polish POWs (who were no friends of the Russians) had evacuated the camp in buses the day before. I believe the Russians caught up with them with the ultimate consequences of being overrun by an advancing army.
The Russians occupied the German barracks and administration area, from which the noise of drunken parties could be heard for days. I understand that everything was chaotic in the camp – water and power stopped, latrines remained un-emptied, and there was no food distribution. Everybody had to forage for food etc. from the farms around, where many of the terrified German civilians were either dead (killed or committed suicide) or still hiding in their cellars.
Eventually the Russians organised a column to evacuate the camp to Reisa, by crossing the river Elbe at Strehla, alongside a general trek of German refugees and liberated workers (now displaced persons), heading west.
In Reisa, the Russians tried to register all the British ex POWs. They refused, with a display of arms, to allow some American troops with trucks to evacuate the British across the river Mulde (which the advancing American Army had reached). The British were now, in effect, 'prisoners of the Russians' whilst the Russians tried to trade them for Russian POWs released by the Americans. As a result of the general chaos that developed, from the time the camp was liberated until now, many British (including Johnny Bushell and friends) had 'made a run for it,' stealing bicycles and carts etc., in a move to get across a collapsed railway bridge over the river Mulde. The Americans were waiting on the other side with trucks to take them to Leipzig. For many British who remained with the Russians, repatriation took several weeks.
Departure for OflagV11B, Eichstatt, Bavaria
On 2 February 1945, exactly one year since I had arrived, I said goodbye to 1VB with its 'not so pearly gates' and sinister blackish watchtower.
In a party of five RAF and RAAF chaps and three guards, we set out for OflagV11B, Eichstatt, Bavaria. It was a harrowing time to be travelling on the German railways. The Russians, in their rapid advance eastwards, had brough about many German refugees travelling to the west, and the railways
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were heavily congested with them. To make matters worse the Allied air forces were bombing and strafing the roads and railways around the clock.
I had thought travelling like a civilian, and not in the usual 'cattle trucks', would make it a reasonable journey, especially having spent a year incarcerated in 1VB, but I was wrong. The first train we caught from the nearby junction was very late and literally crawled all the way to Chemnitz, where we waited seven hours for our next connection. We were waiting for a train to Nurnberg on a platform crowded with refugees, all with bundles of clothing and packs. Also there were many hospital cases of wounded soldiers about, looking generally very will and in poor health, pale and thin specimens, all of them. Chemnitz was regarded as a hospital centre and had not been bombed. Up until now the junction was still intact, the station was still selling refreshments (just a watery beer), but had no bookstalls or buffet. The refugees had already waited hours for a train and now there was another delay of 70 minutes. They took it without a murmur and just moved back from the platform edge yet another time. I suppose they had given up! On the other hand, on the opposite track, military trains loaded with panzer troops were passing through, no doubt destined for the Eastern Front. I wondered where they would be in a few days time! . . .
We left Chemnitz, just 10 days or so before the town was heavily bombed, alongside Dresden, for the first time. I and my four companions had certainly witnessed the current use of Chemnitz as a busy rail junction for German armour.
I learned later, that at the Yalta Conference on 4 February 1945, the Allies (Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin) had agreed to assist the Russian advance by bombing important rail heads, through which the German armour would pass to the Eastern Front. These rail heads were Leipzig, Chemnitz and Dresden. Unfortunately Dresden suffered a high loss of life as a result of the heavy bombing, and the firestorm that developed due to the many medieval buildings in the town.
After leaving Chemnitz, we continued southward at a very slow pace, and eventually reached Plauen. We arrived at midnight and our next train left at 5am. This station had taken a packet of bombing and we had five hours of very draughty waiting. The civilians (refugees) were in the same position as ourselves, and they had no shelter or anything to warm them. It seems that a youth movement, girls and boys about ten years old and resident in the town, had been recruited to help these people in their plight, with their baggage or in any other way, throughout this time. It was clear that a sense of emergency was developing, as the Russians neared the German homeland, and they were employing every measure to help their war effort. But what drudgery, and to what avail!
Hof was our next port of call. We got there about 9.30am and as there was another long wait, our guards managed to get a hut with a stove in it, on which we were able to brew some coffee with our bread. This made all the difference and we felt alive again. It was about 5pm that day before we moved
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on. The train was packed and more and more people were on the move, all having waited many hours for connections. It was clear that the railways were in complete disarray. The continuous bombing had made its mark and we were lucky we had not experienced any so far. We had a quick change of trains at 7pm, but what a carriage we had! The train had been strafed, it had no windows at all, and we froze all the way to Nurnberg, which we did not reach until twelve midnight. Here the maelstrom of refugees continued and the station was almost in darkness. We were led virtually by the nose to an air-raid shelter. It was an excellent shelter with air conditioning, and plenty of warmth. Whether there was an air-raid or not I do not know but it was a joy to thaw out. It was another six hours before we moved on again.
From this point I have not recorded the details of the rest of my journey, but OflagV11B was about 50 miles further south, and only a few miles north of the Danube.
OflagV11B, Eichstatt, Bavaria
We arrived at OflagV11B on the forth [sic] or fifth of February 1945. The camp was situated in a small valley running east-west. About a mile away to the south was a road running parallel to the camp. Beyond the road were hills forested with pines and other trees. On the north side was another road, running alongside the camp. Rising from this road was a craggy area, with pine trees scattered along its ridge. It was a very pretty location. What a contrast to Stalag 1VB, with its look of 'Siberia' on my arrival there, a year before.
The camp housed about 1500 officer POWs, all army, from the British Commonwealth (plus now five RAF and RAAF), not like Stalag V1B which had over 20,000 POWs from many nations. The camp was divided into two sections called Upper and Lower camps, separated by a football pitch and an ice hockey ground laid out by the prisoners themselves. The Upper camp was a pre-war built set of barracks with good sanitation and stoves in each room. The Lower camp comprised of five wooden huts with separate room areas and brick stoves, but the sanitation was not as good as the Upper section. Nevertheless the whole camp was like a four-star hotel compared with 1VB. Tom Nelson (also a RAF navigator) and I were in the Lower camp, but when ever possible we used the normal private flush toilets of the Upper camp. I can remember that I used to make special journeys to the toilets in the Upper camp to enjoy the delights of being in a situation which was just like home!
We were in a hut with a portion divided off as a room. We had two sets of double bunks, a tall cupboard on its side which served as a sideboard, with the top as a work surface and storage underneath. There were two easy chairs and a table made from Red Cross crates and we used the services of a communal stove for cooking. The stove was a kreigie modification set into the chimney of the main stove, made up of RC tins and a German pickle tin as a firebox. It enabled us to brew up tea etc., heat up food and keep it warm. The fuel was mostly pine cones (from the wood collecting parties) kept alight by a forced draught, generated by waving a table tennis bat into the opening of the 'firebox'. I have often wondered whether it could have been patented!
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Tom and I were allocated a room with two Australians (Jack Bedells and Nigel Teague) as a mess of four. Jack seemed to be in charge of the German and Red Cross food rations. He also organised a weekly menu and cooked the meals most of the time. In army parlance he was President of the Mess Committee or PMC – gone were the Stalag days of 'muckers'. I cannot recall making any meals but I did a lot of washing up. Although Jack did most of the meals, he was a bit of a hoarder. When from time to time Jack was out on wood collecting parties, Nigel (Paddy) would take over and have a bit of a bash. On one occasion he used up all our chocolate from RC parcels, which he melted down with some margarine, mixed it with a tin of biscuits and solid oatmeal (all crushed up), some Bengers Food and egg powder. When it had set it became a delicious fudge. A bit expensive but at this time it was Easter and the news on the war front was good, so we had a celebration. Another time Jack had tried his hand at making cakes but had used salt instead of sugar. As cakes they were a disaster, but used with a tin of stewed steak, became acceptable Yorkshire puddings!
Jack, and Paddy (a man of few words), obviously had elected to look after us and they were very friendly chaps, but we found that they were quiet and to some extent introspective. In fact most of the people here with like it, and I can only draw the conclusion that they had 'run out of steam'. All of them had been prisoners for four or five years, experienced the same number of Christmases 'go by' and were still behind the wire. Now that the war was almost over they were just waiting for it to 'really happen'. There were still some activities in the camp at this time and I can recall going to their theatre to listen to a recital of Gilbert and Sullivan music. Looking at some of their old programmes and magazines it had been a lively place at one time. They were in the privileged position of having all their 'literature' printed. I suppose that as they received some of their UK pay in lagermarks, they could pay for this work to be done outside the camp. (I cannot recall whether I was receiving any pay at this time, anyway it was too late to bother.)
A few incidents of note I can remember -
On the road to the south, nearly every day you could see in the distance, a troop of Germans marching up and down as if in training, and singing as they marched. We called them 'the singing Goons'. (Germans were often nicknamed Jerries, Krauts, or Goons). I believe they were the Volkssturm, the German 'Homeguard', the Hitler youth and old men recruited to defend the homeland, now it was being invaded on all war fronts. In January 1945 Hitler ordered that, to strengthen their resolve, the Volkssturm would be regrouped with regular army units. In the Russian battle for Berlin in April many of them were killed alongside the more seasoned troops.
Another event, in this late hour of the war, occurred when we had our palliasses removed as punishment for some misdemeaner the Allies had allegedly done to Germans. We had to sleep on bare boards for about a month, not kind to your hips, which at this time, didn't have much flesh on them.
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Then – On 12 April 1945 the Germans informed us that President Roosevelt had died, which was not really a surprise as he had been ill for a long time. (It was a pity that he did not live to see victory, which was less than a month away.) We all assembled as for roll call and had two minutes silence as a mark of respect.
On 9 March 1945 I received a blank book issued by the International Red Cross, named 'A Wartime Log'. It contained pages that could be used as a diary (a bit late in the day) or just to record anything; centre pages for sketching etc. and a rear section with cellophane envelopes to store small items. I spent some time catching up, by writing as much as I could remember of the last year's events, and drew pictures of my present camp and other pictures of interest. I affixed photographs I had received from home. Unfortunately I was unable to complete it, but it has supplied a substantial part of my 'POW DAYS' for which I am extremely grateful, as otherwise it would never have been written.
From February through to April we did not have many Red Cross parcels. One week we were lucky when a truck was diverted through to us, so it had been a sort of 'rags to riches' from one week to another. On 9 March we were told that the German rations were being cut by 20% and potatoes by 33. 1/3%. German rations were poor, but were even more necessary in the, then, current situation of declining Red Cross food supply. We were hoping more than ever, that the war would be over soon.
There was rapid progress in the success of the war for the Allies, from February onwards. The Allies fought through the Siegfried Line in Germany, to the Rhine and took Cologne on 6 March. Then the only surviving bridge over the Rhine at Remegan was captured. From 23 to 26 March, the American armies in the Ruhr area crossed the Rhine, and the British and Canadian airborne and ground troops in the North crossed the Rhine near Wesel, in the greatest operation since D Day. More than 60 bridgeheads were established. As a result massive advances were made. The British and Canadian forces crossed Northern Germany in seven days and reached the Baltic. The American armies had encircled the Ruhr and moved east to Central and Southern Germany.
The import of these advances was that we were soon to learn, as our Commandant informed us on 13 April, that the camp was to be evacuated next day to StalagV11A, Moosburg, some 60 miles or so south across the river Danube. We would march there, with a truck to take any of us who were unable to walk the whole distance. Considering the rate of the American advance under General Patton, it beggars belief that it would be worth the effort to move us at all. (I understand that it had been a standing order from Hitler that no prisoner should fall into 'enemy' hands – but they were now losing the war!)
The 13 April was a hectic day for everybody, packing as much food as possible – luckily there had been an RC parcel delivery that week – and
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essential clothing etc. into kitbags and homemade rucksacks. Some had procured old prams and others had attached some sort of wheels to Canadian Red Cross crates. A number of us had got hold of poles, so that two kitbags could be suspended between the shoulders of two people.
It was a 'motley army' that assembled on the road just outside the camp the following day. At about 9.30 am some 1500 kreigies, in a very long column interspersed with German guards, were ready to move off. Then low over the horizon from the east there swept in a flight of fighter aircraft. The army chap next to me said, "What are they?" and I replied, "They look like ME109s". How wrong can you be! In seconds the 'planes had shot up and straddled with light bombs, a German truck on the road to the south of us. They were a flight of American Mustang fighter bombers! Now it was our turn, the Mustangs wheeled around, and flying in again from the east, started to strafe our column. Pandemonium broke out as the column scattered off the road. Luckily I was in the middle of the column and managed to move off the road in time, before the cannon shells started to spurt along it. The front of the column wasn't so lucky. Then either the aircraft wheeled around again, or another flight appeared in the same run. By this time I was trying to run up the hill to a craggy outcrop for shelter. The Mustangs were barely at 50 feet and firing their cannon. My legs just folded up under me in fright and I didn't make it to the shelter of the rock. I have never felt so vulnerable before or since. The Mustangs on this run were, I believe, firing at a machine gun post on the top of the ridge. They were apparently out of ammunition then, as after this they were gone.
The results of this strafing were tragic: there were some 50 casualties, including seven killed and another three who died within 12 hours. The leader of the camp dance band and a first class pianist, lost an arm, and another chap had to have a leg amputated. Even more tragic when one considers that these chaps had been prisoners for four or five years and were within two weeks of being liberated. We all oved back into the camp and the letters 'POW' were marked out on the football field. It was decided by the Commandant, who had two guards killed and several wounded, that the evacuation would recommence the next evening. We would march by night and lie up under cover during the day. Nobody disagreed with that.
Some days after we left the camp the American army arrived and repatriated the wounded. The event was serious enough for a Question to be asked in the House of Commons as to why a motley column of POWs, in khaki just outside the wire of their camp with its watchtowers and searchlights, could be mistaken for a disciplined column of the German army. The reply was that the American air force thought they were a troop of Hungarians, whose uniforms were also coloured khaki! This was an example of the suffering from 'Friendly Fire' that took place in WW2.
From OflagV11B to StalagV11A
[page break]
35
The march took about six or seven days and unfortunately I did not record details of it. There were no serious incidents during the march and, taking place during the night, not much could be seen. It was more of a trudge along, than a march. As they were not main roads it was quiet, no German troops or armour moving north and no hoards of refugees moving south. There were no towns and only a few villages that we passed through. I don't recall crossing the Danube, but this would have been a natural defence for the Germans, as the Americans advanced south. I understand that pockets of SS troops were active in the forests around Eichstatt, but we did not see or hear any as we moved south.
In my Wartime Log, I did make a sketch of an open barn and farmyard which typified the sort place we stayed in, after each night's march. These farms would have been spread around a village and we were allowed to wander anywhere on parole status. This meant that we would not try to escape. Not that there was any point in escaping at this stage of the war, with the risk of being caught up in a local SS fire fight and the war almost over. Some of the chaps did wander around the farms and houses, trading with locals their cigarettes, for bread and eggs etc. On one occasion I went into a local church and I found a memorial card for a German soldier who was killed in 1941, 'gefallan fur Deuchland', which I kept as a reminder that, in a war, every nation's youth was sacrificed for some so-called national cause.
One event I do remember clearly, in the fading daylight as we moved off one evening. It was two old men just completing a new ornamental wooden fence around their front garden. Each pale had a cloverleaf hole, carefully cut in it at the top with a bow saw. They were so immersed in their work, they didn't notice us as we passed by. Even though much of Germany was in turmoil, the war could have been a thousand miles away, or never even happened, as far as they were concerned. They were just getting on with the remainder of their lives!
On 22 April we reached StalagV11A and it was nearly the end of the war.
StalagV11A, Moosburg, Bavaria
Stalag V11A was started in September 1939 for 10,000 POWs and grew to enormous size over the war years. After the collapse of France, the evacuation at Dunkirk, and the invasion of Russia in 1940, prisoners from 72 nations had passed through the camp. Towards the end of the war there were about 80,000 POWs, 2000 guards and administrative staff, with another 80,000 prisoners with 8000 guards on outside working parties. No doubt these numbers were swollen by the intake of prisoners from other camps likely to be overrun like ourselves. In the final stages the Commandant requisitioned tents for 30,000 prisoners, but we were housed in huts when we arrived.
The huts were like those in Stalag1VB, but probably more dilapidated if that were possible and the whole place was flea ridden. This would have been a shock for our colleagues from OflagV11B having had tolerable living quarters for some years. However we only had a week to suffer until our liberation.
[page break]
36
On the morning of 29 April we were assembled for roll call. However there were no guards to count us and no guards in the watchtowers. Then we heard the rumble of trucks and tanks getting steadily nearer the camp and pass by, a short distance away, but we could not see them. There were a few light explosions and some small arms fire as the column approached the town. This stopped, and in the distance we could see the American flag, the Stars and Stripes, go up over the Town Hall – our war was over! What a 'Holywood ending' for us to experience.
Shortly afterwards an American jeep from General Patton's 3rd. Army entered the camp with a soldier standing, holding aloft the Commandant's revolver which had just been surrendered to him. You couldn't see the rest of the jeep for people trying to climb on to it. The camp was now in a state of euphoria.
I have learned since that Colonel Burger, the German officer responsible for the defence of Moosburg, wanted to hand over the camp to the advancing Americans and for the Americans to by-pass the town. By this means Colonel Burger would ensure the safety of the camp and the town. However Colonel Burger had received orders to deport all the 15000 POW officers in the camp, and to send as many of his own men as he could afford to defend Moosburg. The local command of Moosburg was then taken over on 28 April by an officer of the SS, who was tricked into believing that Burger was going to carry out the deportation orders. When the SS officer left, Burger informed the more senior POW officers, in the presence of the Commandant, of his decision to hand over the camp en bloc to the approaching Americans. On the night of 28 April, under a flag of truce, a delegation including a Swiss delegate, two POW colonels and the SS officer, contacted the Americans to persuade them to go round Moosburg. The Americans held on to the SS officer (as Burger knew they would), declined to go round Moosburg, but accepted the plan to take over the camp from noon 29 April. The plan was carried out with only token resistance in Moosburg (as I actually witnessed) and there were no casualties in the American take-over of the camp.
(I have often thought since, that the reason the German SS wished to hold on to as many officer prisoners as possible, was to use them as hostages to trade for their own lives when the end came!)
Now we had been liberated, all we wanted was to catch a 'plane and fly home. But this was a prodigious task and some organisation obviously necessary before this could happen. The first thing I can remember, was that a number of American ladies assisting the Red Cross appeared, all highly made up as if they were going to a party. They were distributing doughnuts and white bread, which after eating the German bread for 15 months tasted like cake. It was a nice gesture, but I think we would have appreciated more, a field kitchen with some thick soup and American army rations!
The Americans were concerned that in such a large camp with so many nationalities, discipline would weaken, and the inmates would breakout and ravage the town. So we, the British officers, were required to patrol on the
[page break]
37
outside of the wire, in pairs, in the hope that we could maintain order. We had no weapons and luckily no breakouts materialised. I was very relieved when they withdrew this operation, as we could not have prevented any trouble, and instead we could have landed up as being post war casualties.
Plans to fly us out were fairly rapid and I was scheduled to fly to Brussels on 3 May, but this was cancelled. On 6 May I wrote an American air letter home, a rather sad letter, as now I was disappointed about the delay, and conditions in the camp were terrible. Glad to say this letter didn't arrive home until I had been home several weeks!
Eventually a number of us were moved on 8 May to a grass airfield (adjacent to Moosburg town), where some 40 American Dakota transport aircraft were due to arrive to fly us to Brussels. None arrived and we spent all day in glorious sunshine on the airfield, which meant we would all arrive home sunburnt as if we had been on holiday!
The 8 May was VE Day, the day all Germany surrendered to the Allied forces. Since we were released on 29 April, in the space of nine days, German forces had surrendered in Italy. Hitler had committed suicide, the Russians had conquered Berlin, the Americans and Russians had met, officially, on the river Elbe at Torgau (which was near Stalag 1VB), and the Germans in, Holland, Denmark and North Germany had capitulated to the British Army.
At the end of the day on Moosburg airfield, American soldiers took us over to some houses on the edge of the airfield (which they had requisitioned at short notice), so we could 'bed down' for the night. I felt sorry for the owners of the properties, as they had been moved out at short notice and had to leave everything as it was. I for my part just slept on the floor, and at any rate there were too many of us to use the beds. The next morning, early, we had to return to the airfield, but I'm sorry to say not before some of our party had rifled the drawers and cupboards for souvenirs. I felt disgusted by this despoilment of someone's home, by apparently otherwise disciplined men who were now shortly to be reunited with their own families and homes.
On our way home
We had to wait a short time on the airfield for the Dakotas to arrive, so I had my last meal (breakfast) of Red Cross food which I had saved for such an occasion. It was from an American parcel, a box of cornflakes and milk powder, which I managed to mix with water and eat in a comparatively civilised manner.
Not long afterwards I was in the air on my way to Brussels and what a feeling of elation I had! I don't recall much of the flight, but I remember noticing some of the German autobahns with their bridges destroyed. When we arrived in Brussels, the town was in its second VE Day celebrations (9 May), but all I wanted was to clean up and get a change of clothing. We were taken to a Reception Centre where we registered and had a shower. A bit like arriving at Stalag1VB, except we were all issued with new uniforms (and not our existing
[page break]
38
ones deloused with gas!). After that we had a meal, with a band playing light music. One of the pieces played was appropriately 'J'attendrai', and then we were allowed to go into the town. As we were returning to England the next day and recent events were quite exhausting for me, I decided to sleep in a proper bed for the first time for 15 months, and save my celebrations for home.
The next day we left in small parties, only room for a few passengers in each RAF Lancaster, and flew to RAF Odiham in Surrey. We arrived to a heroes' welcome, with Squadron Leaders and Wing Commanders shaking our hands and offering to carry our kit to a hangar. This had been transformed into a large café set out with tables and chairs, with the Station WAAFs kept busy serving us tea and cakes, whilst an RAF band played light music to complete the welcome.
After our refreshment we were each given a ten shilling note (equal to about £40 in year 2004) for our journey to RAF Cosford, Shropshire. A party of us climbed into the back of an RAF open truck, which was to take us along the A30 to Paddington station in London. After some distance in open country we spied a large pub on the right hand side of the road. We thumped on the side of the driver's cab for him to stop, and directed him to the pub for a drink, the first since we were shot down. But when we got to the entrance, there was this devastating notice 'NO BEER'. Of course we had arrived home after two days of victory celebrations and the locals had drunk the place dry! Not to be outdone we charged into the pub and after explaining to the publican our plight, he pulled up some pints of ullage. It was floating with hops, but we didn't car, it was fine.
We followed this bout of 'drinking' with the invasion of a roadside café opposite the pub. We burst in waving our ten shilling notes, asking for cups of tea. When they realised who we were, just back from Germany, we had a bit of a party! Naturally we didn't break into our ten shilling notes, and it was great to be with the British people, back in our homeland again.
On arrival in London we stopped at the Endsleigh Hotel in Paddington for a meal. I took this opportunity to telephone my father from a public call box, using a free phone number. His first words to me were "Are you alright?" My father had a colleague at work, whose son was an army officer in OflagV11B (my camp). He had been wounded in the shoot up by the American Mustangs, left behind in the camp, liberated and repatriated by the Americans to a British hospital a few days later. And of course this event of 'friendly fire' had been followed by a row about it in the House of Commons. I assured my father that I was ok and I should be home in a few days.
We caught a train from Paddington to Cosford shortly after our meal at the hotel. At Cosford we were debriefed by Intelligence Officers for possible atrocities we may have experienced or witnessed in Germany. Of course some weeks before, the Allied forces had over-run the German extermination camps for Jews (the Holocaust). These had been filmed and shown in cinemas across Britain. The whole population had been reviled at what they
[page break]
39
saw. We had not suffered such revolting treatment. Germany had followed the Geneva Convention to what I would describe as a minimum extent. In Stalag1VB, there was excessive overcrowding and lice-ridden living conditions, with no proper sewerage or waste water systems. The food was not sufficient and of low quality. Without the International Red Cross supplying food and monitoring camps, life in prison camps would have been much worse and many more would have died of illness and malnutrition.
Following our debriefing we all had chest X-rays and full aircrew medicals. I was not able to blow up and hold – I think for one minute – a column of mercury, a critical test for aircrew. We were re-issued with battle dress and basic clothing etc. (I did not have an officer's kit, my commission having been promulgated whilst I was a POW, and would have to get it from a military tailor whilst on leave.) After this we were issued with railway warrants and leave passes and free to go home! Not wanting to wait for transport to the railway station a number of us hailed a passing lorry. It was an empty coal lorry. No matter, we couldn't wait, so we climbed aboard, kit bags and all.
I arrived back at Paddington in the late evening, too late to get a train home. Paddington was not far from Park Lane, and living in a deluxe flat in Fountain House in Park Lane was Mr. Heron (the Boys Brigade captain of a company I belonged to before the war). He, his wife and daughter, were good friends of mine and between them had sent me 26 letters whilst I was in Stalag1VB. He was the Chief Engineer of the Dorchester Hotel in Park Lane and was living here because his house in Goodmayes (less than half a mile from where I lived) was completely destroyed by a bomb in 1940. Mr and Mrs Heron were surprised indeed when I knocked on their door that evening. We talked almost the night through. They were the first personal friends I had spoken to for a long time.
The following morning I was on the last leg home. We had no phone at home, and no neighbour who had a phone – not many people had the luxury of a phone in those days – so I could not tell my mother I would be home soon.
I caught a train to Ilford station and from there a taxi home. It was near lunch time, my sisters and father were at work. My mother must have had a premonition it was me knocking on the door, as she was crying buckets of tears of joy and was still holding the cabbage she was preparing, when she opened the door.
October 2008
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
My Prisoner of War Days
Description
An account of the resource
Reg's account starting when he was shot down on an operation to Berlin. After Berlin he was transferred to Frankfurt for interrogation then by train to his camp. Camp life involved food, the preparation and acquisition of extra food by theft, trading or Red Cross parcels. The theatre was very popular as was sport. Trading was a large part of camp life, using cigarettes as currency. Plans to escape and tunneling were active at all times. Mail was very important, as were parcels from home. Once the Germans found out Reg was now an officer he was transferred to an officer's camp in Bavaria where conditions were better. Finally he relates the arrival of the Americans at the camp and his repatriation to his home.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Reg Wilson
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2008-10
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany--Berlin
Great Britain
England--London
Russia (Federation)--Leningradskai︠a︡ oblastʹ
Germany--Magdeburg
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Oberursel
Europe--Elbe River
Germany--Leipzig
France--Dunkerque
England--London
England--Romford
England--Brighton
France--Normandy
France--Caen
France--Cherbourg
France--Falaise
France--Paris
Poland--Warsaw
Netherlands--Arnhem
France--Ardennes
Poland--Vistula River
Europe--Oder River
Germany--Riesa
Germany--Mulde River Region
Germany--Eichstätt
Germany--Chemnitz
Germany--Nuremberg
Germany--Dresden
Germany--Plauen
Danube River
Germany--Cologne
Germany--Remagen
Germany--Rhineland
France--Dunkerque
Belgium--Brussels
Germany--Torgau
Poland
France
Germany
Belgium
Netherlands
Russia (Federation)
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
England--Essex
England--Sussex
Germany--Hof (Hof)
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Format
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39 printed sheets
Identifier
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MWilsonRC1389401-170113-100001
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Sue Smith
102 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
B-17
bale out
bomb aimer
bombing
C-47
Churchill, Winston (1874-1965)
crash
Dulag Luft
entertainment
escaping
evading
H2S
Hitler, Adolf (1889-1945)
Ju 88
Lancaster
Me 109
navigator
Operation Exodus (1945)
P-51
prisoner of war
RAF Cosford
RAF Odiham
Red Cross
Roosevelt, Franklin Delano (1882-1945)
sport
Stalag Luft 3
strafing
the long march
Typhoon
V-1
V-2
V-weapon
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1177/30923/LValentineLD185002v2.2.pdf
4370f23ab84e97488217947be39bf5ab
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
Valentine, Leslie
Leslie Dudley Valentine
L D Valentine
Description
An account of the resource
Six items. An oral history interview with Leslie Dudley Valentine about his father Flying Officer Leslie Valentine (458646, 185002 Royal Air Force) and his service in the RAF. Collection also contains Leslie Valentine's pilots flying log books and photographs.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Leslie Valentine and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-03-09
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
Valentine, LD
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
Leslie Valentines pilots flying log book. Two
Description
An account of the resource
Pilots flying log book two for Leslie Valentine, covering the period from October 1943 to 27 November 1945. Detailing his flying training, operations flown and duties with 2nd Tactical Air Force communications flight. He was stationed at RAF Finmere, RAF Bicester, RAF Hartford Bridge and RAF Brussels. Aircraft flown were, Boston, Blenheim, Oxford, Anson, Proctor, Auster, Dominie and Me 108. He flew a total of 60 operations with 88 squadron, 53 daylight and 7 night operations. Targets were, Mantes Gassicourt, Hirson, Cambrai, Douai, Lille, Dinard, Evreux, Boulogne, Le Havre, St Seuvaur, Foret de Grimbosq, Le Bas de Breville, Mezidon, Hamburges, Caen, Laval, Le Mans, St Malo, Glos, Liverot, Angers, Beny Bocage, Conde, La Fleche, Orbec, Rouen, La Feuille, Falaise, River Orne, Cap Gris Nez, Escalles, Breskens, Arnhem, Nijmegen, AmersFoort, Roermond, Oldenzaal, Viersen, Randerath, Geldern, Dunkirk, Grevenbroich, Emmerich, Rheinberg, Xanten, Udem and Holdorf.
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
One booklet
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Log book and record book
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LValentineLD185002v2
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending review
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Belgium
France
Germany
Great Britain
Netherlands
Atlantic Ocean--English Channel
Belgium--Brussels
England--Hampshire
England--Oxfordshire
England--Buckinghamshire
France--Angers
France--Bény-Bocage (Canton)
France--Boulogne-sur-Mer
France--Caen
France--Cambrai
France--Dinard
France--Douai
France--Dunkerque
France--Evreux
France--Falaise
France--Hirson
France--Issoudun
France--Laval (Mayenne)
France--La Flèche
France--Le Havre
France--Le Mans
France--Lille
France--Lisieux
France--Mantes-la-Jolie
France--Mézidon-Canon
France--Normandy
France--Orbec
France--Orne River (Orne and Calvados)
France--Pas-de-Calais
France--Rouen
France--Saint-Malo
France--Saint-Sauveur-le-Vicomte
Germany--Emmerich
Germany--Geldern
Germany--Grevenbroich
Germany--Kleve (North Rhine-Westphalia)
Germany--Rheinberg
Germany--Vechta Region
Germany--Viersen
Germany--Xanten
Netherlands--Amersfoort
Netherlands--Arnhem
Netherlands--Breskens
Netherlands--Nijmegen
Netherlands--Oldenzaal
Netherlands--Roermond
France--Mantes-la-Jolie
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
France--Cap Gris Nez
Germany--Heinsberg (Heinsberg)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1943
1944
1945
1944-04-28
1944-04-29
1944-05-01
1944-05-22
1944-05-23
1944-05-24
1944-05-27
1944-05-28
1944-06-06
1944-06-10
1944-06-11
1944-06-12
1944-06-13
1944-06-15
1944-06-17
1944-06-20
1944-06-22
1944-07-07
1944-07-08
1944-07-09
1944-07-10
1944-07-17
1944-07-20
1944-07-29
1944-07-30
1944-08-01
1944-08-02
1944-08-03
1944-08-04
1944-08-05
1944-08-06
1944-08-07
1944-08-08
1944-08-09
1944-08-11
1944-08-12
1944-08-13
1944-08-14
1944-09-21
1944-09-23
1944-09-26
1944-10-02
1944-10-03
1944-10-06
1944-10-28
1944-11-06
1944-11-11
1944-11-19
1944-11-21
1944-12-03
1944-12-11
1945-01-27
1945-01-29
1945-02-02
1945-02-04
1945-02-09
1945-02-10
1945-02-14
1945-02-16
1945-02-22
1945-02-24
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Great Britain. Royal Air Force
13 OTU
88 Squadron
Advanced Flying Unit
aircrew
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
Blenheim
bombing
Boston
Dominie
Flying Training School
Initial Training Wing
Normandy campaign (6 June – 21 August 1944)
Operational Training Unit
Oxford
pilot
Proctor
RAF Bicester
RAF Hartford Bridge
Second Tactical Air Force
strafing
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/27/217/PFilliputtiA16010036.2.jpg
66d1cb89b747d38fa878b9bac227a115
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
Filiputti, Angiolino
Angiolino Filiputti
Alfonsino Filiputti
A Filiputti
Description
An account of the resource
127 items. The collection consists of a selection of works created by Alfonsino ‘Angiolino’ Filiputti (1924-1999). A promising painter from childhood, Angiolino was initially fascinated by marine subjects but his parents’ financial hardships forced an end to his formal education after completing primary school. Thereafter, he took up painting as an absorbing pastime. Angiolino depicted some of the most dramatic and controversial aspects of the Second World War as seen from the perspective of San Giorgio di Nogaro, a small town in the Friuli region of Italy. Bombings, events reported by newspapers, broadcast by the radio or spread by eyewitnesses, became the subject of colourful paintings, in which news details were embellished by his own rich imaginings. Each work was accompanied by long pasted-on captions, so as to create fascinating works in which text and image were inseparable. After the war, however, interest in his work declined and Angiolino grew increasingly disenchanted as he lamented the lack of recognition accorded his art, of which he was proud.
The work of Angiolino Filiputti was rediscovered thanks to the efforts of Pierluigi Visintin (San Giorgio di Nogaro 1946 – Udine 2008), a figurehead of the Friulan cultural movement, author, journalist, screenwriter and translator of Greek and Latin classical works into the Friulan language. 183 temperas were eventually displayed in 2005 under the title "La guerra di Angiolino" (“Angiolino’s war”.) The exhibition toured many cities and towns, jointly curated by the late Pierluigi Visintin, the art critic Giancarlo Pauletto and Flavio Fabbroni, member of the Istituto Friulano per la Storia del Movimento di Liberazione (Institute for the history of the resistance movement in the Friuli region).
The IBCC Digital Archive would like to express its gratitude to Anna and Stefano Filiputti, the sons of Angiolino Filipputi, for granting permission to reproduce his works. The BCC Digital Archive is also grateful to Alessandra Bertolissi, wife of Pierluigi Visintin, Alessandra Kerservan, head of the publishing house Kappa Vu and Pietro Del Frate, mayor of San Giorgio di Nogaro.
Originals are on display at
Biblioteca comunale di San Giorgio di Nogaro
Piazza Plebiscito, 2
33058 San Giorgio di Nogaro (UD)
ITALY
++39 0431 620281
info.biblioteca@comune.sangiorgiodinogaro.ud.it
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Identifier
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Filiputti, A-S
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IBCC Digital Archive
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Laconia incident. Part 9
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World War (1939-1945)
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On a clear day, a four engined United States Army Air Force aircraft attacks the submarine U-156. Bullets are raining down on the figures on the deck of the submarine. Some of the figures are diving into the water, others are running for cover and some have been shot and are falling down.
Label reads “72”, signed by the author; caption reads “(9) …Mentre il sommergibile navigava a fior di acqua, avvistò un aereo Americano in missione, passarono alcuni minuti, poi un boato seguito da un’ altro scosse il sommergibile, lo fece sussultare, gemere, inclinare, le bombe di profondita avevano colpito i periscopi e danneggiato gli accumulatori. Ci fecero salire in coperta e trasbordare su l’U506 perche l’U156 dovova rapidamente allontanarsi per le avarie riportate. L’aereo che ci aveva bombardato, era un quadrimotore Americano, trasbordammo ancora sull’Annamite, poi a Dakar fu la salvezza. (dal racconto di BB.) FINE
Caption translates as: “(9)… As the submarine navigated just above water, the crew spotted an American aircraft on patrol. A few minutes went by and they heard a rumble, soon followed by another one which shook the submarine. It trembled, groaned, and listed. The depth charges hit the periscopes and damaged the batteries. They made us climb on the deck and were transshipped onto the U506, because the U156 had to swiftly sail away because of damage. The aircraft that bombed us was an American four-engine plane. We transshipped again on the ‘Annamite’. We reached safety in Dakar (From the account of BB.) The End.”
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Angiolino Filiputti
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IBCC Digital Archive
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Alessandro Pesaro
Francesca Campani
Helen Durham
Giulia Banti
Maureen Clarke
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One tempera on paper, pasted on mount board
Language
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ita
Identifier
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PFilliputtiA16010036
Spatial Coverage
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Atlantic Ocean
Temporal Coverage
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1942-09
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
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Artwork
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Filiputti, Angiolino. Laconia incident
arts and crafts
strafing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/890/31595/BHumesELHumesELv1.1.pdf
f68cd73a388d83878846349fc41dd95f
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Title
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Humes, Eddie
Edward L Humes
E L Humes
Description
An account of the resource
Three items. An oral history interview with Warrant Officer Eddie Humes (b. 1922, 642170 Royal Air Force), RAF personnel document and a memoir. After serving in Balloon Command, he flew operations as a navigator with 514 Squadron
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Eddie Humes and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-08-26
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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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Humes, EL
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Transcription
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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Roger Marsh of the ‘Action Desk — Sheffield’ Team on behalf of Edward L. Humes, and has been added to the site with the authors permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.
Introduction:
"Just Another Story" was written, at the suggestion of Yvonne Agnes Kennedy, who felt that my experiences, whilst serving with the R.A.F. would make interesting reading to those who knew me. My thanks go to Clive Hill, the nephew of my flight engineer, who spent many hours researching the loss of Lancaster II LL639 and who kindly gave permission to use the photographs and sketch maps included in my story.
E.L. Humes.
Chapter 1: Early Days
Early in May 1939 I was struggling to decide whether to embark on a career in the R.A.F. or to set out on training for the teaching profession. My parents were not happy with the first and many and sometimes heated were the discussions we had over the subject. Finally they agreed to my wishes and I visited a recruiting office to discuss the matter with officials of the Force.
It appeared that I was not sufficiently qualified for duties as a member of Air Crew, but was advised to enlist and try again when I was a member of the Service. In hindsight I am not sure that this was good advice, nevertheless, I enrolled as a flight mechanic. This might just satisfy my desire to be working with aircraft.
After completing my recruit training I was ready to begin my course, but I was to be disappointed. The declaration of War was imminent and all sorts of changes were being made in the R.A.F., along with many others. I was posted not to an airfield for training in my chosen trade, but to an airfield without any planes.
Protest as I may, I was informed that, "You are in the Air Force now," a phrase I was to hear many times over the next seven years. Nothing for it but to get on with it and become an efficient balloon operator. The training was not too hard, either physically or mentally, and I enjoyed the course but the worst was yet to come.
War was declared. The good life came to an end and I found myself posted to the Essex County Cricket Ground to join a small group to operate a barrage balloon.
What a disappointment! Ten of us housed in a Tennis Pavilion with only minimum facilities, how was I to know that this was going to stand me in very good stead in the years ahead?
Occasionally, I got a break for I was selected to represent my squadron at football, and it was after a match that I met an officer who again whetted my appetite for aircrew. There was a way. I must apply to re-muster. There was no hesitation on my part and I was granted an interview to attain my suitability for the new venture. It was now obvious to those in command that I was far from happy with my present role. To my horror I was moved to serve on a drifter in the estuary of the River Thames. Six airmen and six ex fishermen living in the most deplorable conditions I had yet encountered. We were anchored in position and at the mercy of the changing tides. Besides this
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we were often attacked by marauding fighters of the Luftwaffe, that often got to us before we could raise the balloon to its operational height. Wanting the chance to retaliate, I dared to ask when I might receive my posting to air crew training. Surprise, surprise, I was sent to Cardington to take a course on DRIVING. One good thing was that it was Heaven after the rigours of the previous months. The course was so very interesting that for a while I forgot aircrew training. Another plus was that I was now with people of my own age group, more or less. All good things come to an end. At the end of the course I was posted to a small hut in the East End of London- Blitz and all. This was to be my home until I got my wish.
Stories of the Blitz are legion, so I will not bore you with mine. SUCCESS AT LAST!
Great news! Report to St. John's Wood, London to commence Air Crew Training.
I could not get there quickly enough. Soon I was having tests for suitability in many fields. The majority of my colleagues were of my own age group once again, and although I was classed a raw recruit, I did not mind one little bit. "Square Bashing" was no problem to me as I had done it all before. Discipline was not hard for me as I had already had almost two years of life in the R.A.F. medical checks, attitude tests and many other tests were carried out and finally, I was on my way to St. Andrew's in Scotland for Initial Training.
Life was so exciting! Studying the mysteries of basic navigation, Morse Code, meteorology and lots of other subjects in the hallowed cloisters of St. Andrew's and in my leisure time, becoming familiar with my fellow trainees made the time pass very, very quickly. Even the weather was glorious!
The time came to show how well I had studied. Exam followed exam. Would it never end? At last came the news I had waited for. I was over the first hurdle. Where to now? Across the River Tay was a small airfield which had been taken over by the R.A.F. This was my next destination. The accommodation was superb, but what was more exciting was that there were aircraft. Real aeroplanes. Only Tiger Moths, but for the coming weeks, I would be having lessons on how to fly. The weather was not always kind at Scone, but I was eventually allowed to fly solo. Such a Wonderful experience, but sadly, I now had to move on to the next part of my course. I had a couple of weeks leave, which enabled me to tell my parents and others just how much I was enjoying myself.
Heaton Park, Manchester was to be my next place of rest. Rumour had it that the stay here would be for a couple of weeks, and then there would be an overseas posting to further training. This was not to be. The Air Ministry had decreed that as there was a glut of people wishing to train as Pilots, there must be some change to provide crew for the other positions in Bomber aircraft.
Lowly airmen that we were, there was no way that we could work out how the selection was made. A group of pilots who had already flown against the Luftwaffe, were reclassified as navigators and bomb aimers under training. Needless to say, this was not at all satisfactory, and the last we saw of them was their leaving camp for the Belgian Embassy!!!
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What of our small group? Nineteen were to train as navigators, and one as a pilot. Within two weeks the u/t pilot was on his way somewhere overseas. The rest of us spent our days doing very little other than attending morning parade and enjoying the rest of the day, doing whatever we thought best. After twelve weeks, this routine became extremely boring.
Manchester was no longer an attraction as the weather was wet and cold, not to mention the fact that our Nissen hut was very damp and very cold, and we should really be abroad to continue our training.
As the senior airman, I was delegated to meet the station adjutant to ascertain when we would be posted. He was as surprised as I was. Officially we were not on the station! "Go home for two weeks (or more) and you will be advised of your next posting." During the third week I was told to report at Bridgenorth in Shropshire to begin the next phase of navigational training.
On arrival, I found that once again I was on a unit without aircraft. Never mind, my colleagues from Heaton Park were also there. I was not going overseas.
Discipline and hard study were now the order of the day. Advanced studies in the art of navigation and all subjects connected therewith. Little time to spare. Even Christmas was a mere day from studies. Examination time again. Results were published and I heaved a sigh of relief, when I found that I was considered suitable to continue with the course. As the next stage was to put all that I had learned into practice, then there must be aircraft at the next stopping place.
Flying at Last
Advanced Navigation School, Dumfries. This was to be the nearest I was to get to a posting overseas. Yes, there were aircraft on the station. Several Anson and one Botha aircraft were used as flying classrooms. The time had come to put into practice all that I had been taught. Basic ground training continued but now we had to use our knowledge to follow a route and return to Base, quite often with a pilot whose knowledge of English was sketchy, and who was apt to turn off course to see some beauty spot he had heard of in his schooldays in Poland or France, or some other European country. Two trainee navigators were allocated to each trip, one to plot the outward journey and the other to plot the course for Base. Although mistakes were made, it gave each a great sense of achievement to complete the trip without having recourse to the pilot, asking for a positional check to obtain a new starting point.
Aerial Photography was very difficult for me. I was small and to me the camera was HUGE. To hold it pointing out of a window was almost a physical impossibility, especially when the pilot banked to look at the ground below. I often thought of what might happen to me back in Dumfries if I should ever loose the camera out of the window at three or four thousand feet. Despite the hazards I got results which satisfied the instructor, and was ready to commence night flying. What is more, I had struck up a good understanding with my fellow pupil, which I hoped would stand us both in good stead during the coming weeks of night work.
This was not to be. By now I should have known the ways of the R.A.F. better. A new intake of "trainees" arrived on the station. They had completed their course abroad and were sporting the coveted Brevets. The partly trained rookies were paired off with newly qualified navigators for night
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flying. The new boys had never flown over a completely darkened country side and many were the arguments in and out of the aircraft. It was no joke to take over navigation from a person who had got himself hopelessly lost. By this time, we "home trained" navigators were proving pretty hot stuff at the task! Or so we thought. Training seemed to take an eternity and I was relieved when final exams took place. How would I do this time?
I passed but was not present at the presentation of our Brevets - I had been injured in an inter flight football match and was to spend the next three weeks in the station Sick Bay. Still I was now a navigator and proud to wear the insignia and the three stripes which I received.
642170 Sgt. Humes E.L. (Navigator)
Celebrations went on for many hours, both at Dumfries and in Carlisle, which was not too far away. Home again to enjoy what I thought was a well-earned leave. Stay there until you receive your next posting. I hoped that the Heaton Park episode would not be repeated.
It wasn't. After three weeks I was to report to O.T.U. Chipping Warden where I would join a group of newly qualified pilots, bomb aimers, wireless ops. and gunners to form an aircrew.
One Step Nearer to Operational Flying
Chipping Warden, was an R.A.F. operational flying training unit. The aircraft used were Wellingtons and the training staff were almost 100% ex-operational aircrew. The atmosphere was so exhilarating!
For a week or so, we had lectures etc., and we mingled with the trainees in other flying categories. There were pilots, navigators, bomb-aimers, wireless- operators and air-Gunners from almost every country in the British Empire. The time arrived when I was approached by an Australian Pilot and asked if I would like to join him in forming an aircrew. I had noticed Noel at a discussion group a few days earlier, and had been impressed by his attitude, of course I would join him.
Our next task was to find a Bomb-Aimer suitable to us both. Jack Moulsdale (RAAF) had started his flying training in Australia at the same time as Noel, but had not qualified as a pilot. Undaunted, he continued his training and became a bomb - aimer. It seemed to me that it would be a wise decision to have someone else who had experience of flying an aircraft in our crew. Now to find a W./Op.- how the title drops from the tongue - now I was aircrew. It was left to yours truly to make the choice; even up the score; find a Brit. All agreed that the well built Scot would fit the bill. Jock Hughes became the fourth member of our crew. In order to complete our Wellington crew, we needed an Air-Gunner. The four of us looked around carefully and decided that the tall, quiet Australian was the best bet. He agreed to join us.
Now we were a crew. From now onwards we had to work hard to become a unit, not just airmen wearing brevets, but a group who must learn to trust and depend on one another. Various ground exercises were carried out until we each knew what was expected, should we ever become involved in any problem, major or minor.
Flying training began in earnest. Cross country flights in which I had to prove myself as an able navigator. Practice bombing and infra-red photography, where Jack had to show his prowess at hitting the target. Jock had to impress us with his ability to send and receive radio messages and
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to obtain navigational data, which would assist in locating the position of the aircraft. During these flights, Reg would operate his rear turret and become used to life in a small rear-turret. There were, of course, times when we "flew for real". Fighter simulation and long night flights of four hours or more to prepare for the tasks ahead.
On one occasion we were instructed to join eight other aircraft in a six hour night cross country exercise, which would involve every aspect of what we would be likely to meet on an operational flight, without the "flak". Things became complicated when a blanket of cloud covered the whole of the British Isles. Radio silence was essential and navigation was carried out using the courses worked out at the morning briefing. I cannot say that I enjoyed the first couple of hours! Suddenly I had the opportunity to practice the astro navigation I had enjoyed so much. One shot only. Could I rely on it? I had no option. A slight alteration of course was needed. We continued on our way, all praying that my fix had been correct. Infra-red photographs were taken by Jack on pre- flight time schedule. Eventually we crossed our fingers, by my reckoning we were within a few miles of Base. Imagine our relief when we received a message giving a course to fly to complete the trip. We were only a few minutes away.
On landing, we discovered that six of the eight aircraft which had left with us, had landed in various parts of the country, one had crash landed in Ireland. As far as my crew were concerned they had found a useful navigator.
Chapter 2: 1678 Conversion Unit
Two weeks leave and then report to Little Snoring. What a peculiar name. What a wonderful surprise. Sitting on the aerodrome were four engined aircraft, not the usual Lancaster but a type with Radial engines. This was to be our operational aircraft. All we had to do now was to show that we were capable of flying as a crew.
First we needed extra hands. Clive Banfield became the flight engineer and Clem Hem was our mid- upper gunner. Clive was English and Clem Australian. Four Australians and three Englishmen. The youngest was twenty one, and the eldest, thirty six (this was not quite the case as I discovered many, many years later, that Clive had falsified his age in order to leave a reserved occupation to fly.)
Very quickly we gelled into a crew again. "Thack" was the first to experience the thrill of flying in the Lanc II. He sang its praises and we were not disappointed when we had our first flight. Once again we had to carry out the drills of cross- country flying, Fighter affiliation, night- flying and the like but there was an additional item- Low flying! Here was a new slant on navigation. Map reading was not easy at the speed we flew in the new aircraft. Gradually everything slotted into place. We soon understood why Clive had been added to the team as the multiplicity of controls was more than one pair of hands could cope with. This quiet, confident man was just what we needed.
Our training schedule was moving along nicely, but halted when early mist and fog made flying impossible. The Nissen huts in which we were billeted were cold and damp, and so miserable to spend the days in. I was reminded of the old days in Balloon Command. The ground courses had
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been completed and we longed to be told of our posting to an operational unit, but we now had to train in using a new navigational device- Gee H. This was a new method of using radar to reach the target and to release the bomb load when visual signals coincided on a screen on the nav. table. This was not a very thrilling exercise for the other crewmembers, and we were all very pleased when I became proficient and the monotonous training flights were completed.
Now came the news we had waited so long to hear. We were to join 115 Squadron for Operational duty! Whilst we were on leave we received orders to return to Foulsham, not to join 115 but to become the nucleus of a newly formed Squadron-514. Our base was to be at Waterbeach in Cambridgeshire. We were allocated an aircraft and transferred all our personal equipment in it to our new home. Some crews had to carry out a raid on Germany on their way to Waterbeach.
Luckily no aircraft were lost.
I cannot describe my feelings on stepping out into the atmosphere of the new unit. Noise and bustle everywhere. The station had been completed shortly before war was declared. Our quarters were to be in red brick barracks and there was hardly a Nissen Hut in sight. Hot and cold water - such luxury!
Again "Thack" was to be the first to fly an operational mission. He was second pilot to a more experienced man before being allowed to captain his own crew on bombing missions. All flying was now in earnest. More Gee-H. Dinghy drills, escape drills, low level flying and all the exercises we had carried out so many times before. It was somewhat nerve racking, waiting to hear the word that we were to be on Ops at last.
The order of battle showed that we were to fly "for real" on 25th November 1943. 'Power and Majesty'
Posing for company photographs provides the rare opportunity for an Armstrong Whitworth test pilot to put on 60° of bank and show what a Lanc. II can do, Delivered to No. 408 (Goose) Squadron RCAF at Linton - on - Ouse, this machine (DS 778) was, like so many, destined for an early demise, failing to return from Kassel on 22/23 October 1943, barely two months from the day this picture was taken.
Photo: Hawker Siddeley / AWA. Ref: 'The Lancaster at War 2, Garbett & Goulding. Pub- Ian Allan Life on Squadron.
Little changed; now we were an aircrew and believed that we were equal to any flying task allotted to us. Air tests had to be carried out and also the various drills which would keep us up to operational standard. Each morning, we looked at Flying Orders hoping that we would be listed for "ops." registering varying emotions. The more often we carried out a raid over enemy territory, the quicker we could complete our tour. None of us had any thought that we would not complete our thirty operations.
There was a lot of banter and, more often than not, it would include arguments between the many members of the Commonwealth who made up the squadron. Who provided the best crews? Why was it so cold and wet in England? Football matches, cross country runs and other sporting events, which pitted Aussie against Pommie, Scot against Welshman, and West Indian against
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New Zealander. Of course not all free time was spent on camp for the city of Cambridge was not very far away and transport was frequent. The city was a place of recreation for other Forces, both air and ground. Many were the disputes between members of the American aircrews as to who did the best job and these arguments did not always end peacefully. Fortunately I was a "pacifist," so kept well out of the way when the discussions became heated.
I was so pleased to be selected for the Squadron Football X1. Each Saturday and quite often on weekdays we played matches against local teams, Cambridge University included. I cannot remember having to withdraw because of operational duties.
Numerous stories written about life in Bomber Command tell of boisterous nights in the Officers’ or Sergeants’ Mess but I have no recollection of such events in the Mess at 514.
Ground crews and operational personnel built up a great rapport. Each aircraft was meticulously cared for and on many occasions, ground crews waited for the return of "their" aircraft. Should an aircraft fail to return, there was great distress but soon those responsible for maintenance would transfer their allegiance to the replacement aircrew.
Christmas Day was an occasion when senior ranks showed their appreciation for the work done by ground staff by serving the midday meal. The Australian members had saved a good portion of their parcels from home to pass on as thanks to our own ground crew. Fruitcake, chocolate bars, tinned fruit and all manner of goods which were hard, almost impossible to obtain in England, were eagerly accepted.
Life returned to normal the following day. Christmas 1943 was very cold indeed and all personnel not engaged in other duties were ordered to assist in removing snow from the runways. Surely ops. would not take place that night. After all the hard work, the "Stand Down " was given. Normal flying was resumed on 26th December.
Throughout December 1943, January, February and March 1944, the crew continued operational flying. March 30th was the most terrifying night when the city of Nuremberg was the target.
Something was drastically wrong as aircraft were shot out of the sky. Over 100 being the victims of anti- aircraft fire and the relentless attacks by enemy fighters. More allied planes were lost on the way back to bases in England.
Thackray's crew survived.
Triumphs and Disaster
Our first operational flight as a crew was to be to Biarritz. In company with ten aircraft from other squadrons in 3 Group, we were to drop mines in the harbour there.
Whilst Thack and the rest of the crew carried out flight tests, I worked on the route we were to follow, and how I worked. Nothing could be left to chance! The day passed so very quickly and soon we were sitting down to the pre-op meal. Now we were operational. Parachutes and Mae Wests, fitted we boarded the aircraft. We taxied to the runway and at last received the green. In a few minutes we were airborne. Soon we had reached the English coast and were heading south over France.
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There was no sign of the other planes which were supposed to accompany us, but we flew on and on. As yet no enemy aircraft was sighted nor were we troubled by flak. Surely things couldn't be this easy. Biarritz! On time and on target. Where were the others? We circled for a few minutes and as there was still no sign of other planes, we decided to release our mines and turn on course for home. The return flight was no more exciting than the outward journey until we crossed the English coast, where we were immediately picked up by searchlights and directed to the West where we finally landed at Exeter, many miles from Waterbeach! Two things arose from the resultant enquiry. First, we should have received an "operation cancelled" signal before crossing the coast on the outward leg, and secondly we had been mistaken by the Observer Corps for a Wellington on a training flight that had got lost and broadcast a " May Day" signal. The searchlights had carried out the rescue procedure with us instead of them. We finished our first op. accompanied by an armed guard and of course had a tongue lashing from our various section heads. Apologies were forthcoming when the truth of the story finally came out.
Berlin was to be our next port of call. My nerves jangled for the whole of the day and I checked and re- checked every part of my pre flight plan. I settled as soon as we were airborne. This is the job I had been trained for during so many long months. What is more, I was responsible for the lives of six others, or so I told myself. Very few words were spoken during the flight. We were all on a knife-edge. Bomb aimer to Skipper, " Target directly ahead." Relief; little of note had occurred on the outward leg and obviously my route planning had been O.K. I did not wish to look at the burning city, I was quite happy to listen to the observations of the crew. We turned on the course for home and Thack let out a horrendous cry! An aircraft was turning immediately ahead. Surely we were not going to end the trip by crashing into a friendly aircraft. In seconds the danger was over but I needed to work out a slight adjustment to our course. From my position I could see nothing but listened to the comments of the others. I was scared, the aircraft shook and rolled but this was simply because we were flying in the stream of other planes. Searchlights groped around the night sky and I could see these. In next to no time Jack was able to report the sighting of the enemy coast and a short time afterwards, the marvellous news that we had crossed the English coast. Soon we were over Waterbeach, home, safe and sound. December 2nd 1943 was a date I shall never forget.
Debriefing over, we returned to barracks and turned in. Sleep would not come as I lay thinking of the events of the day. I was not alone for the other crewmembers were also reliving the events of the night of our very first operation over Germany.
Chapter 3: ABANDON AIRCRAFT!!!
The day was 11th April, the year 1944. Our target was to be a fairly easy trip to Aachen, perhaps our shortest flight over Germany. The usual preparations were made and in the early evening we set course for the target hoping to return well before midnight. All went well and we dropped the bomb load over the city and set course for home.
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Disaster struck! The port outer engine caught fire. It seemed that we had been hit by flak, as none of the air gunners had sighted enemy aircraft. Noel ordered us to prepare to abandon which meant that all secret equipment and navigational and wireless codes had to be destroyed. Gunners had to leave their turrets and all had to head for the escape hatches, except of course for Thack. For a few moments we flew on. Clive was doing his utmost to extinguish the blaze and believed that we would be able to continue. The blazing engine fell away. The end was near, as the pilot could no longer keep control.
ABANDON AIRCRAFT!! Jack answered at once. Reg reported that his turret would not operate. Jock said that he would try to help Reg, and Clem responded that he too would move to help with the rear turret. Clive was not at all pleased that we were to abandon. As for myself, I headed for the front escape hatch passing both Clive and Thack, who was still at the controls. As I reached the top of the steps, I was astounded to find the escape hatch open, but Jack's parachute pack was still in the container. There was no sign of him!
I had no time for further thought, for at that moment the nose of the plane dropped and I found myself trapped by my legs. To this day I do not know what was preventing me from leaving the stricken aircraft. What was I to do? Without any further thought, I pulled the ripcord. I felt a sharp pain in my legs but to my great relief, my ‘chute pulled me clear of the aircraft. I drifted towards the earth, but could see nothing nor could I hear a sound. I prayed to almighty God for his help and cried out for my mother. All this had happened in seconds.
I assumed that I was drifting downwards but could not be sure where I was going to land. Crash! I had landed in undergrowth but where? I did not have the slightest idea. Minutes passed, I could feel that my uniform was in tatters and that I was bleeding profusely. Strangely I felt no pain. I heard movement and immediately began crying for help, but was warned to be quiet. Obviously it was not German soldiers in the immediate vicinity. Helping hands picked me up and untied my Mae West; I had responded to training and had by instinct got rid of my parachute silk on hitting the ground. When I awoke I was lying on something very soft, but could not see what it was. My right leg gave me a lot of pain and I ran my hands over it. It seemed to be a peculiar shape.
Gradually my hearing improved and I could hear voices in what seemed to be prayer. As yet, I could not see where the sound was coming from, but realised that I was being addressed in English. A doctor had been called and he was advising me that there was nothing he could do to treat my wounds, but that he would make me comfortable until the Germans arrived. A couple of pieces of wood from the garden fence were used to make splints for the leg that had sustained a very bad fracture. My face and hands were washed clean of blood that had come from multiple scratches. After making me comfortable and allowing me to sleep for the remainder of the night the Germans were called. As soon as they arrived the atmosphere changed. What had been a quite room now became a very noisy area indeed. I was to be taken away by them, but it appeared that the family would not permit the enemy to move me from the sofa on which I was
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resting. Finally I was carried, still on the sofa, to the waiting lorry. I discovered some 50 years later that the family name was Conen and I had the pleasure of meeting the only surviving member.
A GUEST OF THE GERMAN NAVY
Somewhere around teatime, my guards deposited me at a hospital staffed by German navy personnel. I was well scrubbed and put into a nice clean bed. A meal of Black bread, cheese from a tube and the foulest tasting coffee was given to me. All the time I was eating, sailors wandered by to take a look at the English captive.
My next real visit was from a medical officer who explained that there would be a need to operate on my leg in the next few hours. He was quite friendly and was in no way what I had expected.
Maybe this was part of the softening-up process I had been warned to expect in those briefing sessions in training. Some time later I was taken to the operating theatre and knew no more until I woke up in a private room with a large picture window on the left and a pair of doors to the right of my bed. There I lay, with my leg in traction but with no sign of a plaster cast. A large iron framework kept the sheets from weighing on my legs. Looking further to my right I saw a German sailor standing guard inside the doors and beyond him, another sailor, both with fixed bayonets! I was told afterwards that these guards were there to keep Belgian people out, for there was no way I could possibly escape.
What lay ahead of me? Meals were delivered on time and once I had become used to the black bread and acorn coffee, the rest of my diet was quite pleasant. Strangely enough, I felt very little pain and I was able to see quite well. After a few days my Rosary was returned to me and it transpired that one of my guards was a Catholic. Now we had a talking point, but he was not particularly interested in teaching me German, but wished to improve his English so that he would be able to converse with English citizens when Germany defeated England! Sign language was used more often than words in the first instance, but we got along very well indeed.
At first, time passed pretty quickly. When night fell I would listen for the sound of allied aircraft passing overhead and try to work out where they might be going, by working out the time that elapsed between the inward and outward journey. Sometimes an airman would be brought in to occupy the second bed in the room, and I would become updated with the progress of the war. Sadly, there was seldom a time when any of these new aircrew members stayed longer than one day. As the weather outside improved I began to yearn for a move to somewhere among English speaking prisoners. I was aware that there were no prisoners from the allied forces in the hospital in which I was being treated.
Early in June, fighter activity began to increase quite dramatically and the air raid sirens were often sounded. Each time this happened my guards disappeared and I soon found out that part of their duties was to man part of the air defences. I cannot remember the date, but one evening, I noticed that the night sky was rapidly illuminated with brightly coloured flares. This could only mean one thing - the area was to be the target for that night ! ! !
I was right. Sirens wailed and anti-aircraft guns blasted away at the allied aircraft. Soon, bombs began to fall and I heard explosion after explosion. Surely I was not going to be a victim of action
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by the R.A.F? Soon I had my answer for my bedroom shook and glass windows broke. The noise was horrendous and because of my situation, I could take no action whatever to hide away or to reach shelter. Just as I pulled the bed sheets over my head, I felt an almighty crash and wondered what the outcome of this was going to be. Gradually the noise subsided and soon I was able to risk turning down the sheets. The window and doorframes were lying across the cage that protected my legs, and I saw searchlight beams and ack- ack bursts. THE CEILING HAD COLLAPSED! ! ! ! I was alive but terrified. What would happen to me now? One of my guards visited to check on my condition, but it was some hours before I was made aware of the extent of the damage caused by the raid. My room was reasonably sound when compared to the rest of the hospital.
A Change of Surroundings.
As the morning passed, I could hear the sound of rescue crews moving about the hospital grounds. Now and then there would be an almighty crash as a building toppled. Fires burned brightly and soot fell, making my once white bed linen look very dirty indeed. I thought for a time about the times when I had been bombed back in England and how enemy fighters had attempted to destroy the barrage-balloon sites on which I served, but I am afraid it gave me little comfort.
There I had been among friends, but now I was among enemies. How would they re-act to the night's events? I was soon to find out.
From the background of soot and smoke, there appeared the figure of one of the surgeons who had cared for me over the previous weeks. His apron was bloodstained, and in his hand he held a scalpel, likewise covered in blood! What was he going to do to me? He soon put my mind at rest and after referring to the air-raid being carried out by my friends, he told me that although I should be in traction for a further four weeks, there was nothing that could be done but to remove the pin and other items, and transfer me as quickly as possible to another hospital.
No sooner said than done! I just had to grit my teeth, hold tight and the job was done. A lorry was drawn up to the ruin and a stretcher was brought from somewhere, and I was loaded aboard for my journey, no guards this time. Off we went, sometimes dodging the potholes, but more often than not there would be an almighty jolt as we hit what I presumed was a crater. Suddenly the stretcher left the floor of the vehicle and I was deposited on to the boards. I felt more pain than I had felt since leaving the aircraft, but try as I may, I could not get the attention of the driver.
Another gritting of teeth until we reached our destination, which turned out to be a "Rest Home" for German officers.
I got little sympathy and was informed that there was not the facility to deal with my new injury, which was a re-fractured femur; the fall had undone the work that had been done. Soon, I was on my way again to another hospital, somewhere in Brussels. I was hungry, dirty and in quite some pain, but at last I reached my new home. The hospital sister was not at all pleased at the state I was in. She was unaware of what I had been through and commented that surely no soldier would set out on a mission in the dirty state that I was in. "Stand up and follow me to the bathroom," she said. Only when I had convinced her that my leg was broken did she realise the predicament I was
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in. Immediately her attitude changed. She became an angel and remained so for the rest of my stay.
Now spotlessly clean, I was placed in a bed in a barrack room along with twenty or so captured allied aircrew, and learned that I was in an annexe to a German military hospital in the centre of Brussels. They were not too happy to hear that I had been captured several weeks earlier, and thus could not give news of the allied advance through France. To be honest, I was pleased to know that our forces were on their way. My next information was that I would have twenty-four hours to talk about my predicament and then the subject would be taboo. My "Angel" returned to prepare me for an operation on my right femur.
She explained the whole process and commented on how lucky I was going to be to have a leading surgeon carrying out a recent technique, to put my bone together again (I have since learned that the procedure was known as The Kuetschner Nail Method). Off we went to the theatre, and the surgeon began his task. He was far from happy when I yelled with pain! I had felt his scalpel cut into my upper leg!! Initially he did not believe me, but quickly realised that the spinal anaesthetic had not done its work. At once he took steps to remedy the matter and my next memory was that of waking up in bed, again in traction, and being cared for by a young lady in white. Was I in heaven? No, I was back in the P.O.W. ward.
The following morning, the operating surgeon came to check on my well-being and to apologise for the slip up of the previous day. He told me that the operation had gone well and that I would be in traction for approximately twelve weeks. Where had I heard that before? Now I was able to learn about my fellow prisoners and to catch up on the progress of hostilities.
My colleagues were from all parts of the Commonwealth, U.S.A and France, and there was even a prisoner with Russian nationality. Their injuries were of many kinds. Severe burns, broken limbs and some had limbs that had been amputated. I was only a small player.
Chapter 4: ON THE MOVE AGAIN
Many and varied were the tales my fellow patients had to tell. One especially, bears repeating. After the aircraft had been hit, the radio-operator had moved to leave his position when the aircraft broke up and he was left hanging from a piece of wreckage, but he was still wearing his helmet with the inter-com plug connected. His parachute opened and pulled him from the aircraft but not before he had removed the plug. Suddenly the unit gave way and the cord from the headset caught in the lines of the `chute. He landed unable to move. He arrived at the hospital fully conscious and able to speak but it was quite a few weeks before he was able to use any of his limbs. Part of his recovery programme was to attempt using a concertina. The last time I saw him, he was still struggling.
Each new arrival brought news of the progress of Allied forces; often their stories were very much different from the propaganda given out by the German radio, and the tales told by the staff of the hospital. The weeks passed quickly, and as August approached, the sound of heavy gunfire increased. The news from Belgian workpeople was that the allies were now close to Brussels.
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Each day we waited for good news but it seemed to us that movement had come to a halt. Perhaps the forward push had ceased or the powers that be had decided to by-pass the capital. On the 6th September, we had a visit from the senior officer of the hospital staff. He was ready to leave us in the hospital if the senior British officer would sign a document stating that we had been treated well during our captivity. We were overjoyed and were 100% ready to agree! The day passed agonisingly slowly and the night was full of the noise of artillery fire. There was nowhere for us to find shelter so we hid our concern by singing the tunes of the time.
As dawn broke, the sound of gunfire decreased and the sky was red with flame. Surely we would be recaptured in an hour or two! The doors of the annexe burst open and a number of German troops appeared. To our horror they wore the uniform of the S.S. Thoughts of being recaptured were dashed as the officer in command refused to accept the document signed the previous day. The walking wounded were ushered away and the bedridden lifted into wheelchairs. I was released from my traction, given a set of crutches and told to make my way to the bus, which was waiting. I soon had the knack of using crutches for the S.S. were in no mood to hang about. When it was clear that there were no other Allied prisoners left in the hospital, the bus moved off and we turned into the main square where we saw the Palais de Justice burning fiercely. There seemed to be thousands of troops moving about and heading out of the city. Slowly, yard-by-yard, we passed among the crowds, and at last reached the road signposted "VENLO". We were on our way to Holland but much was to happen before we reached our goal.
The roads were packed with retreating German troops and fleeing Belgian citizens. Every available type of transport was being used to leave the capital, and there was barely enough space to pass that which had already broken down. Dead animals littered the roadside. Horses lay with their feet in the air, dead either from attack from the air or just sheer exhaustion. Broken down vehicles littered the highway, their owners frantically seeking alternative means of escape. This was organised retreat? Suddenly, above the din, we heard the sound of fighter aircraft and then recognised the planes as Typhoons, not only that but our Senior British Officer made us aware that they were from his own squadron!!!
Within seconds the pilots began their attack on the fleeing troops and it was plain that we were not to be spared. The bus stopped, but our guards would not allow us to dismount and seek shelter.
They were armed and we were not but the S.B.O. took his life in his hands and hurled himself at the nearest guard who immediately dropped his rifle and, together with his colleague, left the vehicle. We helped one another off the bus and headed for farm buildings nearby. The pigs were hastily evicted and we took their places. The sty was strongly built and we felt a good deal safer. Three of the walking wounded decided that this was an ideal opportunity to attempt an escape.
I know for certain that one, Sgt. W. Durland was successful, for his story was told in the records of 514 Squadron which was my own squadron. I have not heard the outcome of the others who made the attempt. At last the aircraft broke off their attack and we were ordered to re-board the bus which was undamaged and we noticed that there was no Red Cross insignia, Squadron
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Leader Brannigan was not too sure that a red cross would have made very much difference to the attack, as the bus was slap in the centre of the fleeing convoy. Slowly we moved on again.
The damage reeked on the fleeing army was horrendous and one could only feel pity for the wounded and dying, as each person in the convoy seemed bent on one task - to reach shelter and perhaps safety. As the day drew to a close, we felt a little safer, for we were aware that fighter aircraft would not operate in the dark and bombers would be too expensive to use against targets such as a fleeing convoy.
It was quite dark when we drew into the suburbs of Venlo, but we now came under attack from Dutch citizens who thought that we were German soldiers being carried away from the front-line. Fortunately no great damage was done and at last we were deposited at a Convent near the centre of the town. Our first thought was, "When are we going to get something to eat?" and then we became puzzled as to why we had been taken to the very top floor of the Convent.
The second question was answered by the Mother Superior who informed us that the senior German officer in the town did not want the responsibility of looking after us, perhaps if we remained hidden on the top floor advancing German troops would pass us by. You will remember we had heard a similar tale before.
For four days we remained hidden. We had reasonable food and excellent facilities. Perhaps this time we would be recaptured. It was not to be. On the morning of the fifth day, one of our number decided to investigate the troop noises in the street below. Sadly his appearance on the balcony was noticed by the civilian population below. They waved and he acknowledged their greeting, but was spotted by a soldier who was passing by. It had to be a member of the S.S.! Within minutes, we were taken into the grounds of the convent and I believe that the others felt as I did, we were going to be executed !!! To our great relief, this did not happen. A few hours later we were put aboard railway wagons to be transported into Germany.
INTO THE THIRD REICH
At the railway station, we were kept strictly apart from the civilian travellers who were boarding trains for various parts of Germany, and we were ushered towards a row of cattle trucks standing in a siding. The doors at the side of the trucks were open and we could see barbed wire, which was stretched across the width of the truck separating the interior into two sections. On the left were a number of palliasses, and to the right a cast iron wood burning stove and three bunks. We realised that this was to be our mode of transport for the next leg of our journey.
The guards occupied the section with the stove and we were to travel in the other section, but where we were heading, no-one would tell us. We came to the conclusion that our trip was not going to be a long one, for there was no food or drink aboard. The doors slammed shut; we heard the locks on our side being closed and then we were on our way. There were eight of us, and three very old men acting as guards. It was very dark and the soldiers had no wish to converse just yet but as we moved into the countryside, we learned that the men were really "Home Guards" and were terrified of authority, and for some reason, equally terrified of us. We had been classified as dangerous prisoners!
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Uncomfortable as it was we gradually fell asleep, only to be woken up by a string of German oaths and the sight of one of the guards frantically trying to beat out the flames coming from his very long ersatz overcoat. He had got too near the stove, which was now glowing in the dark. His companions came to his aid, and soon all was quiet, except for the injured guard who was now afraid of his fate when he came to the end of his journey and would have to report the incident.
There was nothing we could do to help treat his burns, for we were separated from him by the barbed wire screen. As evening approached, the following day we pulled into a siding and the doors were opened. We had not travelled far as we could hear voices calling, "Dusseldorf!
Dusseldorf”- this was our destination.
We dismounted and after a few moments, our party was separated into two groups, the RA.F. to one side and the U.S.A.A.F to the other. The American section was put aboard a bus and immediately moved from the station. We never saw them again. As for us, we boarded a truck and moved out of the city. The journey to our destination did not take very long and we eventually stopped at a camp which we soon realised was a Workers Camp.
It was divided into four compounds, which housed French, Italian, Polish and Russian citizens who were forced to work in the locality. Our quarters were to be in the French section and a few hours after our arrival, we were allocated three Russian prisoners to serve our every need. It was not too long before we realised that there was a definite pecking order at the camp.
After the Germans, the French were the pampered race. The Italians came next, followed by the Polish inmates and a very very long way behind came the Russians. Germans did not stand guard over the Russian compound, they left that to the Polish group and the Russian group provided the guard for the Polish compound ! !
At this stage we found it very difficult to comprehend the attitude of the Germans towards the Russian and the Polish people, after all, we had not been subject to the rule of the Nazi regime, and as yet, had met none of the cruelty meted out to the races they, the Germans, had conquered. Not many days were to pass before we saw examples of such cruelty, and it was with disbelieve that we saw Russian captives digging holes in the ground, into which they placed their dead comrades.
At least the Polish dead were given a decent burial service, and had fellow countrymen saying a prayer or two at the graveside and in some cases, placing a small wooden cross to mark the spot where the internment had taken place. Why were there so many deaths among these two races? The Russian captives would be given food only if they carried out a day's work and this explained why they were so eager to be our "servants". The food we gave them was perhaps sufficient to keep them alive for a few days longer, and even to build up their strength to resume the work they were ordered to carry out for their German captors, so obtaining further rations.
It was so sad to witness the actions of these poor creatures when they scrambled for a cigarette end, a crust of bread or any other morsels discarded by us. They took enormous risks to find a hole in the barbed wire, through which they’d visit our quarters and offer to carry out the most menial tasks for a very meagre reward.
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Our next concern was more to do with ourselves, we seemed to be receiving rather a lot of French Red Cross parcels and the British parcels were turning up in the French section, but were issued to French workers. Really it was the shortage of English cigarettes and chocolate that triggered the enquiry.
The British Red Cross parcel was superior in every way to the French one, and the contents much greater in both calorific value and for the purposes of bartering. At the meeting we held with the French quartermaster, we discovered that the French believed that, as they were used as workers by the Germans, they were entitled to the better products in the British parcel. It must be noted here that Senior N.C.O.s and Officers were not obliged to work for the enemy and very rarely did so.
The plight of the other inmates in the camp was not considered by the French. The atmosphere was somewhat strained for the next couple of weeks and I think both sides were happy when it became known that the R.A.F. were to be moved on, again no hint of our destination was given. The day of our departure arrived and I was asked by the Medical Officer in the camp to forego my crutches and use sticks in future. With some hesitation I acceded to his request and was able to walk out of the compound.
We were ferried to the station at Dusseldorf and saw a city devastated by bombing. The majority of the workers in the repair gangs were women, and we discovered that these were Russian. They looked wretched. Armed guards surrounded the area in which they were working. Quickly we boarded the cattle trucks, which were similar to those in which we had travelled from Venlo.
This time there were no incidents. Eventually we disembarked at a town called Menningen in the district of Thuringia. Our home was to be in a beautiful Opera House, which had been stripped of its finery to accommodate large numbers of P.O.W.s.
The residents were for the most part captives from the Arnheim operation, but there were also many aircrew held in the wire compounds. Entertainment seemed to be the order of the day. Impromptu concerts seemed to take place daily, added to which was the opportunity to view a group of circus performers who were camped outside the fence. Somehow, they seemed to have dodged the call-up.
Food was of the highest quality, or maybe we were now becoming used to taste of ersatz; ersatz that was frequently embellished with the contents of Red Cross parcels. Almost daily the number of prisoners grew and it became obvious that some would soon have to be moved on, but no one really wished to go. Despite the overcrowding, the camp was reasonably comfortable. Perhaps this was because it was classed as a re-habilitation unit. It was with some regret that we took the journey to the station, there to board compartments of an ordinary passenger train but still guarded by Home Guards.
It was night time when we neared Frankfurt, and the train was diverted into a siding as an air raid was taking place on the city. We disembarked at around ten a.m., and as we left the platform, we were attacked by German citizens who wanted revenge for the raid which had taken place the previous evening. Who could really blame them? Our guards fixed bayonets and eventually drove
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the angry people away. Not all were happy to leave, and some followed the tramcar, which was to take us to the interrogation centre just outside the town. Bricks rattled against the coachwork.
Metal bars were used to smash windows, but our guards stuck to their task and we escaped without injury.
Chapter 5: STALAG LUFT 1XC KRAYSBURG
The dreaded DULAG LUFT !!! So often the subject of talks back in Britain. Here we could expect to be questioned on the activities of the R.A.F. and secret equipment of the Allied Forces. We had been instructed to provide only our Service number, Rank and Name and under no circumstances to enter into any discussion.
At once we were placed in cells which had only a bed on which was a straw palliasse, and by the door a device to attract the attention of the guards when the "Call of Nature" came. This gadget was used frequently so keeping the guards busy, they were not happy about this ploy to keep them on the move and the language they used to describe the prisoners was pretty choice. A childish prank but effective.
Messages in Morse code were tapped out on the walls between cells and on pipe work, but the contents were not within my knowledge of the Morse code even though the use of the code had been part of the navigator's course. Food was very poor. As the first day in solitary confinement drew to a close I realised that this was the first time I had really been alone since my capture, I was on my own.
There was no window in the room that I occupied, so I tried to get to sleep and to prepare myself for the interrogation I was to face very soon now. Would it be as testing as I had been led to believe back in England? The heat in the cell was overbearing and there was practically no ventilation, so it was no great surprise that I slept very fitfully and by morning I was not a very happy P.O.W.
The introduction to the camp was so weird. Between the entrance gate and the outer fence were a number of small wooden structures that looked exactly like dog-kennels, and each one of us was told to creep into one of these leaving our kit outside. There we remained for some time until ordered out again and told to retrieve the items that had been left outside. Next we were given a number and admitted into the main compound. The number was that of the barrack room we would occupy for the time we would be at the camp.
There was a reception committee and a barrage of questions about the progress of hostilities, but alas, there was little we could add to what they already knew for the majority, had been captured much later than we had. At last there was time to look around the room. It contained four sets of bunk beds, each with a paper palliasse filled with straw, supported by a few wooden boards. A small cupboard took up the space at the side of each set of beds. Near one wall was a cast iron stove with a chimney disappearing through the ceiling. Strung between the walls, were lines of string on which hung articles of clothing that had recently been washed. A shuttered window took
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up part of the remaining wall. It did not take long for me to be introduced to my room mates and to be advised which "mess" I would join.
Next I was told of procedures and the daily routine of the camp. In no time at all I was asleep. "Raus!! Raus!!" Such a banging and clattering, it was time to rise, dress and present our selves for roll call. What a motley collection! There we stood in ranks of five, lined up on three sides of the huge open square. German soldiers counted us five by five and informed the senior N.C.O. of the total number present. On a cold, bleak day this procedure lasted for no longer than 20 minutes but when weather conditions were good all sorts of pranks were played to keep the prison staff employed for anything up to two hours.
Each block was allocated a time for taking a shower-cold- and once each week there was the luxury of a hot shower if you managed to get a place at the head of the queue. On odd occasions clothes could be bagged and passed through a steam plant but this procedure was not popular as clothes tended to shrink so the cold water wash was the most sought after. The food we were served was appalling but we were informed that it was the same as that served to equivalent ranks in the German Forces, this was very difficult to accept and it made us eternally thankful for the extra items we received in the Red Cross parcels now regularly provided.
Perhaps it would be beneficial to mention what the parcels contained.
A British parcel would have in it basic items for providing nourishment, such as tinned bacon, tinned sausages, tinned margarine, dried milk, chocolate, prunes and a supply of cigarettes and other sundry items.
An American parcel would contain similar articles but the sausages would be replaced by Spam and there would be a larger tin of dried milk, the prunes would be replaced by raisins and in addition there would be toilet soap, much loved by the Germans and so very useful for trading purposes.
A Canadian parcel would be a mixture of the two, and parcels from France and the Commonwealth would generally be in a bulk delivery and passed to the kitchen for general use. The cardboard, string and empty tins were hoarded and used for many, many purposes. It was truly amazing what could be done by tradesmen who enjoyed practising their civilian skills in the re-cycling of tins etc.
Empty "Klini" tins were just the right size to fit the chimney of the stove and gradually the stove would be extended to-wards the middle or the floor so enabling more people to benefit from the heat generated, unfortunately, just when the stove had reached the centre, the German guards would organise an S.S. visit and not only the stove would be dismantled but many items were confiscated, and food that had been carefully stored, scattered and made quite unfit to eat. In retrospect it seems a futile pastime but at the time, it was a question of trying to outwit the enemy. Day by day the camp became an organised society. Rules of behaviour were drawn up and strictly adhered to, this was very necessary for the well being of all concerned.
Educational sessions became the norm and talks and lectures provided an additional interest for those not interested in studying for examinations, the results of which would be accepted on return
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to the UK Again materials and exam papers were provided by the Red Cross.
Entertainment was a must. Regular concerts were organised and again the inmates showed great prowess in making scenery and costumes from "bits and pieces".
News of the progress of hostilities was produced from I know not where, but there was a clandestine radio in use. Bulletins were issued on a daily basis, and of course, each new batch of prisoners was questioned on initial admission to the camp.
At the beginning of December, the weather changed for the worse. Snow fell and the temperatures dropped alarmingly. The walks which had been taken daily, now became runs but physical effort burned up energy and food supplies were not good, however, a supply of ice skates arrived, and soon work started on constructing a makeshift ice rink. The Canadians among us were overjoyed as gradually the rink took shape. Promises of skating lessons were made and for a few days hunger was forgotten.
Christmas would soon be with us and of course an entertainment to beat all previous efforts was to be produced.
A few days before these marvellous dreams were to become reality, there was the sound of aircraft overhead, not British, not German, but on closer examination, these were found to be Russian planes. What was happening? The news bulletins had said nothing of this but it now became obvious by the behaviour of the German troops that something was amiss.
We were ordered to leave the outdoor areas whenever an air-raid siren sounded. Sadly, one airman lost his life when he re-acted too slowly to this order. Perhaps the reader can imagine the tension that now built up within the camp. Few were brave enough to leave the barrack blocks and arrangements had to be made to ensure that those bringing food from the cookhouse were not made targets, should a raid occur on the journey. The number housed had been increased because places had to be found for new inmates that now included Glider pilots, victims of the raid on Arnhem.
Twelve bodies now filled the space previously used by four. It was essential that discipline was maintained and thanks to previous training , it was. A few days passed and the sound of heavy artillery was heard. There was little doubt that the Russian forces were not too far away. Were they aware that we were in the area? My mind went back to the advance on Brussels and the hope we had of being released. No promises were made this time. We received orders to gather our scant belongings together and prepare for a long trek to a camp within the German border. No transport would be available and the snow was still very deep. How would we survive? Makeshift rucksacks were made as were sleds that would carry food and equipment during the coming days. Some acted in groups but the majority elected to be responsible for their own future.
Christmas Day 1944. The gates of the camp were opened and we set out on our journey. The guards took up their positions either side of the column, thankful that they were not being left to face the advancing Russian forces. No longer were we the enemy, but a means of escape into the Fatherland.
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Not many hours had passed when we realised that civilians had joined the column. Old men, women and children, all striving to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the enemy. They were terrified that they would become prisoners of those who their own propaganda had warned were little better than animals. It was not long before mothers asked us to care for their children, and overnight, we found that we had been left with several young boys and girls, hoping that they would be safe with us. Obviously this was not possible, and at the first village we reached, we made provision for them to be transported by the German authorities. I often wondered what became of those children.
The greatest barrier we faced was at the River Oder. There was a town on our route -0ppeln- but we would not be passing through this town, but would walk across the frozen river. Now we were in Germany proper. The next stop on our journey would be the huge camp at Llamsdorf. This camp had been used as a camp during World War I. Now it was home to thousands of prisoners of every nationality where Germans had occupied the country of origin.
Chapter 6: LLAMSDORF AND BEYOND.
This camp filled me with foreboding. It was huge and the inmates looked so intimidating as they took their daily exercise. Gaunt figures in clothing which had seen better days, faces deeply etched showing that they had not had quite so comfortable a time as we who had just joined them. Many had spent several years in Llamsdorf and were looking towards the final days of captivity.
We soon learnt that although the appearances were poor there was still spirit and determination within the wire. The family atmosphere of Kraysburg was absent but the organisation necessary to provide a reasonable code of conduct was definitely in place. The quarters I was allocated were cold and damp; the only heating coming from the personnel living in the cramped space. Personal hygiene was not of a very high standard and the attitude of my companions bordered on hopelessness. My thoughts turned towards getting myself moved to some other section of the camp where life would not seem so dreary. I was not prepared for events of the next few days.
As at Kraysburg, a make shift open-air ice-rink had been constructed and tiered seating had been installed. Obviously not all had the same approach as my room-mates. Crowds gathered in the freezing air to watch an ice hockey game between a Canadian side and a side made up of various nationalities. It was exciting and many looked forward to further contests as well as using the rink simply for amusement.
I was granted my move, but after only a few hours, was ordered to pack what few possessions I had and join a group of sick and lame colleagues for onward transfer. Enquiries revealed that our small group was being transferred to yet another camp where we would be medically examined to determine whether or not we were suitable for repatriation. A couple of hours train journey took us to a camp specifically for army N.C.O's. The rest of the day was spent preparing ourselves for inspection when we appeared before the panel of Swiss Red Cross Medical Officers who would decide our future. Would I be repatriated? "No!" was the short answer but I would remain at the new camp. Here was a camp where 90% of the inmates had been captive since Dunkirk. The
[page break]
organisation was superb! Units in which I had been stationed back in the U.K. were not any better than this. I am sad to say that I cannot remember the name of this camp. Every inmate seemed to want to help the newcomer. Of course this could not last. This had been the story of my life for almost a year. The Russians were coming. This time I was able to ready myself for the next move. We were advised to gather in groups of four and to ensure that there was not more than one "Disabled" person in each group. When all was ready we evacuated the camp and set off to face what was to be a pretty horrific experience.
During the daylight hours we rested in pine forests or on farms on our route south. At night we walked and walked and walked. This arrangement was made so that our winding columns would not be mistaken for marching German troops and so become targets for any roving aircraft.
Whenever possible we would stock up on food. Crops would be raided and farmyard animals killed to provide sustenance for hungry mouths. I was appointed quartermaster for our small group mainly because I was not ruthless enough to carry out the pilfering necessary to sustain the four of us, whereas the others had become skilled in the art during the long years of working on German farms and in factories. I was most fortunate and shall be eternally grateful to my colleagues.
After several weeks of "marching" we arrived at a railway siding and were ordered to board cattle trucks for the next leg of the journey. Forty men and their equipment to each truck!!!! How degrading this was cannot be imagined. Toilet facilities were none existent and as each stretch of the journey was carried out during the hours of darkness, it was such a relief when dawn came and the doors to the truck were opened. Cold though the weather was, there was no hesitation should there be a stream nearby. The first task was to wash and prepare for the next night's journey. Now there was not a supply of Red Cross parcels and we relied upon the rations provided by our captors, these were very meagre indeed. Tempers frayed but astonishingly there was no pilfering of supplies.
After almost three weeks travelling back and forth across the operating rail system we came to a halt at a major railway station. PRAGUE! Much to our surprise we received hot soup from ladies who were the equivalent of the W.V.S. and we were allowed to draw water from the boiler of the engine to make tea (those who still possessed tea leaves), but sadly, our stomachs could not cope with the intake of potato soup and brackish water, many P.O.W's were very sick indeed. Another day passed and once again we journeyed along the rail system until there was just nowhere to go by rail.
Trucks were unloaded and prisoners and their guards set off over the countryside. At about this time the older guards were taken away to bolster the army elsewhere and their places taken by schoolboys enlisted in the Hitler Youth Movement. The situation was very delicate as the majority of these young boys were fanatical in their hatred of the enemies of the Reich. Time and time again they treated their prisoners cruelly and took little notice of the older members of the guard. On at least two occasions, prisoners were killed because of their failure to respond quickly to instructions from some youngster. When a batch of Red Cross parcels appeared there was increased tension as these were strictly for distribution to captives, and the new guards were
[page break]
loathe to hand the parcels over. Common sense prevailed and the daily routine continued. On and on we roamed unaware of our destination or indeed the final outcome.
An overnight stay at a camp near Munich, too crowded to receive any other bodies, simply helped to fix our position and to receive news of the progress of the war. A few more days and our section of the column was ordered to stay in a primary school building in the Austrian village of Kirschberg. Now we were in the American battle area. We settled into our new billet under the watchful eyes of the local population, and slept through the sound of gunfire and raiding aircraft.
Dawn broke and there was no sign of guards of any age. Walking out of the school I saw many inhabitants walking towards a church nearby and on enquiring whose feast day it was, I received the answer, " The war is over."
On the 7th May 1945 a troop of American soldiers appeared and gave the official news. They left sufficient food and other items to supply a small army. With great care born out of weeks of shortage, we divided the rations and prepared to be taken to an Allied base.
It was such a strange feeling to be free to wander where we pleased. There was an airfield at Strauben a few miles away and it was towards this that we headed, only to find that every aircraft had been destroyed and so were unfit for our use. Nothing for it, but to wait for the U.S. Army to return and arrange for us to be transferred the United Kingdom. The food we had been given was strange to us, the white, fluffy bread and real butter seemed to be so unappetising after the rough rations we had become used to.
Almost a week passed before an army truck arrived, and our journey home began. Our destination was the airfield at Rheims in France and on arrival, we saw several Lancasters with crews. These were to be the means by which we would finally make the journey home. Groups of ex- prisoners were allocated to each aircraft, told to hang on to anything they could and in a very short time we would land at an RA.F. base at Wing. Once again there was disappointment for my group. The Navigator for the aircraft had "gone missing". Wasn't I a Navigator? The pilot was quite prepared to trust my ability to map read until he could pick up radio contact. So, away we went and each occupant of the aircraft was allowed in turn to visit the flight deck and view the white cliffs of Dover as we approached England.
After landing at Wing we were escorted to a huge marquee where we suffered the indignity of being fumigated, given a cursory medical examination and then the luxury of a very hot shower. Almost three and a half stones lighter and almost unrecognisable from the person who had left on the disastrous trip to Aachen - I was home.
Chapter 7: FIFTY YEARS ON.
The next two years were somewhat confused. I was still a Navigator but, because of the injuries I had received, I was no longer considered medically fit to resume flying duties. Added to this the
R.A.F. had a surfeit of flying personnel, now that hostilities had ceased. What was I to do? I had no desire to serve as a member of ground staff. I chose to accept discharge.
[page break]
I attempted to contact the families of my crew but had little success. Only one person replied to my letters. It was to be some fifty years before contact was made and this came about in strange circumstances.
In 1990 I attended a Squadron Re-union at Waterbeach and was asked if I had any item which could be displayed in a Museum which was to be housed at the airfield, now the home of the Royal Engineers. I felt that my P.O.W. Idenitity Card would be of some interest among the stories and photographs of operational sorties. Little did I know that this exhibit was going to open up again the search for relatives of my crew! On the 27th October 1992, Mr. Clive Hill, who was the nephew of Clive Banfield, our Flight Engineer, visited the museum in his search for information concerning the flying career of his late uncle. As he was leaving the building he spotted the Identity Card and at once realised that, as only one 514 Lancaster did not return on the 11th April 1944, the person in the picture must be the sole survivor he had been trying to find.
Several letters and telephone calls resulted in a meeting being arranged at my home on 6th April, 1993. Contact was established with Bill Thackray in Australia, and soon family members of other crew members had been found. Despite all Clive's efforts, there was no trace of the Wireless Operator or the relief Navigator.
In May, 1995 Bill Thackray and his wife Hazel, travelled to Europe and spent some time visiting the War Cemetery where the six members of Lancaster LL639 were interred. They too visited the Museum and called on us at Worksop. It was possible for Clive to join us and, of course, I was able to enlighten them regarding the fateful night, 11th April 1944. Many relevant questions were asked and answered and it was resolved that we would be keeping in touch from that day forth. For the following two years, Clive continued with his research of the incident. He spared no effort in obtaining data regarding the incident and produced an account of the last hours of the aircraft and crew, finally drawing the whole story together in a highly illustrated book, "Investigation into the loss of 514 Squadron Lancaster II LL639 on 11th April 1944." His research had taken him to the village of Molenbeersel in Belgium where he met the remaining member of the Conen family who had been so kind to me and several others, who had witnessed the crash or had been young children at the time and heard the story from their parents.
Obviously the matter could not rest at that and soon arrangements were in hand to erect a memorial to ensure the incident would not be forgotten -
A site was cleared and the villagers built a structure to house a plaque concerning the event. The date for the dedication was set and Mrs. Hill (the sister of Clive Banfield), her husband, myself and my wife, Clive and Judith and several residents were present at the dedication. Nothing was too much trouble for the people of the area who were still full of praise for those who had released them from the strain of the years of the Second World War.
The friendship formed over that weekend has not been allowed to lapse. The inscription on the plaque reads:
THIS MEMORIAL WAS ERECTED AS A TRIBUTE TO:
[page break]
P/O N.W.F. THACKRAY PILOT RAAF
SGT. C.W. BANFIELD FLIGHT ENGINEER RAFVA SGT. R HUGHES WIRELESS OPERATOR RAFVR F/SGT. J.R. MOULSDALE AIR BOMBER RAAF F/SGT. C.H. HENN M.U. GUNNER RAAF
F/SGT. R.E BROMLEY R. GUNNER RAAF
WHO DIED WHEN THEIR AIRCRAFT - LANCASTER LL639 OF 514 SQUADRON RAF CRASHED AT THIS SITE ON 11 APRIL 1944 RETURNING FROM A
NIGHT BOMBING RAID TO AACHEN
ERECTED IN THE PRESENCE OF THE SOLE SURVIVOR SGT. E.L. HUMES NAVIGATOR RAF
AND MRS A.G. HILLSISTER OF THE FLIGHT ENGINEER
'NIL OBSTARE POTEST’ 11 JULY 1990
PRISONERS OF WAR 514 SQUADRON F/Sgt. J.D. ALFORD 2/12/43 BERLIN R.A.A.F.
F/O. S. BAXTER 3/8/44 BAL DE CASSON R.A.A.F. Sgt. A.J. BLACKSHAW 2/2/45 WEISBADEN
FALL J.M.J. BOIJRKE 21/1/44 MAGDEBURG R.C.A.F. F/Sgt. M.J. BOURNE 12/6/44 GELSENKERSCHEN Sgt. F.W. BROWN 11/5/44 LOUVAIN
Sgt. J. BREWER 21/1/44 MAGDEBURG F/Sgt D.R. BURNS 11/9/44 KAMEN
Sgt. G.H. BURRIDGE 2/2/45 WEISBADEN F/Sgt. F.J. CAREY 7/6/44 MASSEY PALAISEAU Sgt. J. S. CAREY 30/1/44 BERLIN
F/O J.E.S. CLARE 21/1/44 MAGDEBURG R.C.A.F. F/Sgt. J. CLARKE 7/6/44 MASSEY PALAISEAU Sgt. F. COLLINGWOOD MASSEY PALAISEAU Sgt. P.G. COOPER 12/6/44 GELSENKIRCHEN F/Sgt. H.J. COSGROVE 30/3/44 NUREMBERG
P/O A.B. CUNNINGHAM 11/5/44 LOUVAIN R.N.Z.A.F Sgt S. G. CUTTLER 21/1/44 MAGDEBERG
P/O H.G. DARBY 30/3/44 NUREMBERG F/Sgt G. DAVIS 20/12/43 FRANKFURT F/O K.D. DEANS 22/3/44 FRANKFURT
Sgt. E.G. DURLAND 12/8/44 RUSSELSHEIM
W/O W.E. EGRI 3/8/44 BOIS de CASSAN R.C.A.F.
[page break]
F/O F.J. EISBERG 21/11/44 HOMBURG Sgt. W.H. ELLIS 21/11/44 HOMBURG
F.O. M.S.C. EMERY 2/12/43 BERLIN F/O G.C. FRANCE 21/11/44 HOMBURG Sgt. R. GALLOWAY 2/12/43 BERLIN
F/Sgt E.F. GARLAND 28/7/44 STUTTGART R.C.A.F. F/Sgt. H. GILMORE 3/ 8/44 BOIS de CASSAN
Sgt. G.F. GOOD 11/9/44 KAMEN
F/Sgt R.L. GULLIFORD 30/1/44 BERLIN
F/Sgt. B.S. HAINES 18/11/43 MANNHEIM R.A.A.F F/Sgt A.D. HALL 30/ 3/44 NUREMBERG R.N.Z.A.F. F/Lt. G.H.D. HINDE 2/12/43 BERLIN S. Rhodesia Sgt P. S. HOARE 22/3/44 FRANKFURT
Sgt. G.M. HOLT 12/8/44 RUSSELSHEIM
F.O. P.J.K. HOOD 30/3/44 BERLIN F/Sgt. E.L. HUMES 11/4/44 AACHEN
T. Sgt. M.G. LANTHIER 30/3/44 BERLIN U.S.A.A.F.
P.O. LWC. LEWIS 7/6/44 MASSEY PALAISEAU Sgt. R.B. McALLISTER 23/4/44 BERLIN R.C.A.F.
F/Sgt. J.R Mc.CLENAGHAN 3/8/44 BOIS de CASSAN R.C.A.F. F/Sgt. C.G.E. McDONALD 30/3/44 NUREMBURG R.C.A.F. F/Sgt A. Mc. PHEE 30/3/44 NUREMBURG
F.O. W.D. Mc. PHEE 22/3/44 FRANKFURT R.C.A.F. F/Sgt. C.D. MEDLAND 21/5/44 DUISBERG
F/Sgt. J.E.MALONEY 23/12/44 BERLIN R.A.A.F Sgt. S.W. MOORE 2I2/45 WEISBADEN
F/Sgt K. MORTIMER 30/1/44 BERLIN Sgt. W. MUSKET 2/12/43 BERLIN
F/Lt. C. W. NICHOL 22/3/44 FRANKFURT F/O. R.J. RAMSEY 11/5/44 LOUVAIN Sgt. J.D. REID 3/8/44 BOIS de CASSAN
F/Sgt. R.J. RIGDEN 12/9/44 FRANKFURT
F/Sgt. A.J. ROBERTSON 30/1/44 BERLIN R.A.A.F. Sgt. G.F. ROBINSON 28/7/44 STUTTGART
F/O. K.S. ROBINSON 26/8/44 KEIL
Sgt. C.L. ROBINSON 11/9/44 KAMEN R.C.A.F. F/Sgt V.J. ROLLINGS 30/3/44 NUREMBURG Sgt. J. SCULLY 3/8/44 BOIS de CASSAN
Sgt. R.C. SIME 22/3/44 FRANKFURT R.C.A.F.
[page break]
Sgt. R.L. SMITH 21/11/44 MAGDEBURG Sgt. W.J. STEPHEN 21/12/43 BERLIN
F/Sgt. G.H, STROMBERG 7/6/44 MASSEY PALAISEAU Sgt. F.C. TOWNSHEND 22/3/44 FRANKFURT
P.O. C.O. TURNER 12/9/44 FRANKFURT F/Sgt. L.J. VENUS 21/5/44 DUISBERG
P.O. V.H.J.VIZER 21/1/44 MAGDEBURG F/Sgt. E.J. WALLINGTON 30/1/44 BERLIN Sgt. H.H. WICKSON 30/3/44 NUREMBURG F/O R.J.S. WILTON 30/3/44 NUREMBERG
F.O. D.A. WINTERFORD 11/5/44 LOUVAIN
F/Sgt R.J. WOOSNAM 7/6/44 MASSEY PALAISEAU
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
Just Another Story
Description
An account of the resource
Recalls joining the RAF as a flight mechanic in 1939 and then employed as a barrage balloon operator. Describes his subsequent selection for aircrew and training in London, St Andrews, Manchester and in advanced navigation at Dumfries. Next covers operational training on Wellington and beginning to crew up. Continues with conversion to Lancaster at RAF Little Snoring. Eventually posted to RAF Foulsham to join newly formed 514 Squadron which then moved to RAF Waterbeach. First flight on the squadron was 25 November 1943. Continues with description of life on the squadron and mentions operational flying through December 1943 and January to March 1944. Mentions first operation to Biarritz and operation to Nuremburg on 30 March 1944. Continues with account of being hit by anti-aircraft and set on fire on operation to Aachen. Describes bale out, injured leg, capture and time in hospital Writes of approaching allied troops and fighting and being transported by Germans to Venlo in Holland and then into Germany eventually to Stalag 1XC at Karysburg. Describes life and activities in camp and approach of Russian forces. Continues with account of long march back to Germany. Gives account of time at Stalag VIII-B Lamsdorf and preparations and journeys for repatriation. Tells of eventual liberation by United States troops and return to the United Kingdom. Continues with account of post war and getting in touch with relatives of his crew. Concludes with the building of a memorial in the village of Molenbeersel in Belgium and lists the members of his crew who died as well as prisoners of war from 514 squadron.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Essex
England--London
England--Bedfordshire
Scotland--St. Andrews
England--Manchester
Scotland--Dumfries
England--Norfolk
England--Cambridgeshire
France
France--Biarritz
Germany
Germany--Aachen
Netherlands
Netherlands--Venlo
Germany--Frankfurt am Main
Germany--Bad Sulza
Poland
Poland--Łambinowice
Germany--Munich
Belgium
Belgium--Limburg (Province)
Germany--Nuremberg
England--Lancashire
France--Palaiseau
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1939
1943-11-25
1944-03-30
1944-04-11
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
R Marsh
E Humes
Format
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Twenty-six page printed document
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Text
Text. Memoir
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
BHumesELHumesELv1
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
David Bloomfield
12 OTU
1678 HCU
514 Squadron
Air Observers School
aircrew
Anson
anti-aircraft fire
bale out
bombing
bombing of Nuremberg (30 / 31 March 1944)
Botha
crewing up
Dulag Luft
flight mechanic
Gee
ground crew
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
Lancaster Mk 2
memorial
military living conditions
military service conditions
navigator
Operational Training Unit
prisoner of war
RAF Bridgnorth
RAF Cardington
RAF Chipping Warden
RAF Dumfries
RAF Foulsham
RAF Heaton Park
RAF Little Snoring
RAF Waterbeach
RAF Wing
Red Cross
sport
Stalag 8B
strafing
the long march
Tiger Moth
training
Typhoon
Waffen-SS
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/71/718/AMagnaniT170303.2.mp3
79ada1c6e318efb07ff780ad71942b47
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
Magnani, Tullio
Tullio Magnani
T Magnani
Description
An account of the resource
This collection consists of one oral history interview with Tullio Magnani who reminisces his wartime experiences in the Pavia area.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-03-03
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Magnani, T
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Sono Filippo Andi e sto per intervistare il Signor Tullio Magnani. Siamo a Pavia, è il 3 marzo 2017. Ringraziamo il Signor Magnani per aver permesso questa intervista. La sua intervista registrata diventerà parte dell’archivio digitale dell’International Bomber Command Centre, gestito dall’Università di Lincoln e finanziato dall’Heritage Lottery Fund. L’università s’impegna a preservarla e tutelarla secondo i termini stabiliti nel partnership agreement con l’International Bomber Command Centre. Signor Magnani, vuole ricordarci i suoi anni durante?
TM: Dunque, sì, gli anni trascorsi dalla guerra in avanti.
FA: Esatto.
TM: Allora, prima di tutto, vengo da una famiglia di lavoratori. Naturalmente ho annusato il sapore dell’antiregime di cui si viveva allora. I miei genitori erano nettamente contrari al fascismo ma naturalmente non ho avuto neanche problemi a scuola. Sapevano chi era il papà, che è stato considerato un sovversivo comunista, ma per la verità nel periodo scolastico fatto durante il fascismo non ho avuto noie. Nel 1944, il 4 di settembre le superfortezze volanti americane e inglesi, alleate insomma, hanno prodotto un grosso bombardamento a Pavia e noi che abitavamo in Via Milazzi [Milazzo], della parte destra del fiume Ticino, siamo rimasti senza casa. Ci siamo salvati perché eravamo scappati nei boschi vicini. Naturalmente io e la mia famiglia ci siamo ritrovati nel territorio di Travacò a pochi chilometri da Pavia e da lì è cominciata la mia permanenza, gli ultimi mesi di guerra fino al 1945 a Mezzano Siccomario una casa che ci ha ospitato perché eravamo senza niente, eravamo ridotti proprio, io addirittura ero a piedi nudi quel giorno là. Però nel frattempo i miei genitori mi avevano mandati a casa di una famiglia, Lorenzo Alberti, che era un noto esponente dell’antifascismo pavese e che verrà arrestato nel 1944 con tutto il comitato del CLN provinciale e spedito in Germania. Ritornerà vivo e vegeto nel 1900, nel lontano 1945 dalla Germania. E naturalmente ero andato lì come garzone di bottega perché lui vendeva le macchine per scrivere e naturalmente faceva la, curava tutto l’andamento delle macchine che aveva nei vari uffici durante il regime fascista e la presenza del comando tedesco. E accompagnando l’operaio che doveva fare manodopera alle macchine da scrivere, io portavo una borsa vuota, leggerissima all’ingresso, pesante quando uscivo. Naturalmente controllato era l’operaio, io che avevo quattordici anni sia i fascisti che i tedeschi non mi perseguivano, non mi, non facevano i controlli. Poi abbiamo saputo che in quella borsa lì uscivano i bollini per l’approvigionamento degli alimenti. Perché in quel periodo dovete sapere che c’era contingentato i generi alimentari. Naturalmente questi bollini per il tesseramento andavano alla resistenza ecco. Quello era la cosa che io ho scoperto dopo la liberazione. Naturalmente di questo, di questi ricordi che ho avuto lì e anche nel comune di Travacò li ho messi giù, insomma i ricordi c’ho un fascicolo che consegno anche all’intervistatore. Ci sono alcuni particolari. Particolare è che un bel giorno, una mattina, l’operaio di questa ditta, Alberti, mi dice di andare presso l’istituto di anatomia umana dell’Università di Pavia a ritirare qualcosa. Io arrivo all’istituto di anatomia umana e a questo custode chiedo il nome e questo uomo già un po’ avanti con l’età, mi consegna una busta gialla con scritto ’Regia Università di Pavia’. Questa busta la riporto in negozio al mattino. Nel pomeriggio sempre l’operaio mi dice che doveva farmi fare una commissione fuori Pavia, e ha preso quella busta che avevo consegnato al mattino, l’ha messo dentro a una cartella, tipo quella di scuola, di cartone e m’ha detto: ‘Vai a Travacò a portare questa busta, devi andare all’inizio di Travacò alla frazione Frua e cercare la signora Brusca’ che poi ho capito si chiamava Bruschi, la chiamavano Brusca, io dico: ’sì sì sono pratico di quei posti lì perché ero, sono sfollato lì, in quei posti lì’, infatti non ho fatto fatica a trovarla una donna anziana con un cappellaccio di paglia in testa. E io dico: ’io devo consegnare questa a un signore che c’è qui’. E lui m’ha, lei m’ha detto: ‘È quel signore seduto su una cariola.’ Era un omino un po’, non troppo alto con un grosso paletò, che poi ho riconosciuto come segretario del Partito Comunista provinciale in, clandestino, l’ho ritrovato nell’immediato dopoguerra. Era Carlo Zucchella.
FA: Ah.
TM: E quella busta, ‘io devo consegnare questa roba a questo signore, sì, sì, io l’aspetto. Gliel’ho data. Era un’altra missione che mi han fatto fare. E questo mi è, mi è ancora caro ricordare quel territorio lì del Travacò adesso. L’intervistatore venne mandato dall’ex sindaco Boiocchi che abbiamo una forte amicizia e ricordo sempre quel territorio anche perché sono legato a tutta la gente che ho trovato lì, che purtroppo non ci sono più tanti. Poi ci sono anche altri episodi sempre fatti attraverso la bottega di Lorenzo Alberti. Mi dicono di andare in piazzetta, vicino alle scuole Mazzini a Pavia e io gli ho detto: ’Sì, sì’. Erano le mie scuole elementari, le conosco. Bene, proprio di fronte alla scuola vai su all’ultimo piano e devi portare questo era anche lì, una busta, una busta più pesante di quelle che ho portato prima. E in quella casa c’era un tavolo da disegno, che usano i disegnatori. E c’era un uomo che era là che m’aspettava. E c’era, a disegnare c’era uno che poi m’han detto che era un sordomuto. Era il disegnatore. Anche qui vengo a sapere, dopo la guerra, che questo signore era Cino del Duca, un grande editore di giornali e di riviste. Era anche lui membro della resistenza. E i ricordi sono tanti, gli episodi sono tanti. Sono ancora vivo anche per miracolo anche perché durante queste azioni, che io nulla sapevo l’importanza di quello che facevo, se venivo beccato non ero qui a raccontarlo.
FA: Certo.
TM: E è arrivata la liberazione e io con i miei quindici anni mi sono divertito come gli altri. Sono arrivati le truppe inglesi, la prima camionetta americana giù nel Ponte Vecchio di Pavia e ho ripreso a vivere come dovevamo vivere, a noi ragazzi alla nostra età ci è mancato cinque anni di vita.
[telophone rings]
FA: Allora, prima della pausa stavamo dicendo della liberazione.
TM: La liberazione...
FA: È tornato a vivere in borgo?
TM: No, non eravamo più in borgo perché la casa non ce l’avevamo più. Mio nonno era un pescatore, aveva le barche, tutto, è andato tutto in fumo, tutto, distrutto tutto, non avevamo più niente. Mia mamma e mio papà han trovato un appartamento vicino Piazzale Ponte Ticino ma in città. E lì è arrivata la prima camionetta americana, mi ricordo sempre, questo giovane americano, noi naturalmente ragazzi ci siamo andati tutto intorno avevamo fame e loro distribuivano cioccolato e questo qua si chiamava Dino perché era figlio di italiani, no, e aveva un sacco enorme. M’ha detto se trovavo una donna che gli avesse lavato la biancheria. Io subito gli ho detto: ‘c’è mia mamma’. E lì vicino abitavamo e ho detto, ho chiamato mia mamma, c’è questo soldato americano e ha detto che se gli lavava la biancheria c’era una cassa di sapone. Quando lui ha fatto vedere la cassa di sapone, mia mamma è saltata dalla gioia. Per dire i momenti e, ricordo ancora e ricordo anche questo fatto di questo americano che si chiamava, poi c’ha dato tanta roba da mangiare. E naturalmente lui poi è andato via. E’ stato lì due o tre giorni, ha ritirato la biancheria pulita e stirata e con grande dispiacere di mia mamma non l’abbiamo visto più. Io voglio raccontare, questo racconto dovrebbero sentirlo anche milioni di giovani perché la guerra c’ha tolto cinque anni di vita a noi ragazzi. È scoppiata che avevo dieci anni, è finita che ne avevo quindici. La fame totale, lo studio non c’ho più pensato, era talmente la gioia della liberazione che molti ragazzi miei amici non andavano più a scuola. Poi pian piano abbiamo ripreso ma poi m’ha preso un’altra cosa, la politica. E questa politica mi ha preso talmente che non ho proseguito gli studi e medie, liceo e avanti, questo. Però ho sempre chiesto e ottenuto di sapere, di volere, di sapere le cose, ho fatto uno sforzo io coi libri e anche. Il partito voleva dire tante rinunce, tante sacrifici ma il partito mi ha dato molto nel senso che nell’istruzione poi sono andato a fare dei corsi prima brevi poi brevi, poi abbastanza lunghi per cui ho fatto il mio percorso di apprendimento scolastico. Mi sono sposato, tre figli, quattro nipoti, avevamo un, abbiamo rilevato un negozio che era di mio papà ma non andavamo bene, sono entrato [clears throat], sono stato assunto dopo tante peripezie in Comune, perché voglio dire anche questo: ho partecipato a un concorso per agenti daziari e quando sono arrivato agli esami orali per essere ammesso, dopo aver presentato lo scritto, mi è stato detto che non avrei, non sarei mai stato assunto perché, essendo un corpo armato, non potevo accedere a quel posto lì per via di una vecchia legge fascista che impediva di entrare in questo corpo armato agli iscritti al partito comunista, o anche ai figli dei comunisti. Per cui però ho fatto un po’ di lavoro saltuario nelle scuole a sostituire alcuni bidelli ammalati e così via, insomma il comune mi ha sempre tenuto da conto finché poi è venuto il momento, sono entrato nel corpo vigili urbani come tesoriere e ho fatto per ventidue anni il cassiere al comando vigili di Pavia. Ma prima sono stato anche un dirigente della Gioventù Comunista e ho sempre mantenuto queste idee. Purtroppo adesso non c’è più niente, ma ho cercato di educare la mia famiglia a questi ideali e sono stato anche premiato perché sono contento dei miei figli, dei miei nipoti.
FA: Va bene.
TM: E adesso ho davanti un giovane che mi intervista e sono felice di poter rispondere a questo giovane che tra l’altro si è laureato con un personaggio che a me molto caro che è il professor Lombardi e il professor Guderzo.
FA: Tornando un attimo indietro nel, diciamo nel tempo del suo racconto, potrebbe provare a ricordare, a raccontarci quella giornata del 4 settembre?
TM: La giornata del 4 settembre ha dei precedenti. Intanto la guerra è scoppiata nel ‘40 e non so adesso con precisione ma noi da Pavia vedevamo i lampi dei bombardamenti di Milano di notte, Milano è a un tiro di schioppo da qui in linea d’aria, si vedevano i lampi, bombardavano Milano e poi venivamo a sapere che verso il ’42-’43 bombardavano anche i ponti del Po che collegavano Pavia. E noi stavamo su anche, poi per noi era un, cioè era anche bello di notte, stavamo su tra noi gli uomini pochi perché erano tutti alle armi, e allora venivamo a sapere i problemi delle famiglie questa qui, quella là, quello lì, quello là, insomma vedevamo... poi arrivano i cacciabombardieri americani, bombardano la parte nord di Pavia, ma così dei raid, di, due, tre aerei che hanno sganciato alcune bombe e han fatto qualche morto nella zona di Porta Stoppa di Pavia, la parte nord di Pavia. Quindi prima del 4 di settembre Pavia era stata
FA: Già.
TM: Aggredita dai, ma poi noi vedevamo che sull’argine del Ticino la milizia fascista aveva fatto delle postazioni con delle mitragliatrici antiaeree, che poi si sono rivelate in niente, insufficiente, erano giocattoli rispetto al momento, insomma c’erano già delle armi migliori, cioè le avevano i tedeschi, ma queste qui, e noi le vedevamo, noi capivamo che erano mitragliatrici per contrastare gli aerei. E il 4 di settembre c’è un precedente nel senso che due giorni prima a ondate successive queste superfortezze volanti cariche di bombe passavano su Pavia verso il nord, cioè andavano verso Milano, dicevano che andavano in Germania perché Milano non la bombardavano in quel periodo lì.
Interviewee’s wife: Buongiorno.
TM: La mattina di, del 4, mia moglie, ah questo ragazzo pensa Antonia.
AM: Piacere, Antonia.
FA: Filippo, piacere.
TM: C’è acceso. La mattina del 4 di settembre del ’44 mio papà si trovava al di là del fiume perché lavorava in fabbrica. Mia mamma stava cucinando qualcosa. Noi ragazzi quando passavano quegli aerei lì andavamo nel bosco adiacente lungo l’argine del Borgo Ticino per cui dopo che sono passate a ondate successive queste superfortezze volanti è arrivato il bombardamento. È stato un disastro, sembrava la fine del mondo non ci, l’atmosfera era rossa dai mattoni, picchiavamo contro le piante per scappare, insomma. Poi dopo è venuto anche il mitragliamento che è stato micidiale perché ha mitragliato verso la parte est di Pavia. Io come un automa come altri nostri amici ci siamo dispersi e siamo fuggiti verso Travacò, lungo l’argine verso Travacò e io sanguinavo, non me ne accorgevo. Nel pomeriggio ho ritrovato i miei genitori che io non pensavo più. Mio papà si era salvato perché era al di là del fiume. Mia mamma è stata salvata dal crollo, la casa non era completamente crollata, e per cui ci siamo ritrovati alla frazione Battella di Travacò Siccomario io, i miei genitori e tanti altri. Poi naturalmente i nostri genitori, tutti quelli, i borghigiani, cittadini che hanno perso la casa, molti sono arrivati nel comune di Travacò e hanno organizzato qualcosa per, insomma. [background noise] Abbiamo fatto due notti in un fienile, poi dopo siamo arrivati a Travacò e a Mezzano. Il podestà di allora, un certo Bruschi che, pur essendo fascista ci ha molto aiutati, siamo andati nelle scuole di Mezzano e i nostri genitori e tutti gli altri adulti hanno organizzato una mensa, son arrivati i generi alimentari, c’è stato un enorme, una cucina per cuocere i cibi. Dopo una settimana che eravamo lì, un giorno pioveva a dirotto, sono arrivati la Feldgendarmeria tedesca, che sarebbe la polizia militare tedesca, con un sidecar, questi due uomini mettevano paura, grandi, grossi, con questo soprabito di cuoio nero, ci hanno imposto di lasciare immediatamente le scuole e ci siam trovati in mezzo alla strada che pioveva. Eravamo un centinaio, figli, genitori, ma subito è arrivata la solidarietà del paese e ci hanno ricoverato un po’ di qui un po’ di là. Insomma la cosa è andata bene insomma, non c’è stato altro e devo dire che io da ragazzo mi ricordo ho vissuto lì fino, da settembre a due mesi prima della guerra, un paese dove, tenuto conto che mio papà era un segnalato come sovversivo, problemi non ne abbiamo mai avuti, quindi la cosa. Poi la liberazione è giunta che abitavamo già a Pavia.
FA: Ha parlato di generi alimentari.
TM: Sì.
FA: Si ricorda da dove, chi era, non so c’era un ente?
TM: I generi alimentari ce li portava il comune di Pavia.
FA: Ah, il comune di Pavia.
TM: Sì. Però dicevano, io ho saputo, che dovevamo procurarci un mezzo per arrivare da Travacò a Pavia a prender la roba, farina, riso, pasta, no. E questo podestà fascista Bruschi Pierino ha messo a disposizione un carro col cavallo e uno di noi mi ricordo ancora chi era andava a Pavia a prelevare la roba. E sono arrivate anche le brande. Il comune di Pavia ha messo a disposizione le brande e i generi alimentari. Devo dirlo con schiettezza. Cioè, pur nel disastro, il comune di Pavia è stato attento a queste cose.
FA: A queste esigenze. Prima ha detto che lungo gli argini vi erano delle, diciamo delle postazioni antiaeree, delle mitragliatrici.
TM: Sì, sì.
FA: Erano, vi erano soldati italiani o tedeschi?TM: Italiani. Erano quelli della milizia fascista.
FA: Ah, le milizie.
TM: Io, noi li conoscevamo anche perché alcuni abitavano lì vicino. La milizia fascista eran della gente che, la miseria era tanta, l’occupazione era, andavano nella milizia, alcuni andavano per sopravvivere.
FA: Per sopravvivere.
TM: Perché poi portavano a casa il rancio che gli davano in caserma. Io avevo due amici di figli, erano figli di due fascisti che erano nella milizia. E han fatto delle piazzole che adesso nell’argine non si vedono più e hanno piazzato queste mitragliatrici. Noi andavamo là a vederle eh. Erano rivolte verso là.
FA: Verso là.
TM: Però ci hanno detto gli esperti che erano stati a fare il militare che queste mitragliatrici agli aerei americani non gli facevano nulla. Soltanto però qui in questo, più più a nord di questo rione c’era una postazione di antiaerea tedesca, quella lì sì era..
FA: Vicina al cimitero forse.
TM: No, dopo.
FA: Ah, più in là?
TM: Più in alto. Addirittura c’è, lì c’è stato un, c’è uno stele che ricorda un antifascista che è andato a parlamentare con i tedeschi il giorno della liberazione per evitare che, perché loro minacciavano di bombardare tutto, è andato lì a parlamentare con i tedeschi, l’hanno ucciso. C’è ancora lo stele lì, in Piazza, Piazza Fratelli Cervi.
FA: Ah.
TM: Sì. Beh volevo dire che sì, quello che m’ha chiesto lei sulle piazzole erano nell’argine che dal Borgo va al Canarazzo, che va a Carbonara al Ticino, c’erano le piazzole della [laughs]
FA: Ah.
TM: E poi dopo il bombardamento del Ponte della Libertà che chiamavano dell’Impero una arcata è stata centrata dagli aerei americani e han fatto, i tedeschi han fatto il traghetto, traghetto con dei barconi, traghettavano e traghettavano dopo il ponte della ferrovia che era crollato anche lui. E noi andavamo a vedere tutte queste robe qui. Eravamo ragazzi. Il giorno della liberazione eravamo lì. Vedevamo i vigili urbani con la fascia tricolore il 25 di aprile in bicicletta. La città oramai era praticamente in mano agli insorti. I tedeschi si riunivano nel Castello Visconteo d’accordo con le forze partigiane. I fascisti erano scappati, c’era ancora qualcuno che per esempio dalla centrale dell’università un fascista ha sparato, poi è stato preso. E noi abbiam vissuto anche quello, da ragazzi eravamo lì rischiando anche perché c’erano dei proiettili vaganti. Fino al 26 aprile quando sono arrivate le, proprio le formazioni partigiane dell’Oltrepò Pavese dirette. Che poi il professor Lombardi ha fatto un bel libro dove parlavano di queste cose, della missione che i partigiani dell’Oltrepò Pavese hanno fatto, a Dongo hanno, quando hanno catturato Benito Mussolini.
FA: Va bene.
TM: Io le ho vissute con l’entusiasmo dei quindic’anni e non ho mollato più.
FA: Eh sì, quindi eh, poi lei dopo quel il primo bombardamento diciamo che ha subito vi siete spostati a Travacò. Avete continuato ad avere notizie, a vedere i seguenti bombardamenti sul borgo?
TM: No, noi, mia mamma e mio papà venivano, io rimanevo a Travacò venivo naturalmente a vedere di recuperare le cose che c’erano sotto i bombardamenti. Devo tenere conto che mio nonno aveva una bella attività di lavoro. Intanto erano lavandai, lavava la, erano lavandai il nonno e la nonna, avevano i clienti che portavano la biancheria da lavare. E mio nonno aveva un torchio, lo chiamavamo un torchio, era una centrifuga per strizzare i, che poi è venuta la lavatrice, ma era questo enorme cilindro che girava per strizzare i panni delle lavandaie. Anche lì l’abbiamo perso, abbiamo perso cinque barche, abbiamo perso molte reti da pescatori, insomma siamo stati molto danneggiati, siamo rimasti. Poi mio papà si è dato da fare per, come tutti, ricostruirsi una vita, cominciato a fare il commerciante di frutta e verdura e così.
FA: Ha detto che suo papà lavorava dall’altra parte del Ticino.
TM: Lavorava dall’altra parte del Ticino che era la ditta Cercil. Era una ditta specializzata che i tedeschi non la trasferivano in Germania. L’hanno fatto lavorare in Italia. Mio papà era preoccupato perché molti operai specializzati venivano trasferiti in Germania a lavorare per l’industria bellica tedesca. Per fortuna quella fabbrica lì non è stata smontata e ha continuato a lavorare fino agli ultimi giorni di guerra lì. E per io papà era un bel rifugio oltre che posto di lavoro per vivere era, cioè tenuto conto che lui era considerato un sovversivo, come li chiamavano stato mandato al confino sei mesi perché cantavano il primo maggio all’osteria e per lui era una salvezza eh avere un posto di lavoro così. Aveva una tessera per poter fare i turni di notte perché c’era il coprifuoco. Dopo le nove e mezza di sera non si poteva più girare. Se ti prendevano senza documenti venivi fucilato. Io ho vissuto tutte queste robe qui. Andavamo al cinema alle sette di sera perché era l’ultimo spettacolo. Andavamo tutti al cinema per scaldarci perché non avevamo più niente da bruciare in casa. Mancava la legna, mancava tutto.
FA: E la fabbrica di suo papà non è mai stata toccata da nessun bombardamento, nessun danno?
TM: La fabbrica, no, la fabbrica di mio papà si trova vicinissimo il viale lungo il Ticino e si trovava in Via Della Rocchetta. Che adesso han fatto, in quel cortile lì, han fatto abitazioni civili ma era la fabbrica Cerliani che l’altra è più avanti è stata fatta qui al Chiozzo c’è una fabbrica Cerliani.
FA: E producevano?
TM: E producevano filiere, meccanica, meccanica fine, roba non so. Io non sono pratico, non sono mai entrato in una fabbrica. Era proprio. Parlava, papà parlava di ‘ho l’esonero’ cioè non sono esonerato a non andare in Germania con gli operai
FA: Certo.
TM: E perché smantellavano le fabbriche i tedeschi e trascinavano gente in Germania a lavorare. Molti non rientravano più. Beh, da quel punto di vista lì ci è andata bene.
FA: Voglio farle un’altra domanda. Nella zona intorno a casa sua e del borgo, c’erano dei rifugi antiaerei, c’erano?
TM: No, in borgo non c’erano rifugi antiaerei. Noi scappavamo, i boschi dietro a via Milazzo, ancora adesso, c’erano i boschi. C’è il bosco fino a verso Travacò e noi ci [unclear], intanto sì rispetto ai bombardamenti l’abbiam fatta franca però se mitragliavano il bosco non era tanto, ti prendevano. No, a Pavia c’erano delle case, dei palazzi con, io ci sono stato perché andavamo a scuola, con i rifugi antiaerei che con le bombe americane erano, pff! E perché hanno centrato il borgo? Il borgo l’hanno centrato per via del Ponte Vecchio. Perché, se guardiamo bene la mappa di Pavia, i primi due ponti a saltare per aria nettamente sono stati quello delle ferrovie e quello cosiddetto dell’Impero che è Viale della, che è quello della Libertà
FA: Libertà.
TM: Mentre invece il Ponte Vecchio proprio per essere coperto, dalle fotografie inglesi che hanno fatto non veniva fuori netto il ponte, per cui ecco perché la parte di Borgo Ticino ha avuto dei danni con le bombe. Che loro volevano centrare il Ponte Vecchio, l’hanno centrato ma non l’hanno fatto saltare in aria. Ponte Vecchio, quello preromano, quello romano pre spagnolo, non è mai andato giù nettamente come non gli altri ponti. Per cui, no, non c’erano rifugi antiaerei come li ho visti io, in città, nei palazzi, dove si andava in cantina e queste cantine erano sostenute da pali, da travi, sacchetti di sabbia, no, in borgo non c’era niente.
FA: Insomma, ci si doveva arrangiare.
TM: E’ stata una carneficina perché i morti sono stati tanti. Poi è saltata per aria, il bombardamento successivo, la parte della città dove, viale lungo il Ticino, cioè la Via Rezia, che è stata colpita a metà. Lì avevo la nonna e la zia che abitavano lì hanno perso la casa anche loro. Però essendo sui posti di lavoro in un’altra parte si son salvate.
FA: Ho capito. Ehm, lei ha parlato prima del suo rapporto, del rapporto della sua famiglia con quel soldato americano ecco. Nonostante, diciamo il fatto che foste stati bombardati, questo vi ha?
TM: Ah per noi, gli abbiamo accolti con perché poi c’era questa atmosfera, caro giovane. Un po’ i fascisti ironicamente li chiamavano liberatori, tra virgolette, no, ma erano per noi, pur nella disgrazia. La guerra intanto non l’abbiamo, non c’entran niente gli americani, la guerra l’ha voluto il fascismo, per cui, vabbè, la mia famiglia, ma come in tutte le famiglie di gente povera, eravamo ridotti talmente male che aspettavamo gli americani. E devo aggiungere per inciso che noi, in Via Strada Nuova c’è ancora una farmacia che si chiama Farmacia Tonello. Un bel giorno sono arrivati i poliziotti in borghese, sono andati dentro da questo farmacista anziano, adesso vanno avanti i nipoti, e l’hanno arrestato, lo abbiamo saputo dopo, perché ascoltava Radio Londra. Radio Londra, io l’ho sentita, perché mio papà si sintonizzava alla sera c’era questo colonello Stevens che diceva [hums the beginning of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony] ‘Qui è Londra che parla’. Parlava in perfetto italiano e ci, ci aggiornavano. Parlavano anche dell’Armata Rossa che stava avvicinandosi alla Germania e parlavano anche che loro ormai erano arrivati anche in Italia, erano sbarcato giù, sapevamo tutto. E hanno arrestato il farmacista Tonello perché l’hanno colto in flagrante mentre ascoltava Radio Londra.
FA: Radio Londra.
TM: Naturalmente dopo due o tre giorni l’hanno rilasciato, era un uomo vecchio. Anche questo episodio ho sentito. E sì, Radio Londra trasmette. E noi, quel giorno che è arrivato, come detto, questa jeep americana, si è fermata nel piazzale pieno di macerie, eh noi ragazzi eravamo tutti attorno, per noi gli americani, intanto per la prima volta vedevamo gli americani, vedevamo gli inglesi, no. Gli Inglesi avevano nel loro esercito, avevano anche gli indiani col turbante e gli americani, questo americano si chiamava Dino, mi ricordo, non mi va via più dalla mente e per noi, lui, io avevo quindic’anni, questo soldato americano avrà avuto ventidue, ventitre anni, era un ragazzo come noi quasi insomma. Ci ha riempiti di cioccolato. Non potete, voi adesso non potete immaginare la contentezza che aveva il popolo italiano pur nelle macerie, pur, molti morivano di fame eh, perché ho saputo dopo, gli ospedali si sono riempiti perché la gente non mangiava. Io ero considerato uno scheletro. Io mi sono sposato con la mia compagna qui che ero sotto peso. Era il 1957. Ne portavo ancora le conseguenze, del mangiare che non abbiamo fatto. Per cui, loro ci hanno buttato giù la casa ma per noi ci hanno liberato.
FA: OK. Dopo.
TM: Viva gli alleati!
FA: Dopo il bombardamento del 4, è, ehm è tornato su in borgo o?
TM: Certo [emphasises], ci vado quasi tutti i giorni. Ho ancora qualche amico ma il più è il posto e naturalmente il territorio di Travacò. [pause] Ogni martedì, con i due o tre amici che ho ancora, andiamo in un’osteria di Travacò, non tanto per mangiare, possiamo mangiare anche a casa no, ma tanto per trovarci.
FA: Ho capito. Ehm, può descriverci le devastazioni diciamo che ha subìto, le devastazioni che ha subìto il borgo?
TM: Dunque, prima di tutto io ho saputo, dopo, dopo quella mattina del quattro di settembre del ’44, siamo fuggiti, siamo fuggiti, siamo scappati, un po’ di qui, un po’ di là, come ho ricordato prima, a Travacò, ma i bombardamenti si sono susseguiti. C’è stato una carneficina perché poi la gente si spostava verso San Martino. Presente Via Dei Mille? E sono andati in un tunnel che attraversava la strada e questo tunnel è dalle parti di, via sempre di Via Dei Mille, all’altezza di Strada Persa. C’era questo tunnel e la gente, per loro era diventato un tunnel antiaereo. Molta gente è andato dentro in questo tunnel. Alcune bombe sono arrivate anche lì, ma non perché hanno saltato, hanno bucato la strada, una bomba è esplosa ai lati del tunnel, c’è stata una carneficina nel Borgo.
FA: Lo spostamento d’aria.
TM: Sì, il piazzale attuale del borgo è stato tutto distrutto, chi lo vede adesso vede le case recentissime, solo la parte sinistra andando in là dove c’era la farmacia erano rimaste le vecchie case, per il resto son tutte nuove. Abbiamo perso degli amici lì, molti amici, ci giocavamo assieme. Nel mio cortile ci son stati dodici morti di anziani e gente appena arrivata. Ma la parte centrale [emphasises] del Borgo Ticino, cioè all’imboccatura del ponte vecchio, che c’è il piazzale che si chiama Ferruccio Ghinaglia, lì ho perso quattro o cinque ragazzi della mia età, non ci sono più, son rimasti lì. Per cui il borgo è, c’è un monumento lungo il Ticino voluto da un mio carissimo amico che adesso non c’è più, Calvi Agostino, che continuiamo a raccontare un po’ di cose sul calendario della AVIS tutti gli anni raccontiamo qualcosa del borgo, tutto lì. Naturalmente la Via Milazzo è stata salvata, salvo [emphasis] il mio cortile. Il mio cortile è stato l’ultimo a essere colpito da quella parte lì. Tutta la parte che va giù verso il Ticino si è salvata. Purtroppo noi siamo scappati, io non ho fatto più ritorno fin quando i miei genitori han trovato casa in città e anche lì un po’ ho stretto amicizia con i giovani del paese e mi ricordo, mia mamma aspettava mia sorella, che è molto più giovane di me e andavamo naturalmente siccome vivevamo in una stanza unica, meno male, era una stanza sia per dormire che per mangiare per cui, mentre mio papà era al lavoro, io e mia mamma andavamo in un’osteria a prenderci il cibo già pronto che ci cucinava per noi. Era bello insomma, vivevamo tranquilli in quel paese lì, trovavamo più da mangiare che non prima perché la campagna, insomma se ti dai da fare insomma, se hai i mezzi eh, perché se non hai i mezzi non c’è niente.
FA: Lei l’ha visto Pippo?
TM: Pippo, Pippo bombardava di notte. Bastava accendere un fiammifero che magari ti colpiva. Proprio davanti al mio cortile, se posso darti del tu no? Il mio intervistatore, come ti chiami di nome?
FA: Filippo.
TM: Filippo, ecco, caro Filippo, vai a fare un giro dopo. All’inizio di Via Milazzo, c’è il numero 9, è il mio cortile.
FA: Ah.
TM: Che ancora qualche fuori [muro] perimetrale, ancora la vecchia casa ristrutturate, dentro è tutto nuovo, perché è saltato per aria. Lì era il posto dove con le barche partivano di notte per andare a pescare. Caricavano le reti, erano sempre sei barche eh. Perché non era come il mare. Gettavano le reti nel fiume ma tiravano stando a terra gli,
FA: Ah.
TM: Per cui avevano bisogno di tanta manodopera, no. E avevano una lanterna, una lanterna a petrolio. È arrivato Pippo, ha lanciato uno spezzone, ha ucciso un uomo che, con un papà di un mio amico. Pippo ha colpito anche l’imbarcadero che adesso c’è dove c’è il ristorante Bardelli?
Fa: Sì.
TM: Lì c’era l’imbarcadero Negri. Pippo ha colpito anche lì. E devo dire che in una giornata bellissima come quella di ieri, a Travacò ero, ritornavamo da Pavia, io, mia mamma e mio papà che eravamo stati in prefettura a prendere qualcosa, ci davano un po’ di sostentamento, tutto a piedi eh. C’era un ricognitore inglese, un bimotore, che era talmente basso che si vedevano le figure degli uomini che c’erano dentro nella carlinga. E a volo radente eh. Noi ci siamo, ah beh la paura era tanta perché mitragliavano. A Cava Manara hanno mitragliato un corteo funebre, hanno mitragliato proprio il carro funebre. E non so, erano convinti che era una manifestazione di fascisti [laughs] o di tedeschi, vabbè e noi, si aveva paura anche di questi aerei che poi risultava un ricognitore. Sono quelli che facevano le fotografie, sempre inglesi erano. E quel ricognitore me lo ricordo sempre, una bestia sopra di noi, abbiam visto le figure degli uomini perché il bimotore aveva la carlinga senza motore, i due motori erano, sì, mi ricordo anche questo.
FA: Li avete visti quindi distintamente.
TM: Sì, li abbiamo visti benissimo e ci siamo scansati, ci siamo buttati giù a lato, io, mia mamma e mio papà. Eh sì, poi io ho sempre avuto paura di, sono rimasto scioccato. Andavo a nascondermi nei fossi asciutti del Travacò, uscivo sempre, io avevo il terrore di stare in casa fino a quando poi mi è passato ed è finita la guerra [laughs].
FA: Ho capito. Senta le faccio una domanda che...
TM: Sono qua.
FA: C’entra diciamo relativamente meno con il discorso che stavamo facendo. Lei nel ’48 era già all’interno del Partito Comunista?
TM: Ero già all’interno, devo dire che nel Partito Comunista il giorno della liberazione erano il 40, 25-26, i partigiani sono arrivati il 26-27, naturalmente si ballava si, c’era una grande confusione anche, il, ho visto, han portato un carico di fascisti che hanno fucilato in Piazza d’Italia, era la mattina del primo maggio o due maggio. E io, come ragazzo, ho aiutato, ho detto: ’ cià, vedete in Corso Mazzini, venite, venite aiutarci’, c’era un carretto dallo studio dell’avvocato Sinforiani che poi è stato eletto senatore della Repubblica trasferito un sacco di roba, cartacea no, dentro nelle casse con questo carretto del fruttivendolo li abbiam portati in Broletto. Il Broletto, bel palazzo eh, è stato occupato sia dai comunisti che dai socialisti, primo piano i comunisti, secondo piano i socialisti. Io naturalmente sono andato lì e ho partecipato a questo trasloco di documenti da Corso Mazzini e da allora sono entrato al Broletto aiutando questi partigiani che portavano la roba lì, si è instaurata la federazione comunista. Da allora ho frequentato, perché mio papà è diventato ambulante con un banco fisso di frutta e verdura in piazza, proprio di fronte al Broletto per cui vivevo lì e non ho mollato più. E allora non era ancora rinata la Federazione Giovanile Comunista perché è rinata nel ’49, io ho partecipato alla costituzione perché ero lì. Nel partito comunista se non avevi sedici anni non ti prendevano
FA: Ah!
ed eri considerato membro candidato, io ho ancora i documenti, e dovevi essere presentato da tre persone adulte perché allora la maggiore età si aveva a ventuno anni. Ma nel partito ti prendevano a sedici anni come membro candidato e ti davano la tessera ma eri oggetto di indagini, da dove venivi, chi eri e. Questo è importante. E sì, l’ho avuta, ma nel ’46, nel ’45 no, ero lì senza tessera. Ma avevamo il Fronte della Gioventù, che era un’organizzazione nata nella resistenza fatta di giovani liberali cattolici, comunisti, socialisti, era il Fronte della Gioventù. E abbiamo occupato i locali della ex-GIL, che adesso c’è il comando vigili di Pavia,
FA: Ah, sì.
TM: Là dalla curva. Sì siamo andati lì, abbiamo organizzato anche la balera, facevamo ballare, dappertutto si faceva ballare allora. Poi naturalmente noi eravamo comunisti. E nel ’48 ho partecipato al, alla battaglia elettorale che, la battaglia elettorale era una roba, bisognerebbe parlarne bene di queste robe, era una battaglia con i manifesti che la Democrazia Cristiana ci batteva tutti. Andavano ad attaccare i manifesti anche sotto le grondaie per via che loro avevano le scale delle chiese, è importante!
FA: Quindi belle lunghe.
TM: Lunghissime, che noi non avevamo. Noi potevamo al limite arrivare a tre metri. E poi loro avevano più mezzi.
FA: Bene.
TM: Ho partecipato a questa battaglia. Mi ricordo che il primo, abbiamo fatto una roba che, una roba da giovani. Il partito comunista ha fatto un bellissimo manifesto ‘Quo Vadis, dove vai, o Signore?’ e l’abbiamo messo sotto il portone del vescovado nottetempo. Però siamo stati individuati ma non siamo stati presi in flagrante e poi dopo ce l’han fatta pagare per il lancio dei volantini nei cinema. Si andava in guardina una notte, a lanciare i volantini nei cinema non autorizzati [emphasises] ti beccavano, andavi in guardina fin domani mattina.
[Doorbell rings]
TM: Tonia, guarda un po’. E, bisogna ricordarle queste cose, ai manifesti,
Unknown speaker: Chi è?
TM: il partito mi mandava in questura a portare i manifesti, bisognava metter la marca da bollo e venivano listati.
TM: Chi è?Ormai ci pensa lei, eh.
Unknown speaker: La signora Casella
TM: Venivano listati, bisognava andare in questura, allora c’erano le marche da bollo. Poi il partito mi mandava senza essere funzionario andavo con la corriera che si chiamava la Lombarda a .Milano con i soldi nella borsa a prendere le tessere. Era dove c’è la Mediobanca a Milano c’era l’Alto Commissariato Altitalia che per tutta l’Italia settentrionale c’erano le tessere e i bollini del partito e bisognava andare là con i contanti e prendere, a fare i prelevamenti, mandavano me che avevo diciotto anni, diciannove anni. Poi sono diventato funzionario del partito. Poi ho smesso quando non ne potevo più. Non si mangiava perché il partito, sì esisteva la cifra dello stipendio ma che non vedevamo mai e fin quando ero solo tiravo ma poi dovevo sposarmi e ho dovuto, non uscire dal partito ma non fare più il funzionario, lavorare con mio papà a vendere la frutta e la verdura per poi andare in Comune a lavorare.
FA: Va bene.
TM: Altro, io sono sempre a disposizione.
FA: Va bene allora la ringraziamo per questa intervista.
TM: Che cognome hai?
FA: Andi.
TM: Anni?
FA: Andi.
TM: Andi. E Filippo.
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 Tullio Magnani
Subject
The topic of the resource
World War (1939-1945)
Bombing, Aerial
Description
An account of the resource
Tullio Magnani remembers his wartime years in the Pavia province. Although his father was blacklisted as a subversive communist he did not have any trouble at school. He recounted his role as a young resistance helper smuggling food rationing coupons, while working as a shop boy for a well-known antifascist. Remembers being an eye-witness to the bombing of Milan from Pavia. Retells of a machine gun being set up by fascists on the Ticino river bank, which proved ineffective against allied aircraft. Mentions the strafing of a funeral procession at the Cava Manara municipality carried out by what was thought to be a spotter aircraft. Remembers 'Pippo' bombing at night and targeting the fishermens wharf. Stressing how, during the intense bombing and strafing of Pavia on 4 September when they lost everything, the local fascist authority of Travacò municipality was very helpful in providing them with cots, food and lodgings in a school. Mentions wartime episodes: people seeking refuge in a tunnel used as a makeshift shelter and the carnage that ensued from the bombing, a chemist being arrested for being caught red-handed listening to Radio London, how some driven by poverty and hunger, joined the fascist guards and resorted to going to the cinema before the curfew to find a warm place to stay. Explains how Pavia’s old bridge, unlike the other two which were hit, was not hit by the bombers because it was not clearly visible in the reconnaissance photographs taken from aircraft. Describes the celebrations at the end of the war and reflects on the duality of bombers / liberators. Remembers seeing for the first time an American soldier called Dino, who gave them a soap crate as a gift for washing his laundry. Mentions post war acts of revenge, his role in the local branch of the communist party, the 1948 general election, and how he did not get a job as a tax collector because of his political persuasion.
Creator
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Filippo Andi
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-03-03
Contributor
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Peter Schulze
Format
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00:52:11 audio recording
Language
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ita
Identifier
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AMagnaniT170303
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Italy
Italy--Po River Valley
Italy--Milan
Italy--Pavia
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-09-04
1948
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
anti-aircraft fire
bombing
childhood in wartime
home front
Pippo
Resistance
shelter
strafing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/428/3600/PSamoreT1801.1.jpg
4e25eab2fa61b9c7d8bd7e75647a3e64
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/428/3600/ASamoreT180206.2.mp3
8a05a3481143895a718a4d6e010f2719
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
Samorè, Tito
Tito Samorè
T Samorè
Description
An account of the resource
One oral history interview with Tito Samorè who recollects his wartime experiences in Milan.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-02-06
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Samore, A
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.
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
ZG: Allora, l’intervista è condotta per l’International Bomber Command Centre. L’intervistatore è Zeno Gaiaschi. L’intervistato è Tito Samorè. Nella stanza è presente Francesco Samorè, il figlio. L’intervista ha luogo a Milano in [omitted] ed è il 6 febbraio 2018. Possiamo iniziare. Quindi, signor Tito, come prima cosa io le chiedo, qual’è il ricordo più vecchio che ha?
TS: Dunque, il ricordo più vecchio, di prima della guerra o durante la guerra?
ZG: Di prima della guerra.
TS: Di prima della guerra. Facevo tiratore scelto con i Balilla [laughs] che eravamo dieci in tutta Italia che ci portavamo a tirare a segno con carabine da tiro a segno e facevamo le gare di tiro a segno. Eravamo bravi, ci mandavano in giro a fare vedere che i Balilla erano bravi, sapevano sparare bene, ecco e via, però . Continuato, diciamo poi anche a nel futuro, nel passato diciamo continuato a tirare, a fare tiro a segno fino a quando mi ha detto: ‘No, non si può perché dovresti passare la nazionale in piedi e io sono un monocolo perché ho perso, durante la guerra ho perso una parte [laughs] e quindi quella lì già una seconda parte e poi si andava a scuola quel giorno, il primo giorno che è stato fatto il bombardamento del primo aprile, no, del giugno mi sembra del ’40, primo bombardamento di Milano, eravamo, era un pomeriggio tra parentesi di solito qui mettono turni invece siamo, siamo nel pomeriggio del, di quel, del primo bombardamento del ’40, del giugno del ’40 era, 16 giugno o il 19, eravamo per strada per Milano con mia madre e noi siamo cinque fratelli però eravamo solo i due maggiori andavano a spasso, gli altri erano ancora da venire certi e quindi. Ed eravamo un giro a spasso per Milano, Via Dante per la precisione, e quando a un certo punto abbiamo sentito suonare l’allarme però la gente, al primo momento non, non pensava neanche che potessero bombardare se ne fregavano un pochettino e se ne sono accorti quando si sono visti il primo [mimics the sound of the artillery] dell’antiaerea, ha cominciato a sparare l’antiaerea e si sentono arrivare gli aerei e la gente ha cominciato a fuggire. Mia madre che era una tipa molto veloce, diciamo, tenendoci saldamente per le mani tutti e due, mio fratello maggiore c’ha ormai novant’anni, io ce ne ho un po’ di meno ma diciamo la gente si scappava, la gente che fuggiva e non si sa bene per dove perché si vedevano gli aerei che arrivavano però la gente fuggiva e mia madre ci ha preso per le mani e ci ha fatto entrare in un portone che si trovava e siamo stati lì ad aspettare e io e mio fratello che eravamo i curosi naturalmente come tutti i ragazzini su questa faccia della Terra e guardavamo, vedevamo gli aerei e vedevamo dagli aerei cadere i grappoli, cadere dei grappoli ma mia madre diceva: ‘Ricordate ragazzi, stanno bombardando’ di mamma, guarda se bombardano adesso sopra di noi le bombe andranno, saranno circa mille metri le bombe andranno giù a ottanta, cento, duecento di qua quindi [laughs] aspettiamo che, che poi sono passati questi qui e poi sono andati via, è stato un bombardamento veloce però c’erano anche i loro morti, le loro, la gente era terrorizzata per un momento poi passato diciamo il terrore praticamente era abbastanza calma, certo, c’era gente che piangeva perché pensava alla casa, pensava ai bambini, pensava robe del genere, non sapeva dove erano cadute le bombe, poi così il terrore delle case che erano in fiamme e quindi, e c’erano case in fiamme, c’erano danni ma a me personalmente non è che abbia fatto terrore, era un’esperienza [laughs] e basta ecco. Questo è il primo bombardamento e poi, poi, poi [laughs] e poi ne sono passati tantissimi altri però in teoria non è che ci facessa paura molto a Milano almeno che è una città un po’ stramba [laughs] non ha dato quel terrore che gli americani, gli inglesi pensavano, speravano che sostenesse e bombardavano il giorno dopo che eravamo già lì a ricostruire o tirare via le macerie in Italia sì, c’erano proprio dei cosi specializzati, andavano subito a controllare che lo stabile stesse ancora in piedi, fosse ben, sgombrarlo e lasciarlo cadere oppure farlo cadere giù del tutto quindi c’era molta roba che veniva tirata via dalle strade, le strade erano pulite e soprattutto anche poi per tirare fuori i morti se c’erano, per evitare infezioni eccetera. Milano era molto tranquilla sotto certo, non ci faceva piacere c’erano case che bruciavano roba del genere però non era piacevole tant’è vero che ad esempio la prima cosa che ha fatto mio padre senza avere ordini specifici perché non gli avevano dato ha detto. Dunque partiamo dal principio che le case di Milano sono fatte di mattoni e di cemento e sono tutte però in legno la parte interna perché i pavimenti non avevano le travi di cemento traverse, c’avevano le travi di legno con su il carnicciato di legno e poi il pavimento. I tetti erano in legno, coperti da tegole ma erano in legno. I solai di solito erano in legno. Quindi erano molto più facili da incendiare ma l’esterno del fabbricato era rimasto così. Uno che passa per Milano dice case vecchie, oh, che strano ma come fanno a essere ancora case vecchie, dicevano che Milano era stata distrutta parecchio. Ma, sì, è stata distrutta perché erano bruciate da questi spezzoni incendiari la casa gli spezzoni erano bruciati. Mio padre aveva fatto, aveva messo uno strato di un metro e mezzo di sabbia in solaio e quella c’ha salvata la casa perché dopo, dopo gli anni che abbiamo cominciato a tirar via quella roba lì per vedere che cosa facesse eccetera eccetera, visto che c’erano questi spezzoni che erano dei pezzi di quaranta centimetri circa dodici esagonali che non esplodevano all’interno, quando riuscivano, quando entravano si incendiavano ma non esplodevano era solo la parte fosforsa, al fosforo perché l’odore era quello, il che scioglieva e incendiava se c’erano dei, e salvato così dal, si infilava nella sabbia e la nostra casa [laughs] non era toccata ecco. Insomma [unclear] [laughs]
ZG: Le faccio subito una domanda ed era, i suoi genitori che lavoro facevano?
TS: I miei genitori, dunque mia madre era casalinga e mio padre era dirigente di una azienda del, di produzione di forni da gas per le, per i grandi città. Difatti poi i tedeschi era stata militarizzata e i tedeschi volevano parecchie cose e lui, grazie a una segretaria italo-tedesca, che doveva fare segretaria dei tedeschi che però era più dalla parte partigiana che dalla parte tedesca e ci dava, dava a mio padre quello che avrebbero chiesto a lui perché sapeva tutto quanto di, lei era segretaria anche stenografa e sapeva quello che dicevano questi qua insomma. E quando hanno fatto le liste dei, diciamo, di presa degli operai specializzati per spedirli in Germania e lui ha fatto una cosa molto semplice. Ha detto dunque quali sono gli operai specializzati? Sono questi qui, allora ha avvisato gli operai specializzati adesso quando dicendo, adesso quando c’è il prossimo bombardamento dunque cominciamo premettendo che tutte le robe che ci interessano a noi di materiale ecco speciale, non so, lo stagno, l’argento, quello, materiali che servivano per fare non solo le aziende del gas ma anche contatori, quelli elettrici eccetera, erano aziende che facevano tante cose non ne facevano due o tre e ha presso tutte queste robe per dire le abbiamo messe dentro, le abbiamo, le ha messe dentro dei capannoni e questi capannoni ha aspettato quando c’è stato un bombardamento e [mimics the sound of a dropping bomb] una bomba è caduta non sul capannone ma su un altro capannone che per fortuna era vuoto e, vuoto di gente, e invece gli altri capannoni hann fatto [makes a booming noise] bella carica di dinamite al posto giusto e ha fatto crollare tutto. Il materiale buono era sotto in cantina, sopra c’era roba e in più c’hann messo dei poveretti che erano morti dopo il bombardamento, no, difatti li hanno sparsi un po’ qua, un po’ la e, irriconoscibili, e poi i, invece gli operai specializzati che avrebbero dovuto essere presi, li ha fatti andare via veloce perché diceva, prima di finire in Germania [unclear] se ritornate [laughs], smammate. Difatti poi dopo, subito dopo la guerra i sindacati, che allora c’erano i sindacati comandavano in quel momento, e l’avevano nominato direttore generale era quello che mandava avanti l’azienda ecco, poi dopo c’è stato qui tutto un insieme di cose.
ZG: Quindi la segretaria che parlava anche tedesco.
TS: La segretaria che parlava tedesco, parlava anche italiano perché naturalmente lei era un italo-tedesca, pardon, di madre credo, non ricordo più.
ZG: E quindi i tedeschi non sapevano che lei parlasse tedesco.
TS: I tedeschi sapevano che lei parlava tedesco perché [unclear] quindi lei aveva in materiale di discussione dei pezzi grossi tedeschi di Milano che sapeva tutto, diffusione, a tutti ma soltanto a quelli che poi dopo sapevano ma. Che poi lì era una cosa un po’ a parte però fa sempre parte della guerra e diciamo i tedeschi avevano dato a mio padre l’obbligo di costruire forni speciali per la distillazione degli alberi per fare benzina. Lì c’hanno impiegato un bel po’ di tempo a farlo, però a un certo punto a dovuto farla. Ha dovuto farla e questi qui sono andati, dovevano andare in Germania a presentare questa proposte dicevano disposizione di sì e poi tornare indietro. E con la macchina c’è andata anche la segretaria. So che, non si sa bene cosa sia successo, con precisione, a meno quanto diceva la segretaria, lei a un certo punto in un certo posto sapeva che c’era un passo di montagna che in un certo punto dietro una curva c’era un masso. Quando la macchina si è fermata, lei ha detto: ‘Ho bisogno urgente di fare la pipì’ [laughs]. E’ sparita. In quel momento sono arrivati degli aerei in picchiata che sapevano evidentemente l’ora, minuto e secondo di quel [unclear] e [makes a shooting sound] hanno spianato i tedeschi con macchine relative perché delle specie di bombe incendiarie di quelle un po’ e quindi tutti i disegni eccetera eccetera. La segretaria poi abbiamo saputo dopo che è passata direttamente tra i partigiani quindi [laughs]. Questa è una cosa che sapevano ben pochi tra parentesi [laughs]. Molto in pochi, soprattutto la faccenda dei, capannoni e della gente che era riuscita, è andata bene insomma. Certo, se lo beccavano [laughs].
ZG: E senta, appunto per questo posso chiederle qual’era il nome dell’azienda?
TS: Eh?
ZG: Il nome dell’azienda qual’era?
TS: La azienda era la Siri Chamont, [clears throat] scusate, la Siri Chamont, era un’azienda di origine francese, fatta da dei francesi, poi era però diretta da italiani ormai durante la guerra, poi siamo passati poi [unclear]
ZG: I capannoni si ricorda in che zona di Milano erano?
TS: Sì, in Via Savona, in fondo Via Savona 98 mi sembra [laughs] si perché sono passati un po’ di anni.
ZG: E senta a questo punto le faccio anche l’ultima domanda ed è, si ricorda per caso l’anno?
TS: L’anno?
ZG: Del bombamento dei capannoni.
TS: L’anno, aspetta un attimo, dunque l’anno era già, dunque nel ’43, deve essere luglio, bombardamento, dunque [mumbling/babbling] mitragliamenti, sempre nel ’43.
ZG: Va bene, non si preoccupi, non è fondamentale.
TS: [mumbling/babbling] era nel ’43, perché era già nel [unclear] solo che non mi ricordo se era nel ’43 o nel ’44, questo è il fatto perché.
ZG: Non si preoccupi, non è, non è necessario. E invece il nome di suo padre qual’era?
TS: Francesco. Francesco Samorè, ingegniere.
ZG: E per caso si ricorda anche il nome della segretaria?
TS: No, anche perché mio padre a un certo punto aveva anche un po’ paura di far sapere a tanti. Con noi, cioè ne aveva parlato praticamente dopo la guerra ma
ZG: Quindi lei ha saputo tutte queste cose finita la guerra.
TS: Finita la guerra, sì, sì, anche perché non potevano sapere, noi eravamo dei bambini, sai ne parli con un altro bambino il quale [unclear] bambino neanche [unclear], ciao.
ZG: Senta invece, tornando a prima della guerra, lei per caso si ricorda quando è scoppiata la guerra?
TS: Sì, sì, sì, sì, mi ricordo che c’è stato il famoso discorso del Duce che diceva appunto che avevano fatto la guerra eccetera eccetera e mio padre aveva già detto mi ricordo quello lì che aveva detto questa è una grande [unclear], potevamo farne anche a meno eravamo neutrali un pezzo per un pezzo siamo rimasti neutrali. L’Italia, l’Italia non ha partecipato subito alla guerra con i tedeschi perché i tedeschi hanno incominciato con la Polonia, non dicendo niente agli italiani. Tieni conto che nel periodo immediatamente prima della guerra i tedeschi volevano invadere l’Austria ma il presidente dell’Austria in quel momento era un socialista ed era un socialista giolittiano come mio padre. Non so perché anche Mussolini ha mandato due divisioni di alpini al confine con l’Austria in Austria, no, per difendere l’Austria dalla Germania. Quindi la cosa è stata stranissima perché Mussolini conosceva già Hitler. Hitler ha imparato da Mussolini malauguratamente. Solo che, non so se la gente lo sapesse questa faccenda perché sono stati mandati a proteggere l’Austria dall’invasione tedesca. Poi è morto il loro presidente e Hitler ha fatto i cavoli suoi, e ha occupato, fatto l’Anschluss, come dicono i tedeschi che [unclear] ecco. Poi cosa c’è d’altro.
ZG: Quindi.
TS: Scusa la voce.
ZG: Si sente benissimo.
TS: [unclear]
ZG: Quindi lei sentì il discorso di Mussolini?
TS: Il primo discorso sì, uno dei primi discorsi, quello precedente, poi quello dell’Etiopia, pi la cessione, la nomina del re Vittorio Emanuele III a imperatore dell’Etiopia, poi la conquista dell’Albania, perché è stata conquistata l’Albania molto prima della guerra e poi cosa mi ricordo? Ci sono state tante cose che, molte, io mi ricordavo che ero giovane mi piaceva, siccome mi piaceva tirare a segno veramente ci portavano al tiro a segno nazionale col fucile. Era una carabina fatta aposta a tiro, non erano moschettini che dicevano dei moschettini, no, no, era una signora carabina, meno pesante, il tiro era soltanto, venticinque metri circa, non era i cinquanta metri, cento metri però facevamo, eravamo in pochissimi [unclear], in tutta Italia eravamo dieci, neanche.
ZG: E quindi
TS: Anche quello c’è poca gente che lo sa [laughs]
ZG: E quindi questi discorsi qua li sentiva alla radio?
TS: Eh?
ZG: Questi discorsi qua li sentiva alla radio?
TS: Eh, c’era la radio, non c’era la televisione in quel periodo. Avevamo già una signora radio super, me la ricordo, una radio che era anche buona, si sentiva bene, si sentiva anche la radio britannica che faceva [mimics the opening of Beethoven’s symphony] facevano [mimics] voleva dire che era la trasmissione inglese per gli italiani, ecco.
ZG: Suo padre dopo lo scoppio della guerra, le ha mai parlato della guerra? Le ha mai detto qualcosa?
TS: Tante cose. Ci commentava ad esempio il fatto di certe, della guerra in Libia, che essendo entrata in guerra, l’Italia era legata poi a difendere la Libia e non ce la faceva. E difatti in pochissimo tempo c’avevano conquistato [unclear] che c’era una famosa canzone di gero bubbo me la ricordo alcuni pezzi [laughs]. Ah, posso dirtela? Dunque, ce n’era uno che colonnello, su questa rima, adesso canto male, colonnello, non voglio il pane, voglio sabbia per il mio sacchetto, poi c’erano tutte le cose, non voglio l’acqua, non la voglio, [unclear] e c’era questa diciamo canzone che l’avevano fatta perché Gera bubo era un posticino disperso in fondo alla Libia, gli inglesi lo potevano mangaire in due minuti e mezzo, non c’aveva niente, avevano fatto dei carri armati con i trattori con delle piastre d’acciaio e dei [unclear] che i carri armati normali erano delle schifezze pazzesche [laughs]. E poi c’erano tante di cose che, che sapevamo noi giovani perché io avevo mio fratello che aveva, che ha sei anni più di me e quindi aveva certe informazioni che io non avevo ancora. Però eravamo tutti e due appassionati dell’aviazione, del, sapevamo dei modellini, ci facevamo noi i modellini, sapevamo tutto, questo qui sono gli aerei tedeschi, le migliori ali tra parentesi. Dicevamo di bercero, diceva, degli inglesi, le migliori ali, no. E così degli inglesi eccetera non mi ricordo più che cosa diceva di male [laughs], non me lo ricordo più, però sapevamo che l’aereo così così era inglese, così così era tedesco, quindi avevamo già una certa conoscenza, è per quello che non avevamo avuto la paura dicendo a mia madre guarda che se li vediamo sulla testa vuol dire che sono già [unclear] le bombe [laughs] anche se non andavano a delle velocità pazzesche, andavano sì e no a seicento chilometri all’ora se c’arrivavano. Se c’arrivavano eh perché un bombardiere carico di allora più di quattrocento chilometri all’ora, ciccia [laughs].
ZG: Ehm.
TS: Tieni conto che l’Italia aveva vinto il campionato mondiale per l’idrovolanti, ce la faccia? Aveva vinto il campionato del mondo per gli idrovolanti quindi era una gara fatta anche con gli inglesi, americani eccetera eccetera. E avevamo fatto un idrovolante che credo che fosse già stato fatto dalla Macchi però i motori non mi ricordo di chi, se erano, non me lo ricordo, era un motore [unclear] in ogni caso avevamo già una forma molto affusolata, e il motore aveva l’elica, due eliche sulla stessa asse di cui una girava in un senso e un’altra in un’altra per evitare che l’aereo avesse, il movimento della coda tendesse a girarlo, ed è arrivato a settecento chilometri all’ora, è stato un record che è rimasto uguale, tutt’ora, perché per i motori a scoppio non sono mai riusciti ad arrivare [laughs] e poi dopo abbiamo fatto delle baracche perché in Italia siamo furbi, molto furbi, avevamo costruito, dunque avevamo costruito gli idrovolanti e poi avevamo costruito anche gli idrovolanti che lanciavano i siluri e potevano lanciare i siluri e poi hanno cessato la produzione e l’hann fatto gli inglesi in confronto. E c’hanno affondato a Taranto, no, a Taranto, sì, sì, ha Taranto hanno affondato la flotta italiana, una parte, con i loro, con i loro idrovolanti, questo, però esattamente se ti devo dire il giorno, l’ora, l’anno non me lo ricordo proprio però è stato uno dei primi [unclear], applicazioni di siluri sugli idrovolanti. Che l’hanno fatto gli inglesi però, non gli italiani, non avevano mandato avanti la cosa. L’abbiamo fatta dopo, come al solito. E così pure anche il radar. Marconi, quando aveva fatto la cosa, il radar l’aveva già fatto, ma non gli hanno dato retta. E’ andato a farlo poi in Inghilterra e in Inghilterra l’hanno fatto. Questo non lo so io se lo sapesse qualcuno ancora [laughs], c’è tanta roba che io so guarda che tu non hai. Perché eravamo interessatissimi io e mio fratello ci interessavamo molto delle armi, del tipo di arma, di quello che veniva fatto ad esempio quando c’è stata la cosa in Russia, a parte il fatto che mio padre ha detto: ‘Ma quello è scemo, come al solito’, ma questo è un altro discorso perché [unclear] mi raccomando [unclear] una cosa del genere [laughs] che hanno mandato gli alpini, li ha mandati con un’attrezzatura che quando ci sarà il gelo saranno dolori, infatti è successo ben così [laughs]. Questo è una poi ce ne sono ancora un po’ parecchie [laughs] c’ho un’enciclopedia ormai dentro di questa roba qui che fa paura quindi non saprei dirti tutto [laughs].
ZG: Ma, dov’è che vivevate? Con suo padre, con la sua famiglia, dove vivevate a Milano?
TS: Noi vivevamo prima a Milano poi siamo sfollati a Santa Margherita Ligure, poi [laughs], poi siamo tornati a Milano, nel ’41 circa eravamo a Milano, Milano in quel momento lì non hanno bombardato, che mi risulti non hanno mai bombardato nel ’41. Poi siamo stati per un pezzo del ’42 ancora a Milano, poi hanno incominciato dei bombardamenti un po’, po’ pesanti a Milano e allora siamo tornati a Santa Margherita. A Santa Margherita ci siamo andati all’inizio del ’43 [unclear] [laughs] e ce l’avevo scritto anche [unclear] non mi ricordo più. In ogni caso, [unclear], in ogni caso Santa Margherita nel ’43 ormai non c’erano ancora le, nel ’43 c’è stato poi l’armistizio, cosiddetto armistizio e guerra contro i tedeschi che è stato un casino perché lì hanno fatto la più grande vaccata che potesse essere fatta, sia dalla parte degli inglesi che dalla parte nostra perché gli inglesi hanno detto, molto prima di quello che doveva essere detto, che l’Italia era passata completamente all’Inghilterra e quindi tutti i soldati, tutta la gente, nessuno aveva ricevuto ordini specifici che bisognava sparare ai tedeschi, bisognava scappare, e i tedeschi hanno avuto piazza libera praticamente. E difatti tieni conto che ci hanno affondato la corazzata Roma, che era stata, era una corazzata che era una cosa fatta bene perché le navi erano fatte bene, non sono mai state usate perché l’Italia [unclear] [laughs] e la corazzata Roma gli sono arrivati i tedeschi sopra, loro non sapevano neanche se dovevano, se potevano sparare ai tedeschi o no, non si, non avevano neanche i [unclear], perché se avessero avuto il sentore di una cosa del genere, avessero cominciato a sparargli ai tedeschi coi mezzi che aveva già la corazzata Roma, non so se arrivavano a tirargli giù la bomba. E i tedeschi staccano prima la bomba col tele, comandata via cavo e guidata da un osservatore, difatti hanno tirato, praticamente non ha fatto [unclear], hanno fatto quasi così, [laughs] ed è entrata dentro in un camino della nave, che è la parte più delicata e hanno fatto un disastro perché pare che ci fosse la termite chissàdio che cosa era, l’ha tagliato in due [unclear].
ZG: Quando chiedevo prima a Milano, in che quartiere vivevate?
TS: In?
ZG: Che quartiere vivevate a Milano?
TS: Abbastanza vicino, qua, Via Etna, Via [laughs], Via Andrea Verga 4 che sarà cento metri, [unclear] duecento metri da qua insomma. [unclear] Via Andrea Verga 4 che è una strada che dopo ha avuto un, poco dopo durante la guerra ci avevano bruciato vicino a casa nostra [unclear], davanti a casa nostra due case, un cantiere di legno, roba del genere, che vendeva legni eccetera eccetera, e poi subito di fianco alla casa o quasi c’era la, una fabbrica che non mi ricordo più il nome, mi è scappato il nome, quello non c’è niente da fare, una fabbrica grossa che è stata incendiata completamente, altre case che sono state incendiate con, perché nessuno aveva fatto la fesseria, ha avuto l’idea di mio padre, di mettere la sabbia sul. Se tanti a Milano hanno messo per ordine tutti [unclear] così, gli inglesi sarebbero rimasti con le braghe di tela. Che sono rimasti ancora con le braghe di tela perché i tedeschi, gli inglesi speravano, bombardando Milano, le ultime bombardamenti gravi in, quelli di agosto e di coso del ’40, ah beh buonanotte, ’41, ’42, nel ’42, nel ’42 [laughs]. Questi bombardamenti qui che avevano fatto ultimi, dunque poi ce n’era uno che era stato fatto in agosto del ’43, il ’43 che quindi c’era già l’accordo tra italiani e inglesi. Perché sono venuti a bombardarci Milano? Ecco, questo perché gli inglesi c’avevano, insomma ce l’avevano su, perché è impossibile che loro sapessero che c’era l’armistizio in atto perché si sa che avevano mandato della gente italiana a parlare a Lisbona, o roba del genere, in Portogallo con inglesi per l’accordo di coso, si sapeva già che c’era già, perché hanno fatto un bombardamento di quel tipo lì che ha massacrato veramente Milano, sono stati più di quattrocento morti e passa eh. Ecco, gli inglesi pensavano di creare una nuova Dresda, a destra gli inglesi quando hanno bombardato coso, o gli americani, non lo so chi l’aveva fatto, avevano bombardato Dresda la quale ormai era costruita tutta in legno, quasi perché era una, un monumento nazionale. Aveva case ancora, in stile, in legno eccetera eccetera quindi quando gli sono arrivati questi qui poi è partita. Poi c’è stato vento eccetera eccetera, morale della favola hanno fatto il vortice di fuoco su a est, è riuscita a bruciate tutta Dresda. Un macello pazzesco, gente che moriva nel fosforo, lasciamo perdere [laughs]. Non tocca l’Italia in questo momento. Ma speravano di fare così anche a Milano. Milano s’è trovato el matun, scusa il termine, milanese, a Milano si è trovato il mattone e sì, e peccato che c’era dentro del legno. Tu vedevi le case di Milano intorno, vedevi le case ancora in piedi eccetera eccetera, guardavi dentro, vuoto completo [laughs].
ZG: E la scuola invece dove l’ha fatta?
TS: Ah, scuole, guarda, non, guardando bene dall’inizio della scuola, anzi non dall’inizio della scuola, dall’inizio della guerra in poi non ho mai fatto più di due mesi e mezzo in [unclear] perché [laughs] si passava da una parte all’altra, dall’altra, [laughs] e quindi il perito ma era dopo la guerra, quindi passato un po’ di tempo. E le medie le ho fatte che c’avevo tredici anni e le ho fatte in due tempi perché era nel ’45, una parte l’ho fatta, poi mio padre c’ha mandato, m’ha mandato a fare, trovare una persona fuori Milano e ho fatto da, da diciamo da privatista la terza, la seconda e la terza di coso perché la prima ero finito male perché mi era scoppiata una bomba vicino e mi ha dimezzato. Non si vede ma ci mancano vari pezzi [laughs], più l’occhio di vetro, un altro pezzo che, come si vede, c’è ancora qualche cosina, più schegge eccetera eccetera. Lì c’è stata una scena pazzesca in ospedale quando, sì, quando è successo questo, è successo così. Andiamo a finire chissà dove. Santa Maria Ligure è successo quersto numero qua. Tu tieni conto che a Santa Margherita Ligure c’erano nel porto due avvisi scorta che avevano delle specie di cacciatorpediniere che avevano ancora del petrolio nei serbatoi e di fianco c’era un avviso scorta come lo chiamavano che non era altro che una vecchia, una nave da trasporto armata con un cannoncino e delle mitragliere della Bred, qusto me lo ricordo perché erano mitragliere. Io, sai, allora noi sapevamo tutto, almeno io e mio fratello perché io c’avevo un fratello maggiore che si interessava di queste cose qui e io seguivo [mimics a dog’s panting] da bravo cagnolino dietro, no, e imparavo tutto anch’io. Il fatto è che in quel, quando è arrivato il non so, non mi ricordo più, il casino dell’8 settembre, 8 settembre del ’43, i due cacciabombardieri, caccia, le due navi veloci e armate, molto armate sono riuscite a scappare, l’altra non aveva gasolio per farla andare, e l’hanno affondata, autoaffondata ma aprendo le saracinesche, il terreno lì sono, il fondo di Santa Margherita non è enorme, tra il fondo e la barca ci sarà stato si e no due metri e mezzo, quindi quando questa è affondata, è affondata per due metri e mezzo e si è fermata lì. Dalla barca avevano buttato in mare a pezzi o interi, dei proiettili, c’erano dei proiettili grossi col relativo bossolo, sai che i proiettili c’è l’ogiva, il corpo del proiettile, poi c’è la parte di cartuccia che viene infilata nel cannone che insieme nei cannoni moderni era insieme ai, al proiettile, dentro, questo coso qua si smontava, tra parentesi se uno voleva smontarselo, se lo smontava infilandolo dentro [unclear] tira via [laughs] poi i bambini. Mettiamo le cose in chiaro, i bambini sono sempre [unclear], i bambini avevamo l’accortezza per prendere la bomba, non la bomba, l’esplosivo che c’è dentro, beh fa niente, mi è scappato di testa, lo scritto da qualche parte non me [unclear], la balistite, se tu la prendi all’aperto e l’accendi così, [unclear], non scoppia, ma se ti viene chiusa dentro a un proiettile, il colpo c’è e sì. Ora, ora tieni conto che c’erano questi proiettili buttati a mare. I ragazi prendevano dei secchi, buttavano in fondo, tiravano su, tiravi su un cannone, un cannone pochi, i colpi di cannone, c’erano una decina di colpi di cannone ma c’erano molti proiettili della mitragliera binata della Breda, posso dire anche il tipo, del diametro di venti millimetri, che erano delle cose alte dieci centimetri, un pochino di più forse, sì, sì vabbè, il proiettile era così, si smontava l’ogiva in alto, poi si tirava via la spoletta intermedia, poi con molta attenzione si faceva andare via la capsula di, fulminata di mercurio. [unclear] [laughs]. Scusa, mi viene da ridere quando. Ora, dopodiché c’era la polvere da sparo che era dentro nel proiettile, la tiravi via così, basta, poi montavi l’ogiva sopra, il proiettile era nuovo, solo che era vuoto, non faceva più niente. L’incoveniente è che c’era molta gente e molti giovani che lo facevano. Di solito erano ragazzi di diciassette, diciotto anni. E’ successo a me, a me particolarmente e a un altro amico, Un giorno di febbraio, il 27 febbraio del 1944, quindi un’anno dopo quasi che avevano affondato la nave. Alle dieci uscivamo dalla messa di Sant’Erasmo, ecco, Sant’Erasmo si chiamava, fino a stamattina non mi ricordavo più che si chiamava [laughs], dalla chiesa di Sant’Erasmo, da, di una chiesa che c’è nella parte del porto di Santa Margherita e noi siamo usciti dalla chiesa di Sant’Erasmo, ero io e questo ragazzo qua che era con me, e andiamo avanti pochi metri più in là e c’era un gruppetto di, mi sembra fossero tre, adesso non mi ricordo più bene, che stavano trafficando e questo amico che avevo con me conosceva questi qui e diceva: ‘Vieni a vedere questa roba qua’ [unclear]. Io vado, vedo che cosa c’hanno in mano e io non sapevo, conoscevo già quegli aggeggi, prendevamo in mano anche noi, non è che [laughs], t’ho detto, eravamo da prendere con le molle anche se c’avevo undici anni, e vedo che c’avevano questa roba qui che stavano smontando e avevano già svitato via l’ogiva, la parte di testa del coso. Io ho detto, ho vsito che facevano quel lavoro lì e ho detto al mio amico: ‘Ohè, questi qui vogliono saltare per aria, diam più in là’ e abbiamo cominciato ad allontanarci. Eravamo circa due o tre metri che forse, sì, tre metri, quasi quattro, mi volto così per vedere se c’erano robe che e malauguratamente vedo, proprio verso di me, che avevano già tirato via l’ogiva e stavano trafficando un qualche cosa che era il fulminante di mercurio. Il fulminante di mercurio è molto delicato [laughs] e questi qui hanno sbagliato qualche cosetta. Morale della favola, mentre mi giravo così ho visto, prima il buco nero e poi qualche secondo dopo la vampata, che mi sembrava verde. Che poi ho avuto i nodi col verde per un fracco di tempo [laughs]. E sono molto veloce di riflessi, ancora adesso e ho tirato su le mani per fortuna perché questo dito qui, come vedi, è partito e questo pezzo qua è ricresciuto. Un altro ne ricresceva così, quindi hanno dovuto tagliarla. Quell’altro ricresceva, è bruciarlo fino a quando e questo è uno. Poi c’è questa mano qui che sembra quasi intera, tieni conto che queste due qui servono così a farsi vedere, a rompere le scatole. La cicatrice parte da qua, non mi si vede più quasi perché mi spariscono le cicatrici come vedi. E’ entrata qui e ha portato via tutto un pezzo o quasi. Questo è uno più una quarantina di buchi [laughs]. Il fatto di avere alzato le mani m’ha salvato. Qui ha fatto questo, questo segno qui che però è un buco, molto più ampio della parte del vetro, della plastica, e un pezzo di faccia, compreso un pezzo di mascella. In più c’era questo [unclear] qui, probabilmente era dovuto all fatto della deviazione che questa mano qua frena il colpo, ha spaccato la mano però questo qui se l’è cavata per un pelo, le cicatrici erano nascoste [unclear] quasi, e sembra una ruga [laughs] non succede niente e poi questo qua che si vede. Che l’è minga troppo aposto [laughs], ecco. Naturalmente quando è successo, è successo che quelli che erano lì, poveretti, sì, li hanno portati all’ospedale ma non so se sono arrivati all’ospedale ecco. E il mio amico che era vicino era stato colpito all’arteria femorale della gamba destra e dopo un pochino hanno dovuto operarlo e tirar via la gamba perché era la cancrena, faceva fretta anche. Poi, ora che c’hanno caricato su una carrozza a cavalli, ci hanno portato dal porto all’ospedale che era in cima, su, dove c’è la stazione ferroviaria e sono, un percorso che fatto a piedi sarebbe [unclear], c’ha perso il suo tempo. Il sottoscritto c’aveva l’abitudine di non gridare di prendere le cose così come stavano arrivando, non ho perso conoscenza e non sono svenuto tutto il periodo. L’unica cosa che mi ricordo è che sono entro dentro a un barbiere che c’era di fronte a chiedere asciugamani per gli altri e questo barbiere me lo ricordo ogni volta, adesso è morto poveretto. Ogni volta [unclear] me lo ricordo cioè mi ricordo che sei entrato [unclear] che non sapevo chi ero, questo qui buttava sangue, qui c’era sangue, lì c’era sangue, un occhio era chiuso, l’altro non c’era più, vestito, mia madre diceva che non c’era più niente, era un buco e c’è magari gente piccola anche [unclear] e ho cercato di salire, ho cercato di salire sulla carrozzella senza accorgermi che non c’avevo più mano praticamente, c’avevo due dita che non funzionavano quasi perché sono lese anche loro non è che sia. E c’ha portato all’ospedale, all’ospedale, siccome io non gridavo, gli altri gridavano tutti e c’avevo gli occhi, c’avevo sangue dappertutto eccetera eccetera m’hanno preso sul tavolo di marmo che è quello delle autopsie [laughs] e nessuno ha guardato il sottoscritto che per fortuna sua, per qualche misteriosa ragione o perché sono, sapevo, avevo studiato qualche cosa di medicina, medicina no, di infermeria, e tenevo una mano dentro l’altra per fermare il sangue. E m’hanno messo su questo marmo, messo su questo marmo e poi nessuno, gli altri gridavano tutti quindi dovevo, dottori erano quelli che erano, gli infermieri anche, era un’ospedale piccolo, non era un’ospedale grande come quello di Santa Margherita e io [unclear] fermo, tranquillo, non dicevo niente e c’avevo gli occhi perché figurati questo qui col taglio qua non vedevo niente anche se ne avessi avuto voglia poi faceva male, questo qui non c’era più praticamente. Morale della favola a un certo punto passa un frate che conoscevo e era un’ex, un frate di [unclear] che ci faceva vedere di segreto i film che aveva girato in Russia durante la ritirata della decima, della Brigata Giulia e sento che mi fa un’estrema unzione. Io sento la voce del frate, la riconosco subito percheé lo conoscevamo bene, gli ho detto, mi raccomando, dica che sono vivo, [mimics a puzzled expression] scioccato perché credeva anche lui che fossi morto guardate che questo qui è vivo. Due minuti dopo [unclear] tutti i medici ormai vedevanko che andavano a farsi friggere poveretti ed erano lì a cercare di richiudere ste mani. Nel frattempo arriva un giornalista lì è la cosa più divertente che mi fa ridere ancora adesso. Arriva un giornalista e ci fa: ‘Come ti chiami?’ ‘Tito Samorè’ ‘E tua madre’? ‘Ada Coerolo’ ‘E tuo padre?’ Figurati, uno sdraiato in quella maniera lì, conciato così, e già fa [unclear] ancora la mascella, si sente che ne manca un toc, e gli faccio: ‘Se mi chiamo Samorè io’, ma l’ho detto abbastanza forte, no, che si è sentito una risata, un casino in quel momento di gente che lanciava urla, che, si vede che ero salvo, sentire questa era una barzelletta sentire, perché era una barzelletta detta da uno che sembrava morto due minuti prima [laughs]. Mi ricordo che c’è stata una risata fortissima proprio, questa me la ricorderò sempre, basta scusa [laughs] se ho tirato fuori delle storie [laughs]. Ecco, questa è stata una delle cose. E poi, vabbè, poi siamo tornati a Milano, giusto in tempo per gli ultimi bombardamenti [laughs], per gli ultimi bombardamenti e ci facevamo a piedi da Milano a Magenta e dormivamo nel [laughs], nella piramide che c’è a Magenta, nel, non so se c’è ancora, nella specie di piramide del cimitero di Magenta, della guerra di Magenta, della guerra del 1800, 1600, no, 1700, dio, vabbè [laughs] e c’era questo bello libero, si poteva dormire, era un po’ [unclear] di gente, c’era molta gente e c’era, cioè, si faceva a piedi per andare via dai bombardamenti, perché non trovavi nessun mezzo che ti portava in giro, non ce n’eran più [laughs]. Poi vabbè, vai avanti pure tu con le domande perché qui fino adesso ho cicerato io [laughs].
ZG: Perché da Milano dovevate andare a Magenta? Perché, non andavate nei rifugi?
TS: Ma perché, tenevamo Milano lontano [laughs], avevamo paura che tornassero di nuovo a farne degli altri bombardamenti e di fatti gli han fatti, dei bombardamenti successivi, a meno [unclear] [laughs].
ZG: Quindi a lei non è mai capitato di andare nei rifugi?
TS: Come?
ZG: Non è mai capitato di andare nei rifugi?
TS: Non parliamo di quei rifugi lì guarda. A Milano di rifugi come si deve c’erano solo quelli delle aziende che costruivano proiettili, bombe, altre robe del genere, che erano fatto a piramide così, no, in cemento armato e erano blindati sotto con dei corridoi sotto, fatti bene. Difatti quelli che erano riusciti a andare nei, diciamo tipo in quei rifugi lì andavano bene. Ma i rifugi delle case erano nient’altro che delle cantine con dei cosi di, di legno per irrobustirle ma basta. [unclear] molta gente a Milano è morta in cantina, in rifugio. Sinceramente guardando bene i rifugi delle case come quelli lì di Via Verga dove eravamo è del 1900, ma certi rifugi, che poi abbiamo visto dopo, anni dopo [unclear], anni dopo finita la guerra, che andavo in giro con mio padre a vedere Milano come l’era e c’erano dei pezzi di romani ancora. Anzi molte rovine romane sono saltate fuori [unclear]. A Sant’Ambrogio che era stato bombardato lateralmente a sinistra dove c’è la cosa della, quel monumento ai caduti, no, era stato bombardato da quella parte lì ed era interessante perché tutte le arcate che c’erano di cose ed erano scoperte dai bombardamenti erano [unclear] da anforette e [unclear] per fare l’arcata. Ed erano così. E non so come nessuno la sapeva [laughs].
ZG: Quindi lei, lei personalmente non è mai scappato in rifugio quindi?
TS: Come?
ZG: Lei personalmente non è mai scappato in rifugio durante un bombardamento.
TS: Simao andati una volta in rifugi quando eravamo ancora nei primi tempi ma a vedere così com’era [unclear] i capelli dritti insomma. E poi avevamo preso un’abitudine tale ai bombardamenti, agli allarmi che c’era un termine, c’era un metodo tedesco che lo diceva prima in tedesco e poi in italiano. Era: ‘Achtung! Achtung! Achtung! [unclear]’ eccetera eccetera, ossia voleva dire: ‘Attenzione! Attenzione! Attenzione! No, avvicinamento [unclear] nel quadrante quattro, cinque, come se fosse un tiro a segno e [unclear] man mano che si avvicinava dicevano tanti, pochi, niente, o uno, o due, o tre che circolano eccetera eccetera. Noi andavamo, io e mio fratello a mangiare alla mensa comunale di Piazza Diaz dove facevano bene da mangiare, quel periodo lì una cosa eccezionale trovare da mangiare era e mio padre ci mandava là a mangiare. Eravamo cinque fratelli quindi [laughs]. Noi che eravamo pià grandi eravamo andati fuori e noi partivamo da questo principio qui bisognava fare la fila. Allora quando cominciava l’allarme, ‘attenzione! Attenzione! Achtung! Achtung! Attenzione! Attenzione! [unclear] la gente scappava via veloce e noi andavamo avanti [laughs] era una cosa da lavativi [laughs] e poi nota bene che i, gli unici due o tre che c’erano a Milano di rifugi antiaerei erano la prima ante, come si chiama, la metropolitana, no, che doveva essere costruita e avevano già fatto un pezzo da Piazza San Fedele, quella dietro al comune, al Duomo. E lì c’era una galleria, [unclear] perché c’era il salone che poi hanno fatto diventare il salone del mobile, dopo, e allora c’era quella lì [laughs] ed era una grossa, ed era abbastanza fonda, quindi c’aveva una certa profondità, cemento di sopra, insomma, e ma se no di, di rifugi antiaerei proprio no, maluccio [laughs]. Ma pensa che [unclear] città morta gente che era morta perché è rimasta nel. C’erano nei rifugi poco dopo la guerra, nelle case bruciate, c’era uscita rifugio e la freccia, o entrata rifugio e c’era la freccia, perché era obbligatorio mettere le freccie sul, oltre i cartelli che diceva, casa distrutta da bombardieri anglo-assassìni, anglo-assàssini una volta era, poi i teschi che erano assàssini anche loro, hanno detto: ‘No, no, nein, non bisogna mettere assàssini, nein’ [makes a noise] allora assassìni, anglo-assassìni [laughs]. Poi è stato cancellato, quando c’è stata la liberazione hanno cancellato ma ogni tanto salta fuori [laughs].
ZG: Si ricorda invece qualcosa dell’occupazione nazista? Si ricorda le truppe tedesche a Milano?
TS: Ah, le truppe tedesche a Milano, effettivamente facevano il lavoro che dovevano fare a Milano, non andavano tanto d’accordo con la popolazione, questo non andava abbastanza bene perché fino a quando c’è stato la Repubblica Sociale c’era da mangiare a Milano. Il periodo più critico è stato dopo la Repubblica, che non c’era da mangiare. Non c’era da mangiare, venivano quelli fuori dalle campagne a portare la roba se arrivavano, e se c’avevi i soldi perchè costavano cari. Questo mi ricordo perché avevamo la carta, la tessera annonaria che ognuno di noi aveva e che era pane, carne eccetera eccetera. Se tu pensi che io che ero considerato un invalido di guerra, avevo diritto a una bistecca di carne ottima ed era controllata tra parentesi e te la dovevano dare buona di un etto al giorno, al giorno [emphasises], quella bistecca da un etto al giorno serviva a cinque persone [laughs]. Il pane era verde, bellissimo, pane verde, facevi così [makes a whistling noise] [laughs] e poi era, [laughs] [blows his nose]
ZG: Senta invece, si ricorda di quando la guerra è finita?
TS: Comes?
ZG: Si ricorda di quando la guerra è finita?
TS: Sì, 25 aprile, Dunque, lì, 25 aprile, niente, a Milano si sono sparati poco ma ci è andata bene che non hanno fatto quello che voleva fare Mussolini, a fare Milano come. Sparacchiavano nelle strade e ammazzavano [unclear], vabbè, normale nella storia. Anche perché pare che Schuster, l’arcivescovo di Milano di allora fosse riuscito ad avere un accordo con i tedeschi che loro se ne potevano andfare fuori dai piedi senza [unclear] resistenza eccetera e gli altri li lasciavano andare e si infatti. Peccato che abbiano fucilato della gente che ne potevano fare a meno di fucilarle, che potevano e quello non è stato un piacere che hanno fatto.
ZG: Senta.
TS: Quando scendevi dalla stazione che mettevano il timbro sul, quando uscivi dalla stazione al buio, alla sera, ti mettevano [makes a noise] il timbro sulla mano che era l’autorizzazione ad andare in giro di notte. [laughs] Non so se, se c’è gente che si ricorda quell’episodio lì. E ti mettevano il timbro, o sulla mano o sul polso, adesso non mi ricordo bene, non so se era sopra, boh [laughs]. E quello me lo ricordo, il fatto che a una certa ora non c’erano mezzi, [unclear] i tram erano bruciati durante, mi ricordo a fine della guerra c’era la fila di tram bruciati e soltanto la carcassa dei tram che ci sono ancora adesso in circolazione del ’35, sono quelli normali che vedi in giro sono quelli del ’35, gli altri moderni è un altro discorso, ma quelli lì erano ricostruiti da quelli che erano bruciati e c’erano, c’era tutta la fila lungo, per andare in Via Domodossola lungo la fiera campionaria che era stata bombardata anche lei che era tutta spazzolata e unclear], Milano [unclear] c’erano le bombe [laughs].
ZG: Come mai le era capitato di dover tornare la sera?
TS: Come?
ZG: Come mai le era capitato di arrivare in stazione la sera?
TS: Perché i treni arrivavano quando, quando c’erano se li trovavi [luahgs[. Mi ricordo che immediatamente dopo la guerra, mio padre ci aveva mandato sempre mio fratello e me [laughs], ci aveva mandato da Milano a Santa Margherita Ligure, era subito finito, era pochi giorni dopo la liberazione e col treno bisognava fare il treno spezzonato perché facevi Milano-Pavia, Pavia scendevi, attraversavi il Ticino, col traghetto [mimics the sound of the ferry’s motor] al Ticino, poi dal Ticino salivi, treno, un pezzettino di treno che c’era rimasto tra il Ticino e il Po, al Po scendevi attraversavi [unclear] [laughs], salivi sopra, facevi, a [unclear] scendevi, avanti così. E poi arrivati a Genova dovevi [laughs], dovevi prendere il tram a Sampierdarena, il tram che erano delle baracche pazzesche e arrivavi fino a Nervi. A nervi scendevi, passavi a Spiaggia, passavi sopra il muro anti, antisbarco fatto dai tedeschi che era tutto [unclear] e salivi su delle chiatte e con le chiatte arrivaci a Camogli. Camogli scendevi, andavi su a Ferrovia, salivi sui carrelli spinti a mano, tu con altre persone c’erano dei carrelli, [unclear] si mettevan dietro, in salita, nella salita della ferrovia poi fino in fondo, fino a Santa Margherita si scendeva [makes a rattling noise] [laughs] ci voleva una giornata circa più o meno. O se perdevi il treno trovavi, se avevi fortuna trovavi alla stazione dell’autostrada trovavi la polizia, la polizia americana che fermava i camion e chiedeva: ‘Dove vai?’, non so ‘A Pavia’, allora c’è qualcuno che va verso Milano [unclear] allora andate su questo qui. Allora siamo andati a finire su un camion carico di cesti di pesce, in maggio inoltrato sul sole su questo camion [unclear], che poi quando si passava nelle gallerie, bisognava stare sdraiati appicicati nel pesce [laughs], era una cosa [laughs], quando ci penso ci rido sopra perché è stata, erano delle cose pazzesche. Raccontate sembrano [unclear] balle [laughs].
ZG: Senta, io le farei giusto le ultime due domande.
TS: Dimmi tutto perché se non me le fai tu le domande [laughs]
ZG: No, chiaro. All’epoca cosa pensava di chi bombardava?
TS: Di?
ZG: Di chi bombardava lei cosa pensava?
TS: Ah, figli di puttana [laughs], [unclear] diceva perché non stava bene in casa nostra [laughs], ma se avessimo preso, difatti a Milano qualche d’uno che era stato abbattuto e coso, sono stati quelli della X MAS o coso che hanno salvato perché la gente. Quando sono arrivati dopo la liberazione, le prime truppe che sono arrivate non hanno mandato gli inglesi, hann mandato gli americani che l’odio che c’era non era più per gli americani, era per gli inglesi, e ti assicuro che per un periodo di tempo l’Inghilterra, con l’Inghilterra non andavamo molto d’accordo. Mi spiace dirlo se questo qui è per gli inglesi ma si ritengano molto, molto poco amati dagli italiani in quel momento lì. Molto, molto poco [laughs].
ZG: Senta, senta invece adesso, ripensandoci, cosa pensa?
TS: Dico, se hanno voluto andare, vogliono fare, l’Inghilterra a isolottolo perso, andate, andate. Cercate di allontanarvi ancora di più dall’Euriopa possibilmente ecco [laughs].
FS: Posso ricordare a mio papà un evento che non ha raccontato?
ZG: Sì, certo.
TS: Che cosa?
FS: Di tutte le cose che hai raccontato, una cosa che non abbiamo detto a Zeno ma che mi ricordi spesso
TS: Dimmi.
FS: E’ quando mitragliavano i tram.
TS: Guarda, quattro volte mi sono trovato con un aereo che mitragliava il tram, il trenino per andare da Milano a Bergamo, che hanno bombardato, l’hann mitragliato e bombardato anche un pochettino durante il viaggio interno nel parco di Monzo. E noi eravamo con mio fratello, giravamo intorno agli alberi [laughs] mentre quelli venivano, no, vedevamo aerei che venivano per mitragliare e noi giravamo dietro l’albero [laughs] . Poi tanti, mitragliavano tanti tram con la gente dentro, e difatti parecchi morti li hann fatti anche lì e coi camion. Coi camion c’era uno sempre sdraiato sul tetto del camion che guardava se c’era qualche aereo che veniva a mitragliare. Perché Milano era accerchiato, accerchiata dall’insieme di coso. Non erano proprio accerchiati, era che fatto un giro di caccia eccetera eccetera che sparavano contro chiunque andasse. Un carro a cavalli, tiravano [mimics the noise of a machine gun]. Bene visti per così io, non so, tramite il 24 che andava a Baggio, qua, era all’altezza circa dell’Ospedale Militare Baggio e da una parte c’è l’ex antico Forlanini dove c’era ancora l’hangar per il dirigibile Italia [unclear] [laughs]. E mi ricordo quella volta che col 24 l’autista si è accorto che stava arrivando quell’aereo che [unclear], ha fermato il tram, ha aperto le portiere e chi era più vicino alle portiere si buttava come me, buttato [makes a noise] giù dalla scarpata che c’era di là, dentro una roggia, una roggia come diciamo a Milano, canale [unclear], e altri, molti altri che sono morti. E ma quello è stato uno dei tanti, quando c’ero io [laughs] [unclear].
ZG: Direi che possiamo concludere. Grazie mille, signor Tito.
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 Tito Samorè
Description
An account of the resource
Tito Samorè recollects wartime memories in Milan, when he was a member of the Balilla youth organisation. Remembers the outbreak of war and its announcement on the radio. Describes the first bombing of Milan in 1940, stressing how the wooden pannelled attics made it easy for the incendiaries to burn the building. Recollects his fathers attempts to avoid skilled workers being deported to Germany and reminisces on various episodes: food shortages, ration cards, shoot-outs in the streets, strafing of tramways. Describes different kinds of shelters and remembers his evacuee life at Santa Margherita Ligure where he witnessed the sinking of a destroyer. Recollects how he was left maimed for rest of the life after a failed attempt to disassemble a gun shell on 27 February 1944.
Creator
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Zeno Gaiaschi
Date
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2018-02-06
Contributor
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Peter Schulze
Format
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01:30:54 audio recording
Language
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ita
Type
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Sound
Coverage
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Civilian
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Italy
Italy--Milan
Italy--Santa Margherita Ligure
Italy--Po River Valley
Temporal Coverage
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1940
1944-02-27
1943-09-08
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.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Lapsus. Laboratorio di analisi storica del mondo contemporaneo
Identifier
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ASamoreT180206
PSamoreT1801
bombing
childhood in wartime
civil defence
evacuation
home front
incendiary device
Resistance
shelter
strafing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/70/717/AAn00974-170413.1.mp3
7b601175f7d1834f67ccdfb1c3feb0ae
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
Three survivors of the Po valley bombings
Description
An account of the resource
This collection consists of one oral history interview with three survivors of the Po valley bombings.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Date
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2017-04-13
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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An00974
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FA: Sono Filippo Andi e sto per intervistare le signore [omitted]. Siamo a Vellezzo Bellini è il 13 aprile 2017. Ringraziamo le signore per aver permesso quest’intervista. La sua intervista, le vostre interviste registrate diventeranno parte dell’archivio digitale dell’International Bomber Command Centre, gestito dall’Università di Lincoln e finanziato dall’Heritage Lottery Fund. L’università s’impegna a preservarvi e tutelarvi secondo i termini stabiliti nel partnership agreement con l’International Bomber Command Centre. Signora [omitted], vuole,
Interviewee: Eccomi.
FA: vuole raccontarci cosa si ricorda del tempo di guerra, in particolare dei bombardamenti avvenuti nella sua zona, dove abitava?
I: Eh, mi ricordo sì, che da quel particolare lì che noi abitavamo in una cascina che era in direzione del Ponte d’Olio, era il ponte più, un punto più preciso per i bombardamenti, venivano proprio di sopra della cascina e tiravano, e bombardava sempre il Ponte dell’Olio perché lì era, non so cosa c’era, che per loro era un punto più di riferimento. Poi va bene, prima di arrivare al ponte c’era un paese che si chiamava Orzinuovi, era un paese di molti partigiani, fascisti e via discorrendo. Mi ricordo bene quel periodo lì, ecco. Poi mi ricordo quando sono venuti alla cascina per cercare un partigiano che hanno fatto la rivoluzione per tutta la cascina quale che lui, benissimo, era scappato, era scappato fuori in una campagna dove c’era la, diciamo la produzione del tabacco. Lì c’è stato un po’ di trambusto, un po’ di difficoltà di tutti, anche con la famiglia perché venivano in casa e buttavano per aria tutto per vedere se delle volte erano o nel letto o nel mucchio del granoturco, vedere se era sotto, non so perché, come faeva a capì, e invece casa non c’era niente. Poi per proteggere, anche per vedere se ghe c’era qualcheduno che diceva la verità, portavano i ragazzi, i ragazzini come me d’otto anni dietro, perché dicevano che se non si diceva la verità mi avrebbero picchiato. E allora noi non è che potevamo dire la verità perché non era in casa nostra, era il figlio d‘un nostro principale che, lui benissimo era a casa ma noi non è che possiamo dire lui era a casa. Nel frattempo lui ha fatto in tempo a scappare. È scappato fuori, loro sono andati in casa, non hanno trovato niente e la roba è stata finita lì. Poi, sì, lì al paese ci sono state tante cose, tanti bombardamenti. C’era sto signora lì che l’hanno perfino pelata, perché era una partigiana, le dava fastidio non lo so, era perché era ricca, non lo so, lì l’hanno pelata tutta.
FA: Si ricorda qualche bombardamento in particolare?
I: Bombardamenti particolare no, perché diciamo lì alla nostra cascina non è mai successo niente, vedevamo solo a passare che buttavano le schegge, dicevano le schegge, i nostri genitori dicevano le schegge, magari erano bombette, non lo so. Diciamo proprio bombardamenti lì no. Sono stati al paese e sul Ponte dell’Olio. Noi, essendo vicini, si vedeva ma non che abbiamo visto proprio.
FA: Vi arrivavano i rumori, insomma.
I: Sì, sì.
FA: Lo spostamento d’aria.
I: Lo spostamento d’aria e così via. Però vedendo proprio da buttare giù. Poi quando c’è stato finito la guerra sono passati tutti con i carri armati i tedeschi e na davan de mangià.
I: Americani.
I: Erano gli americani na devana, passavan con i carri armati, eh quanti, e li davano giù quel pane che sembravano gallette.
I: Gallette le chiamavano.
I: ecco, il pane che si chiamano gallette e lì è stato quando la guerra è stata finita. L’abbiam finita nel ’45, ecco.
FA: Ok, va bene. Eh, signora [omitted], lei invece abitava alla cascina Brunoria.
I: E infatti, lì vicino a Pavia, proprio. E quando hanno bombardato, cosa lo chiamavano, il Ponte dell’Impero, quello lì lo chiamavano? O no?
FA: Quello di cemento?
I: Quando hanno bombardato Pavia, cos’era il Ponte dell’Impero, lo chiamavano?
FA: Sì, dell’Impero, sì. Di là c’era quello della ferrovia.
I: Che e poi mi ricordo che erano i primi di settembre no, noi eravamo, io, mia sorella e mio fratello eravamo nei campi a spigolare le patate.
I: Ah sì.
P: E niente, mia mamma è venuta a cercarci, no, perché in linea d’aria eravamo lì ad un paio di chilometri eh dal ponte, o forse neanche. Adesso non mi ricordo più però.
FA: Mi pare di sì.
I: Ecco. E niente, mi ricordo il fatto che una scheggia no, ha proprio preso mia mamma qui sulla spalla. Non c’era il sangue però c’era via la pelle, si vedeva proprio la carne rossa. Quel fatto lì la vedo ancora adesso, però c’è l’ho davanti agli occhi ancora ecco.
FA: Quindi si ricorda dove eravate più o meno. Quindi eravate lì nel.
I: Eravamo lì vicino alla cascina, fuori, fuori appena dalla cascina ecco.
FA: Quindi è arrivata fino, fino a lì.
I: Sì, sì, sì, eh, le schegge delle bombe, sì, sono arrivate fino a lì, ecco. L’altro, proprio dei bombardamenti no, non mi ricordo, ecco.
FA: Perché comunque c’era una certa distanza, ecco.
I: Sì. Anche. Ma quello lì c’è stato anche quello più che mi ricordo più grande, come bombardamento, no, che hanno buttato giu il ponte lì.
FA: E poi è andata, ma è andata in ospedale o?
I: No, no, eh sì, non c’era neanche, non c’era neanche la bicicletta per andare in ospedale. Niente. No perché difatti non è che era grave, era via solo un po’ di pelle che si vedeva, la carne rossa, eh.
FA: Graffiata insomma.
I: Sì, ecco, così. D’altri fatti, ecco proprio di bombardamenti proprio no, non mi ricordo neanche, magari me l’hanno raccontato anche i genitori, ecco.
FA: Lei invece, signora [omitted], dove abitava?
I: Io abitavo a Samperone, vicino alla Certosa. Lì hanno lanciato una bomba però non c’è stato nessun morto, praticamente, perché è caduto in campagna. Però io, di fronte a me, alla distanza di cento metri, avevo l’accampamento dei tedeschi e in casa mia mio papà era in guerra, però mia mamma aveva in casa il papà e un fratello che doveva essere militare. Quindi eravamo molto, molto, molto osservati. [phone rings] Quindi eravamo un po’ sotto pressione perché avevamo in casa questo zio.
FA: Esatto.
I: E dall’accampamento, la nostra porta dava proprio sull’accampamento dei tedeschi. Quindi loro ci vedevano in casa. Infatti un mattino mio zio è sceso dalla camera, si è messo lì per mettere le scarpe e l’han visto. Quindi hanno fatto irruzione in casa, cercavano il marito, a mia mamma dicevano il marito. Lei li faceva vedere le lettere e via, dicendo che il marito era, loro hanno visto e mio papà perché aveva in casa anche il papà,
FA: Ah già.
I: Ma loro han capito che poteva. Quindi sono andati su in camera, hanno con le baionette trafitto tutti i letti,
FA: Insomma hanno fatto un disastro.
I: un macello, non l’han trovato. Non l’han trovato poi hanno fatto, c’erano i camion che portavano via quelli che c’erano a casa non trovando per loro un uomo c’era, hanno portato via mio nonno. Però essendo vecchio il giorno dopo l’han fatto venire a casa. Ricordo dei bombardamenti per noi era come se fossero lì, erano quelli di Milano, quando bombardarono Milano, che eravamo fuori nei rifugi, sembrava proprio però non eravamo proprio lì.
FA: Dove, dove vi rifugiavate?
I: Eh, c’era un campo che avevano fatto un rifugio sottoterra, sì. Andavamo tutti lì fuori in campagna, avevano fatto un rifugio, c’era un campo. Per dire, uno era qui, poi c’era come una collinetta, l’altro era più là, lì sotto avevano scavato, fatto i rifugi e noi, quando suonava l’allarme, scappavamo tutti lì.
FA: E si ricorda come era costruito il rifugio, cioè, avevan scavato e han fatto un
I: Sì, sì, proprio scavato e noi andavamo tutti lì.
FA: E han messo le travi in legno.
I: No, no, una buca.
I: Una buca.
FA: Era giusto un buco.
I: Un buco. Era sostenuto perché era un campo alto e uno basso.
FA: Ah, ok.
I: Cioè, essendo quello lì più alto, fatto la buca e noi riuscivamo.
FA: Un terrapieno.
I: Ecco, dentro e uscire fuori.
FA: Ho capito. E l’allarme, si ricorda dov’è che era l’allarme, era in paese, a Samperone?
I: L’allarme, suonava l’allarme, dire da dove suonava non lo so. E c’è stato un bombardamento sulla statale, da Samperone alla statale, lì da Pavia c’è un chilometro e mezzo. Hanno bombardato un camion, però io non mi ricordo. C’è stato un bombardamento col camion.
FA: Ehm, un’ultima domanda. Cosa vi ricordate di Pippo?
I: Pippo era tremendo.
I: Pippo, posso dire, noi tre bambini, con l’accampamento fuori, ci faceva fare la pìpì in casa, per terra sul pavimento. Perché quand’era sera, bisognava che ci fosse tutto buio, noi avevamo l’accampamento lì, non potevamo aprire la porta, andare fuori a fare la pìpì, dovevamo farla in casa sul pavimento. I bagni in casa non c’erano, si andava fuori. E l’accampamento è come, ecco, questo è la porta, e lì dove c’è la mura, c’era l’accampamento.
I: Non c’era la luce però. Io non avevo la luce.
I: No, la candela. E magari la spegni.
I: No, no, io mi ricordo che avevamo la luce, sì, sì.
I: Una piccola lampadina.
I: Io mi ricordo che c’avevamo la lampadina. La lucerna non mi ricordo.
F: No, no, no, io la lucerna che mettiamo sul tubo e sotto c’era il petrolio, no.
FA: Esatto
I: Quando si sentiva Pippo, mia mamma [backgroud noise] la ciapava un strass nero , no la n’andava in gireva insima[unclear]
FA: e lo copriva.
I: E lo copriva. Lui andava.
I: Ma noi, noi la luce l’ho mai vista da [background voice]
I: Ricordo io, la luce l’avevamo, per quel che mi ricordo.
F: Noi facevamo con la lucerna. Con la lucerna, disevan la lucerna, c’era il petrolio. Poi avevo un tubo di sopra perché c’era fumo no. E niente, eran quello lì. Mio papà gaveva mis du caden se no comel fai. El leva tacà su li, era una lucerna.
I: Io dei tre ero la più piccola
F: non ho mai visto.
I: di tre figli ero la più piccola.
FA: Va bene allora. Va bene, vi ringraziamo allora per.
I: Niente. Bene. Poi se va bene.
Dublin Core
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Title
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Interview with three survivors of the Po valley bombings
Subject
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World War (1939-1945)
Bombing, Aerial
Description
An account of the resource
The informants remember wartime hardships endured near Pavia and Piacenza. Several stories recalled: a farmhouse being thoroughly searched for partisans, children questioned, people injured by shell splinters, a makeshift dugout used as shelter, improvised lighting at home, strafing, Germans looking for deserters and American troops giving away crackers to the children. They tell how the menacing presence of 'Pippo' forced them to relieve themselves inside on the floor. Mentions the bombings of Milan as seen from the countryside where they were.
Creator
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Filippo Andi
Date
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2017-04-13
Contributor
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Peter Schulze
Format
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00:13:33 audio recording
Language
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ita
Identifier
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AAn00974-170413
Spatial Coverage
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Italy
Italy--Po River Valley
Italy--Piacenza
Italy--Pavia
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.
Type
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Sound
Coverage
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Civilian
bombing
childhood in wartime
home front
Pippo
Resistance
strafing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/897/11137/AInstoneTS160407.2.mp3
7c8b1df35b6fe1825732490236a0b301
Dublin Core
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Title
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Instone, Thomas
Thomas Stanley Instone
T S Instone
Description
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An oral history interview with Flight Sergeant Stan Instone (b. 1925, Royal Air Force). He flew operations as a flight engineer with 419 Squadron and became a prisoner of war.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-04-07
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Instone, TS
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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CB: Right. My name is Chris Brockbank and we are currently in Slough talking with Stan Instone about his experiences with 419 Squadron RAF, RCAF in the war and also his POW experiences. But Stan could we start off please with your earliest recollections of life. The family. Where you went to school and that sort of thing.
TI: Oh yes. Well, I was born on the 1st of January 1925 in a small urban district outside of Nottingham, about three miles outside which was actually a mining community or part of a mining community. And my father was a miner at that time and so I saw very little of my father one way or another. But anyway I had a very happy childhood because we lived next door to my grandmother who I adored and it was a very close community. At the age of nine my father decided to leave the mine and go in to insurance and he got a job in Great Yarmouth actually. So as a nine year old I went to Great Yarmouth which I thought was fantastic. By the sea and all the rest of it. And we were there until more or less the outbreak of war where he got a promotion in his job in insurance and moved to Greenford which is not too far away from here. And oh, while I was at great Yarmouth I was at Great Yarmouth Grammar School. And no great academic. Nothing, nothing startling but, you know I enjoyed it etcetera. But moving down to Greenford it was rather more difficult. I went to Southall County School which was a sort of a grammar school which was a mixed school and I’d only ever been at an all boy’s school and the sight of girls was a bit too much [laughs] I think. But anyway I didn’t stay very long and the bombing started. And my, having a younger sister three years younger than myself and my parents decided that I and my sister should go to my grandparents in Carlton outside Nottingham because it would be in a safer area than the London area you see. Anyway, I was there for a while and then he got another promotion. But this time to Blackburn in Lancashire. So, up I went but by this time I was fifteen years old and I thought school was no longer appropriate as far as I was concerned. And so I got a job with a factory outside Blackburn and it was making Bristol aeroplane Hercules engines. You know the 14 cylinder sleeve valve engine, you see and so right from the start I had a sort of RAF associated background as it were. And we were going through, it wasn’t an apprentice but it was like a trainee going from section to section on lathe milling etcetera etcetera. So I got myself a fair engineering background and also being well aware of how the engine was put, you know the parts you made and how it was put together you see. And at seventeen and a half I volunteered for the RAF and went to, I was in, oh and see I’d joined the ATC in Blackburn. And it was very good because we were, went to various places. Kirkham for air gunnery. They had a turret there we were allowed to fire. At Squires Gate where we actually took off in Ansons and things like that. So, and then I also did a summer course at Silloth near Carlisle where we were flying Ansons you know. They were flying Hudsons but we were not allowed anywhere near the Hudsons. We were allowed to play with the Ansons you see and so that was that. So I had a fair background in the ATC and I had probably about twenty hours I suppose in the, in the air you know. Anyway, I applied for this — pilot of course. I wanted to be a pilot. Everybody wanted to be a pilot of course. And I was rejected almost immediately. And I did a, the next operation was a wireless op air gunner but I seemed to fail my Morse aptitude test. And the only thing on offer was a straight AG. And I thought no. I daren’t go home and tell me mum I was a straight AG because at that time the life expectancy of a rear gunner on ops was about twenty minutes. So that was it. So, anyway I thought well later. So I decided well if I couldn’t fly at least at eighteen I would join as ground crew. I thought I’d be a flight mech you see. So I joined up in Edinburgh and I got my 3021416 and I was posted to Arbroath. That was the square bashing place you see. I’d only been in two weeks, two or three weeks, and the call went through for remuster to flight, they were looking for flight engineers then. But on my first interview flight engineers weren’t mentioned although they were in being of course. But you probably know the original, the early flight engineers were recruited from the ground crew. Corporal fitters to, you know air frame and engines and given a short course and that was it. But then they decided on a direct entry flight engineer. So, anyway within two or three weeks I re-mustered. I volunteered for a flight engineer. And I was then sent to a selection board in Edinburgh and had a whale of time there. I answered all the right questions. I don’t know if you ever did the — they had an SME. They called it a SME 3. It was like a television screen with a rudder bar and control column. And there was a random dot on the screen itself and by, you know operating the control column you went to try and get your dot in line with that. Seemingly I did very well. Anyway, up to the, you know the preliminaries I saw these senior blokes sitting in there looking very important and being an AC2 at that time smart salutes etcetera. And, and they asked me various questions and they said, ‘Well, I think we could recommend you for pilot training.’ I was a bit surprised. He said, ‘But. There’s a but,’ he said, ‘Because there’s so many in, in the queue as it were it was nine to twelve months before you were likely to start the course.’ Because as you probably know any PNBs, that’s pilot, navigator, bomb aimers were being trained in the Empire Air Scheme in Canada. Some in America obviously and, as was then Rhodesia. So, well I’d sort of set my heart on the flight engineer. I said, well I would go for an engineer, a flight engineer. And he was a bit nonplussed. He said, because he like me didn’t know much about what a flight engineer did you see but I remember him saying, ‘You’ll be in charge of three, four very powerful engines,’ you see. So I said, ‘Well, fine sir. Thank you very much sir.’ You know. Anyway, I wrote, went back to my, finished off my basic training and almost immediately I was down to ACRC. That’s the Aircrew Reception at St Johns Wood you know. Lords. Three weeks there. As a serving airman of course. We were in a flight of serving airmen. I mean I’d got oh about three months at that stage mind, you know. Really serious. Anyway, I then was posted to Whitley Bay for ITW. Six weeks there and then St Athan on a six month, well about six or eight months at St Athan and I finished. I finished in June. Early June ’44 at St Athan. Just before, well just around about D-Day it was actually. I had a week’s leave and I found myself at 1664 Conversion Unit. No, there was no preliminaries in between. Finished at the course, the [unclear], and then on to the, and there as you may know the flight engineer’s course is all ground work. No flying whatsoever. In fact at the, the engineering school at St Athan there wasn’t a whole aeroplane. There were bits of one but no, all we had were circuit boards and engine stands and stuff like that, you know. So we had to learn about hydraulics, pneumatics, electrics, you know, instruments. You know. Anything to do with connecting with an aeroplane because although there were heavy bombers — the Stirling, the Halifax and the Lancaster they were all very similar. You know the systems did differ. There were differences as you know but there’s handling differences but basically they’ve all got the same sort of components you see. Anyway, I passed out well and was awarded my sergeant’s stripes and brevet in June ’44. Then as I say a week later I was at 1664 Conversion Unit. Now this was the point that I’d had virtually no flying. I think I’d done three hours in an Oxford over the Bristol Channel I think while I was at St Athan. And that was my total flying experience in the RAF. But I’d come with about twenty hours ATC. I was more experienced than most actually and having got to Dishforth and see these great big black Halifax 2s and 5s. God, have I got to sort of fly those? You know. And so it was a question of you flew as second engineer with whoever would take you. Now, all that meant was that the engineer who knew a bit more than I did would show you the various knobs or levers to pull etcetera. Whatever it was. Anyway, I think we flew like that for a couple of weeks or so. And then one day the tannoy went. Tannoy went and it said, ‘Will all engineers not yet crewed up report to the engineering section at 1400 hours.’ Which I duly went there and we were wondering, there was I don’t know how many engineers there. Probably a dozen or more and, probably fifteen or so, I don’t know. Anyway, there was, I had a friend who I’d been at St Athan with so we were very, very close. You know. Alright. And anyway with that eight Canadian pilots came into the room looking for engineers. And so there was two flying officers and six sergeants. So I thought to myself, ‘Well he’s a flying officer. He must know more than I do,’ so I went up to this guy and all I said, ‘I’ll be your engineer if you like.’ He said, ‘Ok by me.’ We shook hands and that was the selection you see. And my mate went to the other flying officer and did likewise. So, we were taken. We were crewed up then. So we, now my crew had just come up from OTU at Honeybourne. They were flying Whitleys. And we hadn’t, the bomb aimer had dropped out and so we were without a bomb aimer at that particular time. But we did our normal sort of circuits and bumps and local flying and day cross countries and so on and so forth. And then it came to night flying and so we did that. We were scheduled for night circuits and bumps. Well, we had a screened pilot at first you see. So we took off. These were Halifax 2s by the way and I had type trained on Halifax 3s. That was with the radial engines. Nothing to do with Lancasters at that stage. And we took off. Did a few circuits and bumps and the screened pilot said, ‘Ok. Do a couple more on your own and call it a night.’ Well, we took off alright. No problem. But coming on the circuit to land, in the engineers compartment in the Halifax was behind the pilot and it was Rolls Royce engines and of course they had cooling flaps. And I noticed one of the engines was running a bit on the hot side. And the controls for the radiator flaps were like four fingers and up for closed, down for open or whatever it was. Anyway, I thought well I’ll open, you know open the flaps up you see. And then I went to open the flaps. No resistance at all. No hydraulics. So I said to the skipper, I said, ‘There’s no hydraulics on there. We’d better try the undercarriage.’ We tried the undercarriage and expected the, you know the thump and the green lights. And nothing happened. So we were circling around and the skipper tried a bit. Climbing and diving and things like that. Shook it around a bit in the hope that it would happen. And anyway I mean I was starting to panic a bit at that stage you see and — because it appeared that one, one had partially come down and the other was still stuck up in the nacelle. So we, there was an emergency system whereby you opened a cock as it were to allow air into the system and theoretically gravity would take over and the weight of the undercarriage. But there was no spanner missing for the cock [laughs] Anyway, this wasn’t going to happen at all so anyway somebody suggested, well there’s the header tank in the rear of the fuselage. A cylindrical one about this high. And if it contained the fuel there’s a hand pump on the side and a bit of luck you could pump like mad and — but shining the torch in it [laughs] it was like Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. It was bare. Nothing there. Oh God. Now, I don’t know who it was suggested it but somebody said, ‘Well, there’s the elsan there.’ So, we all had a good pee in the elsan [laughs] those that could and we tipped the contents of the elsan into the header tank and believe me the smell was [laughs] terrible. I can smell it today. Anyway, pumped like mad and suddenly clunk and green lights came on. And we landed. Just like that. So, that was my first experience of, of night flying. And that seemed to set the tone for the Blaney crew as we were then called. The Blaney crew. Because everywhere we seemed to went we seemed to run into a certain amount of bother. And that was it. So that was my first experience. And then of course we went on to night cross countries. And ultimately then we were posted to 419 Squadron in September 1944. OH, by the way in the meantime at Dishforth we did a couple of leaflet raids on France while the Normandy operation was, was in being as it were. In the old Halifaxes. And, but, so now seven of those crews that came through at that particular time were posted at the same time to Middleton. The 8th one was still, they hadn’t done quite so well on their, on the OTU so they were behind. But they were subsequently lost. They’d done a leaflet raid and didn’t make it back. So that was the first of the eight crews gone. And at the, at the end of the, well by the time I was shot down the other crew with the flying officer had actually gone to 44 Squadron on Pathfinders. They survived the war. And of the other six one rear gunner survived. So, that was the subverse of the, out of the original fifty seven five of our crew survived. The whole of that George Bates crew survived and one other. I met him in Germany by the way. And so the thirteen out of the original fifty six people you see. And that was the, that was fairly sort of average squadron loss I would have thought at that particular time. So anyway that was the training done and then in October they decided we were good enough to operations. And my first one was a night operation to Essen. We got buzzed by a fighter plane again. But we got, we got back but our squadron commander was killed on that particular one. McGuffin was killed on that raid. And then we did a, the next day we did a daylight on Essen. And this one again there was a great, a great big Lancaster flying above us with its bomb doors open and a four thousand pounder, I’m not joking, it dropped between our port, our port wing and our port tailplane. Just like that. If we’d had a big stick we could have touched it, you know. Really. Anyway, that was, that was that. Then we did a daylight on Essen. On Cologne. Saw the cathedral. But it was fairly quiet that one. And a night Cologne. Anyway, in the space of seven days we did nine trips err nine days we did seven trips. And then we come to Bochum. And that was a nasty one this was. And we’d previously gone from [pause] flying south from Middleton because Middleton was the most northerly of the bomber stations you see. So we’d fly south, congregating around about Reading, around this area. Head over Beachy Head into France. And then nearly all our targets were Ruhr targets anyway so heading north you see. But this particular one was on Bochum which again is a Ruhr target of course. We’d flown over the North Sea, over the Hague and we got flak all the way. All the way from the coast right up to the target. Then suddenly there was no flak. Oh God. You know what that means don’t you? Fighters. And there was. We had five fighter attacks. One after the other. And the rear gunner actually hit a 109, a 110 rather. Twin engine one. And he was, he was credited with that as a kill. The mid-upper had seen you know had hit a ME109 but hadn’t — you know. It was only a possible. Nothing else. But then there was some guy got on the back of us and he really — well that’s it. He knocked out the rear turret. Badly wounded the rear gunner. And we went in to, I don’t know whether it was deliberate or accidental but the pilot put us into a steep dive and we were, you know virtually like that. And we were doing over three hundred miles an hour in a Lancaster which is a bit on the fast side actually. But we managed to pull out about two thousand feet and set course for, for Woodbridge near Ipswich. And so my job then was to find out what had happened to the rear gunner. So I went back and he was still conscious actually but he was [pause] he’d lost an eye and he had wounds, a badly wounded arm and chest but he had more important I didn’t realise at the time because his helmet was blood soaked and he had I think at the end the count was thirty shell splinters in his head actually. Anyway, I got him back to the rest bay and sort of did what I could for him but by that time we were getting closer to Woodbridge so I had to go back and sort of make sure the, because the fuel situation. I mean, after all that’s what the engineer’s main job was fuel management you see. And anyway we got back as far as Woodbridge but the skipper you know on the approach we’d been, we radioed in we had injured on board etcetera and we couldn’t get the tail down. It was sort of, you know sort of down like that and we had to more or less stall it in to get it, you know, to get down. Anyway, the ambulance came and took the rear gunner away to [pause] Ely I think it was. Ely Hospital. And when we went to inspect we found that the starboard fin and rudder was virtually gone and the starboard elevator just, just curled under like that. So how my, how that pilot had managed to pull out of that dive you know with virtually no elevator control at all. Anyway, that was it. So that was a really bad night and that was the, our ninth trip. We had a weeks’ leave and back again. And then it became the winter time had started. We were only flying about two. Two a month then. We did, just went on and on like that, we did a trip to Dortmund, Duisburg. You know. You name it we’d been there. You know, from, on the Ruhr Valley. And the Ruhr Valley was a pretty horrible place. Was, you know because there were so many flak guns etcetera. And if the guns weren’t there the fighters were. And ,and then it sort of went on until the 20th of February 1945. The night we took off on to Dortmund. We’d been there before and [pause] but we didn’t make it. About twenty miles short of the target we were, now the book says we were hit by flak but we were not. We were hit by an upward firing fighter. He hit us in the starboard wing and the bomb bay. Mind you we still had the bomb load on board. We had a four thousand pounder and twelve cans of incendiaries. And there would be about two hundred gallons I suppose in the mid tank still. And I’d my and I’d drained the wing tank. I don’t know if you realise it there’s three tanks in each wing on a Lancaster. The main one’s in board of, in the fuselage in the inboard engines and mid tank between the two engines and then the wing tip tank. And we had, originally we’d had about sixteen hundred gallons which was a normal load for the Ruhr. And anyway the mid tank was on fire. Burning furiously behind me because I [pause] I’d hoped we could put the fire out. Had it been in the engine bay the extinguishers might have worked but the tank we had on fire with that amount of petrol it was hopeless. And then the small fire had started in the bomb bay. Anyway, the skipper gave the order to bale out. And, and the, at that stage the bomb aimer was already in the compartment. He’d opened the hatch but instead of throwing it on to the bomb sight which he was supposed to have done he’d dropped it through the hole. And what happened? It jammed solid in the opening. At that stage the navigator pushed past me because that was [pause] and he was jumping on the, on the thing to try and free it. And at that stage the rear gunner called up saying he couldn’t get out of his turret because the doors, the doors had iced up. Now on some of these some were hinged and some were sliding and the idea was he used to push it like that. But he couldn’t open it because you know even a car door in the icy weather you can’t open it sometimes. Well, that had happened. Now fortunately, anyway I went back, I said I’d see if I could do anything. I went back. By the time I got there the navigator, the wireless op and the mid-upper had gone and the entrance door were swinging open. Things like that. Anyway, I went back to the turret but he’d already turned it around and fortunately for him I think he’d turned it with the flames because I think, we think what happened was the flames from the, the the fire in the wing tip had actually thawed the ice on the doors and he was able to open it. So he managed to open his doors and he went out backwards. Now, on our squadron the rear gunners had pilot type ‘chutes. On some they had an observer type which they kept inside the fuselage. On ours he had the pilot type ‘chute. Well, he went out but he got his foot caught so he was being trailed behind the aircraft. You know, with the flames sort of — not badly burned but sort of. And anyway he rolled over. Had to leave his boot behind. Not his foot. His boot. And he came down. Well, at that stage I’d gone back to the pilot and said, well I just, I’d already got my parachute on and I just sat on the hatch and I expected the pilot to follow me. And I don’t remember any more at all. And I woke up on the way down and there was seemingly bits of aircraft flying with me. You know. Like that. You know I was very comfortable. You know. Lying on my back there falling and [pause] I thought I’d better do something. I pulled the rip cord and suddenly there was this terrible jerk and it sort of shots up and shots up and eased on the shoulders there. I looked down and there was the cloud base and I was just about to drop through it. And I remembered ah that the Met man, he said the cloud base over the target would be eight thousand feet. So I thought oh I’ve got eight thousand feet to go. But I hadn’t. As I dropped through this cloud I saw this dark mass below. What’s that? And suddenly I was in a pine, a pine forest. And I just just went through the tree. Just clump, clump, clump. Just like that. And I don’t think I hit the ground any, any harder than that. So I undid my, you know unbuckled the parachute and took the Mae West off and tried to hide them and started to walk. But I’d been hit in the arm and I was, and the face. Not. Not seriously but it was bad enough to sort of be a bit a bloody as it were. But I was picked up within, within hours. And I’d hoped to get to you know to get up to Holland but I’d lost my escape aids on the way down and so I was struck. So I was in the village lock up for about two days I think. And that was a horrible time. It was damp. Cold. And then I started, my chest then started to really pack up and I was getting so breathless I was [pause] Anyway, after two days the guards came. ‘Raus Raus.’ And there was a truck outside and then there was my bomb aimer and the two gunners and a load of [stiffs?] as well mind you know. And we were taken then to Dortmund. To a Luftwaffe station at Dortmund. A night fighter station it was. And we were then in a, in a cellar there for a couple of weeks. So, at this stage I will have to pause again because —
CB: Right.
TI: I’m sorry about that
[recording paused]
CB: Ok. Right. So we’re just continuing from the night fighter station and what you did at the night fighter station.
TI: Well, at the night fighter station we were put in a cellar. Put in a cellar there with bunks. With very little facilities. There was no, no blankets and very little sort of in the way of bedding at all. But we were, there was quite a number there. There was the four of us actually. The two gunners and the, and the bomb aimer and myself. No sign of the pilot, navigator or the, or the wireless op. And we were there for a few days but I was, and there was an American colonel, a P47 pilot. A Thunderbolt pilot. He’d got very badly burned around his neck and all he had was a paper crepe bandage around there with all pus and stuff. And there was an American bombardier with a large chunk of flak in his buttocks mind so he was sort of face downwards you see and I at that stage I was just, I was really having difficulty breathing actually altogether. Anyway, they decided that there was about four or five of us who were not very well as it were. We should, they would transfer us then to Dulag Luft which was in Frankfurt. And so we were taken by truck and from, from Dortmund, from the, from the [pause] to Dortmund Station. And that is where the article in the book there was. Anyway, there was two guards with us and there’s, there would probably be about a half a dozen more. But two Americans very much in evidence with their uniforms etcetera. And we were there and suddenly an old guy, he’d be about fifty I suppose but by that he was very old by our standard who saw the Americans and he really went wild because he was shouting and screaming and you know by which time the crowd had sort of got attracted to this you see. And some of the guard pushed us into a corner and they put their, held their rifles in front of us and told, told them to go away. And it had got very very nasty actually because I think undoubtedly had the, had the guards not been there we would have been done over. As to how badly is another story. But anyway fortunately a train came in and their trains were not very frequent in Germany at that time and so everybody rushed to get on the train and we were put on this train to Frankfurt. And I think it took us about three days I think to get from Dortmund to Frankfurt because every time there was an air raid the train was stopped and go into a tunnel if there was a convenient tunnel and it just, so it went on you see. And I got to Dulag Luft and, ‘My name is Instone, my rank — ' You know. ‘3021416’ and I was put in solitary confinement. And I had nine days solitary confinement actually. Anyway, on the ninth day the doors had opened. I was taken there and this is the scene I will never ever forget because it was a small room about this size I suppose and there was a German officer. Immaculately dressed. Monocle. Sabre scar, cigarette holder. ‘Ah Good morning sergeant,’ he said, ‘And how are you this morning?’ [laughs] But on his desk was two rather thick orange covered booklets. One said, “419 Squadron” and the other said, “428 Squadron.” And of course my eyes went vrrr to the 419 ‘Ah sergeant. You’re 419 I see.’ He said, ‘There you are.’ He said, ‘There’s all the, there’s all the records,’ he said, ‘Tell me were you a Darlington or a Stockton man?’ Well, of course it was Darlington. Middleton St George is halfway between Darlington and Stockton. So you either went one or the other you see because the train was there. So I was a Stockton man. He said, ‘How’s sergeant — how’s Squadron Leader Black? How’s he getting on?’ He was, he was the squadron leader you know. He knew more or less everything. Oh, he said, ‘By the way,’ he said, ‘Do you go to the Oak Tree?’ Which was just up the road. Well, you know. Anyway, he said, ‘Your crew,’ he said, ‘Your pilot, La Blaney,’ and he went on. And — La Blaney. I said, ‘No. Not La Blaney.’ And I was a bit reluctant to say very much but his initials were LA Blaney but being a Canadian squadron it could have been like a French name like La Blaney you see. But anyway, but all the crew was just there. As indeed was me and crews of others. You know previous things. Anyway, it was eventually, he questioned me about various things which I either didn’t know or was unable to tell him anyway. And we parted. He said, ‘You’ll have a shower now.’ That was a first time I’d had a shower since I’d been down there, you know. Or a wash even. So, and then, we were then sent to a transit camp run by the Americans. Somewhere outside of Frankfurt. And then we were eventually, eventually we were in to cattle trucks. Loaded in cattle trucks. You’ve seen these people going to Belsen and stuff like that. Well, it was very much like that. About, it was supposed to be forty [arms?] and ten horses or something like that in these thing but we were actually packed literally packed to the gills. You could either stand or sit. It was one of those like that. And I think four days there. Between there and Nuremberg. We were allowed out to have a pee, whatever you know but that was all. I don’t think there was any food at all at that stage and when we eventually got to Nuremberg which was Stalag XIII-D. And the first person I saw was my wireless operator. Andy Kindret. And he was waiting at the gates and he’d been waiting at the gate for all the intakes and so we were, so then there was five of us together in Stalag XIII-D. Well, conditions weren’t good there because I think we had a a communal mess I think. Anything that was at seven thirty in the morning. I think it was a slice of rye bread and a bowl of gruel or something like that. And at 6 o’clock or thereabouts in the evening was the same. Same thing. And that was that was then. We did actually manage to get a Red Cross parcel there which was fantastic, you know. And we were not there very long. We could hear the guns from the, from, from the east. Or the west actually because the Americans were coming up. It was the American sector at that stage. And they decided to move us out so by this stage the amount of inmates in that compound was two thousand. So we then, we went, so we marched. Marched is [laughs] shuffled I think more than anything else. We advanced. We had no idea where we were going. We were just going south. Further into Bavaria actually. And we eventually found, got to Moosburg seventeen days later actually. It was nearly a hundred and fifty miles. Nearly. You know. And we got there to Stalag VII-A at Moosburg. And then it was so crowded. It was just almost impossible to move, you know. And there was, the only food we were getting was, because it was nearer the Swiss border we were getting Red Cross parcels through. So there was Red Cross parcels or parts of Red Cross parcels available and that. So we managed actually but we were there. We weren’t there very long. And on the Saturday night, this would be about a week before VE Day I think because we didn’t know about VE Day at that stage there was a pitched battle. Because apparently in the town of Moosburg was an SS garrison and the Americans were on the other side and the camp was used as a firing range as it were. And we spent the nights under the hut actually. But there was no, no captives. All the SS garrison were wiped out apparently. And then General Patton himself rolled into the camp. Into the camp in the Sunday, on the Sunday afternoon. Pearl handled revolvers and all, you know. And what, what did amaze me actually the American Red Cross staffed by girls was there with a bread making machine and a doughnut making machine [laughs] and the queue for [laughs] two miles. Well, I don’t I know how long it was. For a slice of bread and a doughnut. And that was it. But then the Americans started to shift the Americans out because there was two airfields quite close by there. There was Straubing or Regensburg. And they were being shipped out but we were there for about four days after, after the, we were released by then. And we were eventually taken to [pause] I think it was Straubing. That was the camp by the aerodrome. There had been Junkers 52s there. You know, the three engine ones there. And we were there for another three days on the airfield waiting to be picked up. And we were eventually picked up by, again by the Americans in Dakotas and taken to Juvencourt and spent the night in a American transit camp at Reims. Again, the memory that will live with me forever is that there was an open air cinema with Judy Garland in, ‘Meet Me in St Louis,” I think. On a white wall. And so that was — and the American dishes with about fourteen compartments of this that and the other [laughs] you know. And the next day again we went to Tangmere. Well, back to Juvencourt and by Lancaster to Tangmere. And then thence to, from there to Cosford. And that was really the end of the — I was there for another three or four days because I had a [pause] my chest had improved somewhat but not good. But they weren’t very happy about it and I was there for a few days while a medic, and a new uniform and stuff like that. And eventually went home to Blackburn. And then eventually I had about eight weeks leave I think and then back to — I was, back to [pause] I did a course which I thought was demeaning. A flight mech’s course at Melksham. You know. Because I’d already done a leader’s course and I knew more than what the, what the instructors were saying actually. But they were there. And I went then to Hawarden near Chester. I finished up there. And so I was demobbed from, from there in June ’47.
CB: So what did you do at Hawarden?
TI: I was sergeant in charge of mods. We were rebuilding. We were, they were doing Halifax 3s and 7s. Taking the bomb bay out and putting panniers in and flogging them to the South African. The South African government. We were also re-skinning Anson 19s. They were the VIP Ansons, you know. They had plywood wings. Wing covering and that sort of skin like that. And I was in charge of mods and stuff like that, so. It was not a very, it was a job I didn’t like at all. I wanted to get back on to obviously flying or even in something more technical you know. But they decided because of my state of health I suppose that was it. But I tried. I kept saying, ‘Well, can I get back?’ ‘No.’ ‘No.’ ‘No.’ ‘No.’ Anyway, I finished up with a small pension, but it [pause] That was it.
CB: So when in 1946 did you come out?
TI: ’47.
CB: ’47 I meant.
TI: June.
CB: June. Then what did you do?
TI: Well, the place I’d worked at before was no longer. Well, it was British Celanese then. It went on producing. And I worked for a local government for a while. But my health was bad. Blackburn was not the best of places to be in actually because I don’t know, I don’t know if you know much about the north of England but Blackburn was a mill town. And I think at one stage it had a hundred and seven mill chimneys belching forth black smoke and there was always an industrial haze over the, over the town. And if it wasn’t raining it was going to rain, you know. So, it was one of those places. And I was, I had a particularly bad spell and I went to see my, my doctor. Well, he was on, on holiday and his locum was an ex-Merchant Navy doctor I think. A fellow called [unclear] I’ll always remember this guy. He had sticking out hair and wire rimmed glasses, ‘What’s wrong with you then lad?’ I said, ‘My chest. I can hardly breathe.’ So he examined me, you know. He said, he said, ‘Lad,’ he said, ‘For Christ’s sake get out of this bloody place or it’ll kill you.’ He said, ‘Emigrate. Do anything but get out of this place because if you stay here you won’t be around much longer.’ So I literally took him at his word because at that stage my parents had moved down to Weymouth from Blackburn. My father again had a promotion in his job but had left me behind. And so I went down there. That was a good move and a bad move because it improved my health. My health improved considerably because of the southern climes you know and that sort of thing. And I worked for the local police. I worked for the police headquarters in Dorchester. I was in charge of all stores and uniforms. Things like that. Quite an important job really but as a civilian that was. And of course I had the advantage everybody liked me [laughs] And there, but after a while I got to the stage where I was getting nowhere. I’d got as high as I could you know from a money point of view. And I came to London. I had a girlfriend then. She was a nurse in London before, this was before Jenny of course. And I said to her, ‘Let’s go to Windsor. I’ve never been to Windsor before and I want to see the Air Force Memorial at Runnymede. Anyway, as it was we went to Windsor. I was quite amazed. And Runnymede I thought was marvellous, you know. But right next door to the Runnymede was — it was called Shoreditch Training College. Teacher Training College. And I had been doing a night school course in Dorchester on model engineering and such like that and the instructor had said, ‘Have you ever thought about going into teaching?’ I said, ‘No. I’m much too old now,’ you know, because I was in my thirties by this stage you see. He said, ‘I think you’d be alright.’ So I said, ‘Where did you train?’ He said, ‘Oh, I trained at Shoreditch.’ But Shoreditch at that time was in Shoreditch, London you see. But after the war they’d moved out to Cooper’s Hill, you know which was next door to the Runnymede. So I applied and got there. I did three years. Very enjoyable. And qualified as a technology teacher which I continued to do until I was, I retired in 1990 when I was sixty five. In the meantime I met Jennifer of course and the rest is history there. And, but I retired from the school I was at in [pause] well they said, ‘But we’d like you to carry on for a bit,’ so I did another three years part time because you can’t do too much otherwise it affects your pension. And I finished there and the local grammar school said, ‘Can you help us out?’ So I did then another five years part time. So all in all by the time I got to seventy two they said, ‘Well, I’m sorry. But the, we don’t think the insurance company is going to cover you anymore.’ And a, and a friend of mine who I’d worked with before his technician had an accident with a circular saw you see. And he said, ‘I’m desperate. I’m desperate. Can you help me out?’ So I worked there until I was eighty two [laughs] but I didn’t — after that I said, ‘No more. That’s it.’
CB: Fantastic.
TI: That’s it.
CB: That’s very good. Thank you.
TI: I think we’ve got to show you something else now haven’t we?
CB: Just, can I just ask a couple of questions?
TI: Yeah.
CB: One of the interesting things that’s difficult to broach and talk about is how crew members came and went. Now, some people were wounded so they had to go elsewhere. But others because of their mental state. And you said that the bomb aimer didn’t come from the OTU. What had happened to him?
TI: I don’t know. I really don’t. I never. I didn’t find out at all. It was a closed shop as far as I was concerned. We picked up a second tour man actually at, at Dishforth and we remained. He’d, well I don’t know whether he’s still alive but we were in contact until quite recently weren’t we? Mark and I went over to Canada to stay with him for a while. And he’d been over to us. He and his wife. His wife died. His wife died some years ago. But I think the last we heard he couldn’t manage himself. He was in pain at the hospital. But we’ve, in spite of everything I’ve not heard nothing more so if he’s still alive I don’t know but he’s older than me. He’s about three or four years older than me anyway so he’d be well in to his nineties anyway. Other than that now the rear gunner — excuse me I must go to the [unclear] again. I’m not doing very well.
CB: You’re doing fine.
[recording paused]
TI: The rear gunner.
CB: Right. We’re restarting after a short break. Rear gunner.
TI: The rear gunner who had been badly wounded over Bochum on the 4th of November ’44 came to the squadron two days before our final trip. He’d, he’d been awarded the DFM. DFM. He had an eye patch but he was on his way back to Canada but he [pause] so we had a night out as you can imagine. In Stockton. But anyway he was a very — he went back to Canada. He survived the war but he died in a car, a motorbike, a motorcar accident in America in the 60’s I think. Was it, Mark? We found out because he had, he wanted me to go over to Canada because I was one who got him out the turret. He felt he owed me something. He wanted me to go to Canada and get me a job there but with the RAF and my health it was no go. By the time I thought about it he’d gone off the radar as it were. But he’d the last I heard from him he was going into hospital to have these sort of splinters done.
CB: What was his name?
TI: Lanctot. Donald Lanctot. And — but he, he went to the States as a surveyor or something wasn’t it, or a [pause] He’d got some qualification anyway.
CB: Ok.
TI: And he married an American I think. Was it in Malibu? In Malibu I think. Malibu.
CB: It can’t be bad.
TI: Can’t be bad. But he died in a auto accident in the ‘60s.
CB: Sad. What about the other? Because you got through gunners. Several.
TI: Well, we lost, I lost contact with the two gunners. I was in contact with Andy Kindret because Andy was, we were buddies. We shared a room at Middleton and he was with me constantly throughout the march and in fact I said if it wasn’t, if it hadn’t have been for Andy I don’t think I would have made it anyway, you know. But he looked after me and he was a great help. But of course he lived in, just outside Winnipeg and he took a, he got married and had children and he was a commercial, a commercial artist first of all. And, and he worked for Canadian Television on set design and stuff like that.
CB: Ok.
TI: And retired. He was about six months older than me actually. But he died just shortly after he retired. But he’d just, he was just finishing — the last letter I got from him to say, “I’ve just finished a painting of our Lancaster.”
CB: Right. Brilliant.
TI: “And when I’ve done that I’ll send you a copy.”
CB: Right.
TI: He never did actually because he died. I got a letter from his son, you know because his son had sent all his effects to Nanton Air Museum.
CB: Right.
TI: Again near Winnipeg. And again it was Mark that found the information.
CB: Let’s just quickly. Your son Mark. What were you going to say?
MI: I was just going to highlight he is particularly interested in the gunner who went absent without leave at Dishforth.
TI: Oh yeah. Yeah.
MI: And also Kenny Shields.
TI: Oh yes. That’s right. Yes. I’d forgotten about that.
CB: So the one who went absent without leave. What happened there?
TI: He was sent to Sheffield.
CB: Yeah. Prison.
TI: Which was an Aircrew Detention Centre. And he came back but the skipper wouldn’t have him. He said, ‘I can’t rely on you. I can’t rely on you because if you go away. Got to be absolute.’ I mean, and then Ray Altham came in. He was one of the guys around Dishforth you see. So, Lanctot was the rear gunner and Ray Altham was the mid-upper. But when Lanctot, Don Lanctot was, you know, lost the eye etcetera we had to have another. So, Ray Altham opted to go in the rear turret and we got another guy called Kenny Shields. He was actually a wireless operator rear gunner but he was a very, he wanted to fly with us anyway and did. He was killed in a road accident. He was a Canadian but he had relatives in, I think it was Wigan. If it wasn’t Wigan it was one of those mill towns anyway. And at Christmas, we were on leave that particular Christmas and he’d had too much to drink and not being aware of driving on the left, you know. He stepped in front of a bus and that was the end of that. And he was buried at [pause] he was buried at Harrogate. In the Stonegate Cemetery there. And then we got this guy called Nozzolillo. Lou Nozzolillo. And he was first, first Italian descent. First generation Canada. And a good guy. Very. But you know but apparently he did very well in government because he lived in Canberra — not Canberra. Ottawa. And something to do in government. Quite high up. But I’d no real connection with him at all. It was Phil. Phil Owen and Andy. Andy Kindret first of all. Phil Owen came over. And we were, we were buddies then actually. But —
CB: So the crew was all Canadian except you.
TI: Right. That’s right.
CB: And all sergeants except the pilot.
TI: No. No. No. The pilot was a flying officer. As was the bomb aimer.
CB: Right.
TI: He was a flying officer. He was a second tour man actually.
CB: Right. So how did the crew gel?
TI: We did. Absolutely. And that was, that was what, it was the — I couldn’t have wished for a better crew. I would have flown anywhere with them, you know. I had tremendous admiration for my pilot you know, and you know we had a very [pause] you know, and got on very well. And I’ve been asked before but being Canadians there was no bullshit if you understand what I mean. There was very much, it was Christian names all the way down the line as it were. And I mean obviously there was, if there was a ceremonial parade it would have been different but I mean in the air and on the ground it was first names and that sort of thing. And we looked after one another as, as a crew. As a bomber crew particularly you’ve got to look after one another. You know, you do your job in your, in your area and that’s it. And that’s it. But being an engineer I found it suited me great because Lancasters, I went from training on Lanc err Halifax 3s which was the radial engine one which incidentally I’ve never flown in on to Lancaster 10s. So I knew nothing about the Lancaster so I had to learn it very quickly from Dishforth or from the squadron itself at Middleton. And we found the, the Lancaster totally different from the Halifax 2s. It was so manoeuvrable and light. You know. It was. Whereas the Halifax was a bit — on the Merlins I think the 3s and 7s were very good. But the 2s and 5s were with the Merlin engines were not. Very heavy. Very. And on the stalling oh terrible when they stalled. You know, it was a real judder etcetera etcetera. But the Lancaster was a very kind aircraft. It was a pilot’s aircraft I think, you know. And being a flight engineer we sat up front. We had, only had a canvas seat actually. I mean had we been, had we, we sort of had to assist the pilot on take-off and landings obviously and things like that. Well, our main job was to monitor you know the temperatures, pressures of all the, all the instruments and stuff like that. And calculate the fuel because as I say we started off with about sixteen hundred gallons and I think we had six little [pause] you know, gauges. So you couldn’t tell within probably a hundred gallons how many you had in the tank. So you had to work out. We knew exactly. We had a chart anyway but certain revs and certain boosts etcetera we would be using around about fifty gallons per hour per engine, you know. That sort of thing. And depend on if there was a headwind or something like that. But whatever. So we calculated the fuel so we knew more or less what was in the, in each of the tanks. And of course we had to, manually we had to sort of operate. So on take-off we always took off on the main tanks. That was inboard and over the target always on main tanks because you couldn’t be, you know mucking about sort of changing cocks. But on the way out I would drain the mid, the tip tanks and then on the way back we’d sort of juggle it until such time when we were coming in to land we were on main tanks and there. Because as you probably know it was a court martial offence if you landed with less than thirty miles, thirty hours, thirty minutes flying time. Unless it was an emergency mind. So —
CB: So when you talked about your role when sitting next to the pilot how did you — what were you actually doing with the throttles and how was the pilot communicating with you on take-off and landing?
TI: Well, the pilot had the, he had the, you probably know the outer throttles had a — were curled at the top. So the pilot would take them in his right hand and I, as an engineer would push up the, the others behind him you see. So he would actually manoeuvre the aircraft partially by the, by the throttle settings, you see. And it was my job on take-off to be through the gate you know. That was it. Three thousand and up if you were lucky you know. And then after, after then it would be after three minutes he would fly on full power for three minutes. Then you’d throttle back and start your, start your climb etcetera.
CB: So what, what would be the revs that you climbed at?
TI: Well, it would be three thousand initially but then —
CB: Yeah. But then what?
TI: Then we would drop to about twenty six hundred.
CB: And then cruising when you were straight and level.
TI: Well, more or less two six.
CB: Ok.
TI: We were flying out about a hundred and eighty and you’d come back at two twenty. That was the, that was the sort of average speeds for the — dependant on the winds as you know but it would be on an average and we, and we would get approximately one mile per gallon out of a Lancaster.
CB: Right. So you’re going out at one eighty knots.
TI: Yeah.
CB: And there was a reason for that.
TI: Well, I think because you kept, you kept the engines, you kept the revs down to about two six you see and of course you had variable pitch so, so we had to do the prop settings as well you see. There was the —
CB: As an engineer.
TI: As an engineer. And so it was. You had to do your log every twenty minutes anyway to work out your fuel. You know. So it was, you were fairly well occupied, but you had, you could move about the aircraft if you wanted to because everyone else was stationery. You know. They were stuck. But I could go to the bombsight. The idea was bomb aimer used to sit with the navigator. He would look at the H2S and the navigator was the Gee. The Gee one. Well, there was one actually when there was a navigational error which I think was, it wasn’t very funny at the time but as I, and I can’t remember what time it was but I know it was a Ruhr target and I know we flew over Mönchengladbach which was a German artillery school mind [laughs] Anyway, we were due as a second wave on this particular target and when we were, when the first wave was going in the navigator said, ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, ‘I’m on the wrong chain.’ And we were fifty miles south of track. So we pressed on [laughs] in the better position and of course by the time we got to the target every other bugger had gone home.
CB: When you said, ‘On the wrong chain,’ you’re talking about GH.
GH. Yeah.
CB: And he was on the wrong chain of GH.
TI: That’s right.
CB: The navigation aid.
TI: That’s right.
CB: Yeah.
TI: And I think every flak gun in and around the area opened up. I’ve never seen so much flak in my life. I really haven’t. You could, you could smell it even. When you could smell, when you could smell cordite it’s bad. Well, anyway we got apparently untouched. We got back thinking oh heroes. But no. We got three. Three cross countries to improve navigating [laughs] Anyway, anyway we had [cough] I’ve got a frog in my throat. To follow up on that the ground crew couldn’t get the starboard inner started on the following morning. It wasn’t going. Anyway, the inspection they saw a small hole on just the leading edge. Now as you probably know there’s all the pipes, all the plumbing’s on just behind the leading edge and a piece of flak had actually penetrated the outer skin and flattened the fuel line. But it, while we were in the air I suppose the booster pumps in the tank and the you know the suction of the, in the engine itself had managed to draw fuel. So we had suffered those sort of engine problems but it wouldn’t start. So they had to cut that bit out and put a new bit in actually. But that was, you know surprising, you know.
CB: Amazing. Going back to the fateful incident where you were shot down was the — you said it was a German fighter underneath. Who saw that?
TI: Nobody.
CB: Right.
TI: That was the whole point. You see, the rear gunner said it was two bumps. Two. Two flak. Two bursts of flak. I knew it wasn’t flak because all it was was bump bump. That’s all there was. Just two shells hit us actually and immediately the wing tank burst into flames. And yet its gone all the way through. In Chorley we were shot down by flak but we weren’t. If you read that article there the guy that found us that shot us actually he’d actually scored a hundred and — a hundred and twenty two kills in his career of which —
CB: A German you’re talking about.
TI: Yeah. Of which a hundred and twelve were four engine bombers. And we managed, a friend of ours in Canada had actually had researched it and he found the name of the pilot that actually shot us, shot us down because he shot two down that night. We were, there was one earlier on and then we were the second and he went to return to base. But he, like our rear gunner was killed in an auto accident in the 60s.
CB: Was he really?
TI: He was from a well to do family in wine apparently and admitted in one of the wine in France as a —
CB: At the time you were shot down were you aware of the German Schräge Musik system?
TI: No. We hadn’t. But it was, you see the one I’m talking about over Bochum was that the Wild Boar as they called it was a free for all but in the latter stages the, it was the Schräge Musik actually.
CB: Right. Ok. Now, another question’s to do with when you were a prisoner of war. So, at the end then there was the Long March. So could you tell us about that? How did that come about? And what happened?
TI: Well, it wasn’t. Ours was the short march. As against their —one incident which I failed to tell you about this. On the march. I think three days after Nuremberg we were straggling along the road in between pine trees. It was a narrow, well, a good road but narrow and a deep ditch either side with pine trees either side and there were three Focke Wulfs came over. Three Focke Wulf 190s came over. Followed by three P47s. The Thunderbolts. Oh we were all, all fired up about getting, you know getting the, giving that Focke Wulf what for. But the next thing we saw was the three, three P47s nose down strafing the column. So we were strafed by the Americans. But they broke off. They must have realised. They killed fourteen of the, in the, in there but it was a horrible situation that was. You could feel the bullets, you know. I know we were on the road one minute and the next minute we were in the ditch. I mean I think all the living records were broken [laughs]
CB: And not everybody was killed presumably.
TI: No. No. There was —
CB: Of the people who were hit.
TI: No. It was fourteen. Fourteen were killed.
CB: Killed. And then wounded as well or not?
TI: Yes.
CB: Others.
TI: They broke off and after that a lone Spitfire used to come over every day and waggle his wings to say we know you’re there actually. And then so it was not a pleasant march because the weather was pretty awful at the start. Cold and wet. And you were sleeping anywhere. Outside. Under the hedge. Anywhere that was sort of going. And food was virtually non-existent. And then it improved tremendously as we got further south. So the weather became again almost, almost pleasant you know because it was, I mean one of the nicest nights we had was in the cattle shed. Literally with the cows. And it was warm and dry. Well, nearly dry anyway [laughs] And so it was, it [pause] it was an experience anyway but —
CB: So how many days was the march running?
TI: Seventeen days I think. I think it was seventeen.
CB: And at the other end what happened?
TI: Well, we just in, just all in one compound. A huge compound with lots and lots of people. I think at the end of the war — we actually did visit the camp later. Years later. Was it fifty eight thousand in the, in there?
JI: Eighty. Eighty.
TI: Eighty. There was eighty thousand POWs in Moosburg.
CB: Mainly army were they?
TI: Anybody and, anybody and everybody. It had been. We went there and I must have been I’m sorry about that —
CB: It’s ok. We’ll just stop.
[recording paused]
CB: Restart. Ok. Good. Fire away. What have you got there? “The Final Touchdown.” So what’s that story?
TI: That’s the —
CB: This is a newspaper story.
TI: The one. It was in 2014. That was before Vera. We were due to take a piece of Lancaster. Now, I think Mark ought to come into this because he’s the one that did all the work.
CB: Ok. Let’s just pause a mo. We’re now talking about when the Australian — the new, the Canadian Lancaster Vera came over to Middleton St George and you were there.
TI: This was before.
CB: Yes.
TI: This was before.
JI: Yeah. I think, I think you’re at cross purposes. But there is a story. He’ll tell you.
CB: Ok.
JI: Get it in context.
CB: Right. Go on then Stan. Then Mark.
JI: Quite an interesting one really.
CB: Go on Stan.
TI: Well, it was Mark actually that discovered a German Archaeological Society were looking for some wreckage of — I believe a Halifax wasn’t it? In the Dortmund area. Not having any luck at all. Quite how he got on to them I don’t know but he did and he contacted, he said, ‘Well, I know my dad’s Lancaster blew up around that area in February ’45.’ And so they did [pause] it was a village called Sprockhövel. About twenty miles from Dortmund roughly. I don’t know. And anyway they, they tried excavation and things like that without very much success and they contacted the local farmer who at that time was a six year old. At the time of the shooting down was six years old and his uncle owned the farm and he’d since then inherited it. And apparently he said, ‘Well, I’ve no idea he said but I’ve got an idea that there was. My uncle used a lot of aluminium pieces to repair chicken coops and stuff like that. I’m not all together sure but I think there’s a couple of bits down in the cellar.’ So they went down in the cellar and sure enough there was two pieces of aluminium and on one piece apparently there was a serial number and they could actually, I think again through Mark’s expertise of whatever that they were able to trace it back to Victory aircraft in Canada with the serial number of KB804. And so I was — so they invited us over. And I must say I was very reluctant to go to Germany because having dropped bombs on them I wasn’t too sure what the reception was. But I was totally amazed because they — Sprockhövel is as I say twenty miles south of Dortmund and the nearest railway station is Bochum. And Bochum was the one where we had that nasty incident. But we were met by Karl and his, met by Karl on Bochum station, taken to Sprockhövel and we were given a reception. Mark and his wife went and Jenny and I went and we had a remarkable reception. You know. We were feted and, you know. And then in the town centre at their museum they’d got the, and they had a picture of, of that one. The small one, you know. Which you can get through there anyway. And all the crew and things like that. And they’d this piece of metal. KB804 you see. Quite a thing. Anyway, they arranged newspaper things. The Burgermeister of the town came and a television crew from Dortmund came. So we were feted weren’t we actually? And that was it. And we, you know came away. And a few days later the family came over with a chunk of Lancaster. Would you like to see it?
CB: Absolutely. Yes.
TI: I’ll get it.
CB: Right.
JI: Where is it?
TI: In the garage.
CB: We’ll stop for a mo.
[recording paused]
CB: Stan’s been to the garage so we’re now looking at the piece of metal from his Lancaster that was brought back to the UK by the German family.
TI: Sixty nine years after the —
CB: Sixty nine years after this.
TI: Event.
CB: And you were supposed to take this up to Middleton for the reunion.
TI: Well, Mark took it up.
CB: Mark took it up.
TI: I was in hospital.
CB: Oh right.
TI: I had pneumonia.
CB: Yeah.
TI: Mark took it up but to me it means a lot actually.
Other: Yeah. Absolutely.
CB: Extraordinary.
TI: And so —
CB: So this is a good six feet long and a foot wide.
TI: Yeah. But I was and the point is that I was very proud to be a member of Bomber Command but, but having with my experience of Dortmund, particularly Dortmund station. Having travelled through the streets of Dortmund and seeing the terrible devastation and the chap who’d lost his family to the American bombing etcetera I did feel some remorse as it were you know so — and since then on our subsequent visits to Moosburg, Nuremberg and to Sprockhövel in Germany I found the German people so much nicer than I ever thought they were. You know. And you know I I you know I’ve got a certain amount of regret for dropping bombs on them because at eighteen, twenty thousand feet dropping bombs it’s so impersonal. On the ground you see the devastation. It sort of hits you a bit. And so you know I’ve got a certain amount of remorse as far as of that. I was, I did my job. And I’m glad I did my job but it's the but again isn’t it? How I feel about it.
CB: So, as a crew what was your attitude in terms of going on raids?
TI: Well, we wanted to. It was, well we wanted to do thirty trips and finish. Finish a tour. That was, that was the point. You started off. You volunteered for it and that was your job. It was a job. Nothing more than that. And yes you were worried. You hoped you were going to make it but you always hoped it was going to be somebody else, you know. And that was the point. And I think the navigator in the latter stages had started to feel the effect actually. And I think that was when the muck up of the, you know the navigational south of track etcetera. And he became, he got very, of course the navigator was probably in the worst position of all because he was curtained off behind the pilot you see so he never saw the outside unless he wanted to poke his head behind the curtain. And so he was not aware of the flashes and the bangs and stuff like that you see and I know that if there was any sort of near, ‘What’s that?’ you know. That sort of thing. I think we were finding that he was getting a little a bit, a bit flakey as it were, you know. But we, he was a good navigator as far as I was concerned and I would never have anything said against him or that. But there it is.
CB: Did you ever try to get a reunion of all the crew after the war?
TI: No. Well, I would have liked to have done but we were never, we never were in a position to sort of afford the trip.
CB: It would have been a bit expensive wouldn’t it? Yeah.
TI: And of course they were well spread, you see. There was two in Winnipeg. The two, the wireless op and the rear gunner were Winnipeg. Or near Winnipeg. The pilot, well he was dead of course but New Brunswick on the eastern side. The two, the tail gunner Lanctot and the navigator were Montreal and Lou Nozzolillo was originally Toronto you see. But so they were so spread that it was very difficult.
CB: So they didn’t get together either.
TI: No.
CB: No. Ok.
TI: And, you know I think probably Andy and, and Ray they may have.
CB: Because they were close.
TI: They were relatively close but that was all.
CB: Now, we’ve covered a lot of things and in, in that conversation that’s prompted Vic to think of something. He wants to ask you a question.
Other: When we first started you told us about what it was like to come back. And I don’t think on the record that we actually talked about that. But I mean thinking about different times, different situations these days if somebody that went through something like you went through on a daily basis apparently or near daily basis would be, would be given all sorts of support. But I gather that when you came back —
TI: No. There was nothing.
Other: Would you like to talk about that? And can I put this down on the floor?
TI: You just, you just resumed. You know. My mates were getting demobbed at that time. All the ex-ATC people were getting demobbed at the same time so we formed that. That was our support. But there was no support as far as no counselling. No nothing.
Other: No.
TI: You just got back into the bosom of your family and that was it, you know.
Other: Yeah.
TI: But I found it awful. I did find it awful. I wanted to go back into the air force. I really did because I found Civvy Street dreadful after the air force, you know.
Other: What sort of period are we talking about here in terms of finishing? Well, of course you were still in the RAF weren’t you after —
TI: Yeah. That’s right.
Other: But what about when you were just coming back. What? That’s what I had interpreted.
TI: Well —
Other: When you first —
TI: That was the difficult part because as I say we had eight weeks leave actually from returning from Germany to going back. I was then posted to Melksham which was a camp that had been closed down but they’d reopened it because they didn’t know what to do with redundant aircrew. That was the top and bottom of it. I mean some were lucky enough to sort of still be clearing bomb dumps and stuff like that. And a few were just sort of dropped back on to Training Command or something like that. But the majority of us we were nobody. And especially being, you know with the Canadian Air Force we’d no, we’d nowhere in the RAF at all you see. We had, I mean all I ever did on training. Training establishments as far as the RAF was concerned so I’d nobody. And it was very very difficult feeling. I mean alright I got on, on the course at Melksham. I made friends and stuff like that. And eventually posted to Hawarden. I made friends there and I was quite, quite happy in as much as I would have been far happier had I have been able to fly. Fly again you see. But I was just sort of seeing out my time really because you know my having —my health was gradually improving and you know it was [pause] that was it. But as a [pause] there was nothing if you understand me. You just sort of carried on and did what you could, you see.
Other: Yeah.
TI: And jobs were not easy to get actually because you know especially with the factory I had worked at had closed. Had closed down as far as I was concerned and so I got the job in sort of local government and not that I liked that very much but it was you know it was a job you know.
Other: On a similar theme do you want to say anything about your — I think Kindret was your buddy was he?
TI: Kindret. Yeah.
Other: Yeah. Do you want to tell us about anything, you know? What the support was between the two of you because I think you said something like you didn’t think you’d have got through it if it hadn’t been for him.
TI: Well, at Middleton St George when we — when we went to Middleton St George first of all we were in Nissen huts just outside. Quite close to the Oak Tree in fact. I don’t know. Chris knows. Probably knows where the Oak Tree is but —
CB: Yeah.
TI: But then as crew were shot down or finished their tour or whatever then we moved in. Of course the officers then moved into the officer’s mess and the sergeants into the sergeant’s mess and that was just inside the main gate. And 428 was one side and 419 was the other. Well, Andy and I were fortunate to share a room on the top floor of this, of the mess. And, and we had a great relationship. I mean, you know we had similar interests and things like that. He was, his parents were Ukraine actually and they moved to Canada. He’d been born in Canada so he was first generation there. But he used to write home in Russian. That sort of thing. So, but he was a great, a great artist because I always regret he did a crayon sketch of a Lancaster while we were on the squadron and he gave it to me. And of course in the ensuing moves between families and things like that it’s got lost, you know. So it was something that I do regret. But — and we used to go to Stockton together. He had a girlfriend and I had a girlfriend and that sort of thing, you know. And he had intended getting married to a girl in Stockton actually but when we got shot down that was, well it wasn’t the end of that as far as he was concerned but when we got back to England and he got kitted out again he went up to Stockton to see the girl with the intention of actually getting married but there was a sailor. They, they were of the opinion that we’d been killed you see and so she’d moved on. Moved on to the Navy [laughs] rather than the air force. And so he came to visit me in in Blackburn. I was still with my parent’s house at Blackburn then. And we had one hell of a time before he went back to Canada. And that was really the last time I saw him actually. Although we wrote. We wrote regularly, you know but as we got older you know it got to be a post, you know a letter and then a postcard and that sort of thing. But we were in contact right up to the end as it were. But he did support me. Particularly on, on the march with the, you know because my chest was bad and you know and things like that. And I really quite honestly I wanted to give up. I got to that stage I couldn’t really take much more. He was the one that prompted me, ‘Come on.’ You know. That sort of thing. And it was — so I owe a lot to him. I owe a lot to the crew. To the pilot. To him particularly and, and to Phil the bomb aimer. We’ve been friendly for years and that sort of thing and it’s a great loss to me when the crew, the breaking up of the crew itself.
CB: It was the family.
TI: A family. Absolutely. Yeah.
CB: Yeah. At the end of a raid you returned with the aircraft normally undamaged you said. So what did the crew then?
TI: Well, there’d be a debriefing of course.
CB: Ok.
TI: And then —
CB: And how did that go?
TI: You would, you know, they would do then you would have your meal and go to bed. And that was the end of that. And the following day you would, you’d find out whether you were on. If the battle order had been put up. If not you would push off in to the town or somewhere like that because Middleton was a good station but there was no facilities whatsoever. No cinema. No bar or anything. Oh there was a bar in the officer’s mess. And there was nothing in the sergeant’s mess. All there was was a billiard table. That was all. So, if you wanted entertainment you went elsewhere you see. And it was, as I say it was on the the railway station. The train went one way. Stockton one way. Darlington the other. So it was either or, you see. I got to Stockton. That was my first time there and you know I got established. Got a girlfriend there. Not, not serious, you know. It was more interesting [unclear] there. But it was alright. Then to the local dance hall. La Maison de Dance it was. What a name [laughs] La Maison de Dance. At the end of Yarm Lane. But it was, you know it was entertainment as it were because you you never knew, you know when, where, were you, whether you were going to make it or not you know. That was, it was always at the back of your mind. And I remember that night at the, on Bochum the rear gunner was he was very lively. He was a great one for the girls mind but he was very lively. That particular night he was very very quiet. Very, you know shut in on himself as it were. Totally out of character. Whether, whether some symptons had told him that he was going to get it that night I don’t know. But equally the, on our last last trip, our last trip as it were I had misgivings as well you know. There was something. I didn’t think I would. I never thought I would make it quite frankly.
JI: No.
TI: And I always thought with the amount of sort of, of crews being written off and that sort of thing I didn’t think I would make it actually. I think while I was there, there was only one crew finished the tour.
Other: When you say you had misgivings. Did you have misgivings every time you went?
TI: No.
Other: No.
TI: No.
Other: So —
TI: I mean you —
Other: So it was something quite unusual.
TI: You were, you were worried. That’s not to say you weren’t worried. You really were worried you know.
Other: Yeah.
TI: But it was you got to the stage well if it’s going to happen to us. If it happens to us it happens to us you know and there’s nothing you can do about it. You know. It was —
Other: So you learned to live with a lot of anxiety really.
TI: That’s right. Yeah.
Other: Yeah. When you say you came back and you went to bed. I mean what was sleep like?
TI: You were usually so tired out you know.
Other: So you were exhausted really.
TI: Exhausted. Yeah. Because you were, you were in the air for between six to eight hours and then you went you’d had your, the briefing beforehand. Then you had your debriefing afterwards it would be most of a day you see.
Other: Yeah.
TI: Or a day and a night actually. And I suppose most of our, most of our — I only did two daylights. All the others were night trips you see. So you were getting back 5 to 6 o’clock in the morning sometimes you see. And then of course you were just crashing out. And then all you did was wake up around about lunchtime. Go in to the section to see if there was a battle order up and If you were not on that you sort of, ‘Right.’ So, we said, ‘Skipper?’ ‘Ok.’ That’s it. There was virtually no discipline in the sense that you had to be there. You — if it was ok with the skipper that was ok. And that was, that was it. As much as that. And we had leave every six weeks which was a great thing actually. And on two occasions two of the crew, you know the crew came — the navigator came with me and and the wireless operator, you know. So they came with me for a weeks’ leave in Blackburn of all places [laughs] So, but it was [pause] it was something I wouldn’t have missed if you understand what I mean. It was —
CB: Absolutely.
TI: To me it was every, when I’d got a crew I was really somebody. You know. I felt I was somebody. You know. And we did our job to the best of our abilities but what, as I say what really turned me off was at the end of the war from being a somebody you became a nobody. And that was what really really hurt. It really hurt actually because we were just ignored. That’s absolutely. And I said that the public generally went a bit anti aircrew you see. Especially Dresden. After Dresden of course you know. And, you know, and so that’s why I didn’t bother sending for medals. I didn’t want anything to do with it at all. But it was Mark that actually said, ‘You ought to send for your medals.’ And he did. And of course since then he’s made sure that you know I’ve got as much information as I have done. Other than that, left to myself I wouldn’t have bothered at all.
Other: Were you on the Dresden raid?
TI: No.
Other: No.
TI: I was shot down a week after.
Other: Right.
TI: I would have been. We were on leave. We were on leave. That’s right. On the Dresden raid. We were on leave. Then straight back and shot down.
CB: So, just on this context of when you left the RAF you were very unhappy with the arrangements. You came back from being a prisoner of war. You didn’t have any link with the crew because they’d already gone to other places anyway.
TI: That’s right.
CB: So you didn’t want to take up your documents. That would be your logbook and other things. Did you have anything that you recovered?
TI: Well, in the sense that they sent some things home, you know. To my parent’s home. Yes. But nothing. Nothing really. Just general things you know.
CB: Right.
TI: And no I didn’t and I was sorry that I didn’t get the log. I’m sorry I didn’t get the logbook. But you know. One of those things, you know. And that they said they destroyed it as well. Mark did actually write to Gloucester.
CB: Yeah.
TI: And they said no. They were destroyed and that sort of thing.
CB: So what prompted Mark, your son, to look into your experiences?
TI: He became very interested in medals. Even as quite a young child actually. And he got to [unclear] he knew that I’d been in the RAF you see and he sort of started to of course at that time you could pick up the ’39 ’45 in any junk shop for pennies as it were you see. And I think he started collected. But he was more interested in not the medal themselves but the sort of the story behind the medal you see. And he’s got a fair collection actually on that. And it was through that that he sort of I suppose gee’d me up and said you’d better to do something about it, you know. I’m glad he did because you know otherwise I — and more recently I was, I’d been given the Legion d’honneur of course.
CB: You have. Good.
TI: By the, by the French.
CB: Yeah.
TI: Government. Just for, you know for my small part in the liberation of France etcetera you see. So I feel, another thing I feel very strongly about of course is that they stopped issuing the Aircrew Europe medal after D-Day. So anybody that flew after D-Day was not entitled to the Aircrew Europe. You were just entitled to the France and Germany Star. Whilst I think the guys that were on the D-Day landings more than deserved the France and Germany Star believe me but to bracket us all. Alright, Mark. I’m off [laughs] To bracket us all with the France and Germany star was you know. There’s been some atonement by the fact we have now a clasp for Bomber Command on the ’39 ’45 Star but that’s all. You know.
CB: When did you receive your clasp?
TI: A couple of years ago wasn’t it? About. Sort of like that.
MI: One of the first.
CB: And for your Legion of Honour. Where did you go for that?
TI: Didn’t. Came with the postman.
CB: Oh right.
TI: Came in a box. I didn’t want, I didn’t want the fuss and bother.
CB: Ok.
TI: Being kissed on the cheek.
CB: Any more?
Other: One more.
CB: Yeah. From Vic now. Vic asking another question.
Other: Going back to the Dresden business and the impact that has had. I think you were suggesting from the public on the aircrews. Can you tell me something about how that evolved for you? I mean I’m thinking that there was a Dresden raid. I don’t know anything about how information came around. Like on the BBC and things like that.
TI: What did, what did surprise me I knew nothing about it in — I was on leave I think when the Dresden raid was on. I saw nothing in the newspapers or anything like that at that time. I think there must have been on the radio there was a raid on Dresden. It didn’t make any impact on me. I was shot down a week later in Germany but there was never any mention in Germany of Dresden. And I thought there might have been. There might have been some repercussions etcetera towards aircrew but there wasn’t which was rather surprising in itself. But it was the general public that sort of had gone on and of course —
CB: In Britain you mean.
TI: In Britain. That sort of took and Churchill had turned his back on aircrew you know. He just ignored us then. And he was, he’d been forced you know with Stalin etcetera. He agreed. I don’t think Harris wanted to bomb Dresden. I don’t think so. But it was Churchill’s, you know that sort of the role was supporting the Americans and you know for the Russians because Dresden was, it was the largest garrison town anywhere in Germany and it also was a rail, a rail network as well to the east and things like that. It was a very important town was Dresden. But it was unfortunate that they, they bombed it to, you know, almost to destruction.
CB: Well it was actually in the context of the overall bombing.
TI: That’s right.
CB: It wasn’t unusual in terms of other cities having been bombed to destruction. It was just a more.
TI: I know but I mean I think —
CB: A sensitive topic at the end of the war.
TI: Yeah. It was. Very. It was a bit over the top really. It was a thousand bombers and the Americans as well. But also what annoyed me was the British have been, have been given stick for the Dresden raid yet there’s no mention of any American involvement.
CB: No. It’s really interesting isn’t it?
TI: And you know this is a —
CB: There’s a story associated with that.
TI: I knew very little about the Dresden raid actually. It was only since then of course all the you know the newspaper articles and things like that about Dresden and stuff like that. And it was, there was no question about it that the aircrews were not held in great esteem after the end of the war.
Other: Yeah. So actually the last thing you said it’s the newspaper articles and so on much later is it?
TI: Yeah.
Other: You think. Yeah.
TI: Yeah.
Other: Yeah.
TI: Yes. And it was you just didn’t there was no point I talking about it. You talked with your mates.
Other: Yeah.
TI: And things like that.
Other: Yeah.
TI: But there was no point. Nobody was interested.
Other: Yeah.
TI: That was it. You’d done the job. Just like an ordinary soldier, you know. Whether you’d been in D-Day or were a cook in the cookhouse or anything like that. You were just a soldier or a person. That was it. Full stop.
CB: Now, your wife Jenny’s quite a bit younger so she’s got a comment to make.
JI: Yeah. Well, I was at school. Just getting towards leaving school. CND had just started. I think the first march was 1958. And it was around about that time that a lot of the activists who were marching for CND were building up a pressure group on Dresden. And people were volunteering to go after that to go and rebuild Dresden. I’d never heard of Dresden before that. So I mean I would fix it in 1958 that that’s where it came from.
CB: Yes. Well, there was a very interesting East German component in that but we’ll ignore that for the moment.
JI: I think that went above the head of a sort of seventeen year old schoolgirl. Not necessary.
CB: Any more from you?
Other: No.
CB: I think we’ll stop there. Thank you all very much indeed.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Interview with Stan Instone
Creator
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Chris Brockbank
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-04-07
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AInstoneTS160407
Conforms To
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Pending review
Pending revision of OH transcription
Format
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01:33:18 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
Description
An account of the resource
Thomas (Stan) Instone was working at a factory making Bristol Hercules engines but volunteered to be aircrew as soon as he was of age. Initially his application was unsuccessful but he persevered and trained as ground crew. He later remustered as a flight engineer. After training he crewed up with a Canadian crew and was posted to RAF Middleton. His aircraft was attacked by a night fighter and the rear gunner was seriously injured and ultimately lost an eye. Stan was able to get him out of his turret. Stan and his crew were eventually shot down and the surviving members all became prisoners of war. He was initially at Stalag 13D before the long march to Stalag 7A. His poor health made the journey particularly arduous and he credits his fellow crew member with the strength to carry on.
Contributor
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Julie Williams
Spatial Coverage
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Canada
Germany
Great Britain
Poland
England--Yorkshire
Germany--Dortmund
Poland--Łambinowice
Poland--Tychowo
Germany--Ruhr (Region)
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1944-09
1945-02-20
1664 HCU
419 Squadron
Absent Without Leave
aircrew
anti-aircraft fire
Dulag Luft
final resting place
flight engineer
ground crew
ground personnel
Halifax
Halifax Mk 2
Halifax Mk 3
Halifax Mk 5
Heavy Conversion Unit
Initial Training Wing
Lancaster
military ethos
military service conditions
perception of bombing war
prisoner of war
RAF Middleton St George
RAF St Athan
Red Cross
sanitation
shot down
strafing
the long march
training
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/68/715/PVentrigliaS1701.2.jpg
2417eec6737fadb7ac8ec0e05a1fc4ad
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/68/715/AVentrigliaV170725.2.mp3
3acd9e9d823a6dc6f94733e405d5753a
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
Ventriglia, Sarah
Ventriglia, Vincenzina
S Ventriglia
V Ventriglia
Description
An account of the resource
One oral history interview with Sarah Ventriglia who recollects her wartime experiences in the Milan and Lodi areas.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-07-25
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Ventriglia, V
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
L’intervista è condotta per l’International Bomber Command Centre. L’intervistatore è Sara Buda. L’intervistata è Vincenzina Ventriglia. Nella stanza sono presenti Sara Troglio e Greta Fedele dell’Associazione Lapsus. L’intervista ha luogo in [omitted] a Milano presso l’abitazione della sorella della signora Ventriglia. Oggi è il 25 luglio 2017.
VV: Oh, no!
SB: E’ presente anche un gatto che non riusciamo a contenere.
VV: Stai giu’, allora stai qui buono.
SB: Allora, cominciamo da prima della guerra. Cerchiamo di capire un pochino quale fosse…
VV: Ecco, il mio primo ricordo di quello che poi è successo della guerra è che ero ai giardinetti, abitavamo in Viale della Argonne e davanti c’erano i giardini…
SB: A Milano?
VV: A Milano. Avevamo una signora. E in quel momento, mentre eravamo seduti lì abbiamo sentito la voce del duce ,molto forte, che stava facendo la dichiarazione di guerra. Quello è stata la prima cosa che… mi pare che era il dieci giugno qualcosa, eh questo. Poi tutto il resto è venuto dopo, e ho sopportato tutto, ma tante cose, non so i rifugi, i rifugi alla sera andavamo nel rifugio ma non nel nostro perché non era abbastanza forte, e andavamo in una casa vicina, nella cantina di una casa vicina che aveva il rifugio fortificato [laughs], mentre noi avevamo un rifugio molto debole. E mi ricordo che alla sera la mamma appena c’era l’allarme ci faceva vestire a tutte, eravamo tre, Adriana era ancora…, e ci vestivamo in fretta e correvamo a questo rifugio che era, diciamo a poco, venti trenta metri da noi, così, basta. Io poi avevo il vizio che quando mia madre mi vestiva dopo pensavo che era ora di andare a letto e mi rispogliavo [laughs]. La mettevo sempre in crisi. Poi stando nel rifugio non è che mi preoccupava molto, ecco, stavo lì e non pensavo che poteva succedere qualcosa di terribile o, però dopo quando poi siamo partiti per Ospedaletto Lodigiano, siamo sfollati, ma è stato dopo il bombardamento che c’è stato forte nel ’43 perche’ io dal fondo della via ero fuori, correvo a casa perché c’era l’allarme ho visto una casa grande in fondo alla strada che bruciava, cioè era stata bombardata e quello mi è rimasto proprio nella mente sempre, per sempre. Dopo altre cose dopo siamo partiti, siamo andati a Ospedaletto Lodigiano, eravamo nascosti, anche perché la mamma si nascondeva non solo per i bombardamenti ma perché essendo ebrea aveva molta paura. Il papà essendo cattolico aveva degli amici, perché lui lavorava in Prefettura a Milano, aveva amici che quando sapevano che i Carabinieri arrivavano vicino a noi, a Orio Litta da quelle parti, c’era la mamma che prendeva Adriana che era piccolissima, la metteva sul sellino della bicicletta e scappava nella campagna. Noi restavamo a casa, però insomma, poteva succedere anche a noi, però no. Poi oltre a noi avevamo a casa lì a Ospedaletto una zia di papà che era scappata, una sorella di papà che era scappata dal meridione, che era venuta per salvarsi su al nord e con una zia sua, quindi eravamo in casa con questa persone, inoltre in un altro appartamento c’era un mio prozio da parte della mia mamma, veronese, che era un fratello della mia nonna. La mia nonna poi è stata presa in Svizzera, cioè non in Svizzera, beh questo dopo. E quindi anche questo zio abitava lì, lui da Verona era scappato, come sua moglie era cattolica e aveva una figlia, erano andati a Verona per prendere la zia, però lei ha detto ’ma io sono cattolica, poi sono una ragazza madre‘ come se non avesse il marito, mentre lo zio era a Ospedaletto. E dopo allora lo zio era difeso, era protetto dal parroco del paese che stava sempre nelle zone del parroco e insomma si era fatto un piccolo centro per lui, è stato lì sempre e si è salvato. Mentre la mia nonna, la mamma di mia mamma, che era anche lì in quel paese sfollata per un po', era in una cascina vicino. Noi eravamo ospiti, era come un ristorante albergo che però ormai dava gli appartamenti così agli sfollati. Allora, era in una cascina vicino a noi e stava lì insieme a mia zia, cioè la sorella di mia madre che non era sposata, era fidanzata con un cattolico che stava a Milano e la zia, purtroppo a un certo punto veniva corteggiata e seguita da un gerarca fascista che abitava proprio lì in un altro appartamento della cascina, quindi non ha più potuto vivere lì, ha dovuto ripartire, è venuta a Milano ed era ospitata da una cognata del suo fidanzato e abitava in via Archimede, eh io mi ricordo tutto questo. Poi era nascosta lì e mi ricordo che la mia mamma quando siamo tornati da Ospedaletto, che non siamo stati lì molto, siamo ripartiti da Ospedaletto a gennaio, febbraio del ’44, perché mio papà venendo a Ospedaletto era stato mitragliato sul treno, quindi non volevamo più, mia mamma non voleva più che corresse questo rischio, siamo tornati a Milano. E siamo andati a vivere a casa della nonna che la nonna non c’era più, era stata presa. Allora la nonna è partita il 5 dicembre, il 5 dicembre del ’43 è stata arrestata. Mio zio che poi aveva perso il lavoro nel ’38, io me lo ricordo quando lui parlava di questo, mio zio non poteva più lavorare, me lo ricordo ancora adesso che parlava con mia mamma ‘non so cosa farò’, poi ha fatto il maestro di sci, è diventato un grande maestro di sci, ha fatto un lavoro indipendente. Ecco, volevo dire che lui e la mia zia sono partiti con la nonna per accompagnarla in Svizzera, e io me la ricordo la nonna quando è partita da Ospedaletto, mi ricordo ancora la corriera che ha preso, perché sono scesa per salutarla, la corriera me la ricordo come se la vedessi adesso, con la pelliccia nera sulla porta della corriera mi salutava. [weeps] E così dopo di allora non abbiamo più saputo niente di lei. La mia sorella più piccola di me, però più grande di Adriana, in mezzo, che vive in America, lei ha dei ricordi vivissimi. Lei invece si ricorda che quando la nonna è partita, lei stava salendo la scala per tornare a casa e la nonna scendeva e si è fermata e gli ha detto ‘Ciao, io vado via‘, lei gli ha detto ’Ma perché vai via?’, così è rimasto il ricordo della nonna. Dopo quando è arrivata in Svizzera con lo zio e la zia che l’hanno accompagnata, non è stata ricevuta, cioè l’hanno scacciata insieme ad altre quindici persone, dicevano perché non aveva ancora sessant’anni, però non lo so per quale motivo. E poi sono scappati tutti insieme, sono arrivati fino a Pino, a Varese e l’hanno arrestata a Pino, poi è passata alla prigione di Varese, dopo è passata a San Vittore, mi sembra quinto raggio, e la mamma mia quando ha saputo che era lì voleva andarla a trovare. È andata al comanda dei tedeschi qui a Milano, e ha detto che voleva parlare con loro, allora una persona che era lì di guardia ’Ma signora lei è sicura che vuole parlare? Guardi vada a casa, non si fermi qua, non insista‘ e così la mamma è tornata a casa, perché se avesse parlato con loro. Così non ha potuto neanche vederla quando era in prigione. Però lei ha mandato una cartolina a una vicina di casa, la nonna, dicendo che, credo che ce l’abbiamo ancora che sia nell’archivio, dicendo che era lì e che così e basta. È stato così. Dopo di allora, insomma tutte cose che, non si trovava la ragione di tutto questo. Io poi non capivo tanto, perché dieci anni, soltanto che mia sorella quella dell’America che ha un anno meno di me, aveva una memoria diversa, aveva, era una osservatrice di tutte le cose che succedevano e si voleva rendere conto, era e ancora adesso ha questi ricordi. Purtroppo è lontana e la sua testa comincia a non lavorare tanto bene. Ecco i miei ricordi sono questi. Quelli della nonna. Poi quelli degli zii che venivano, perché io ho tre cugini che loro hanno proprio vissuto, si sono salvati perché sono stati salvati, ci sono stati delle persone, quelli che li hanno salvati hanno avuto anche il riconoscimento. Loro sono tre, una cugina vive, una vive a Verona, l’altra vive a Haifa, la più grande, e il gemello di quella che vive a Verona sta in Inghilterra. E quindi loro hanno passato tutto il tempo scappando, passando da un posto all’altro, stavano al Sacro Monte di Varallo, e lo zio aveva documenti falsi, nonostante tutto andava a lavorare, incontrava i fascisti sul treno che arriva dal Sacro Monte di Varallo andava a Novara a lavorare e quindi anche questo era, poi la moglie, la zia era russa, non russa, lituana molto religiosa, di famiglia molto religiosa, a parte che ha avuto tutta la famiglia massacrata, tutta la sua famiglia, dove abitava a Kaunas, ma lei essendo bionda e sapeva il tedesco perché si era salvata [cat meows loudly]
VV: Buono! Buono!
SB: Diceva appunto che essendo bionda, sapendo il tedesco probabilmente…
VV: Sì, sapeva il tedesco. Lei, quando lo zio arrivava a Sacro Monte dove abitavano la zia per dirgli che poteva arrivare, che non c’erano guai sulla strada, che non c’erano controlli metteva fuori un panno, come una vecchia divisa di soldato tagliata e quindi lo zio capiva che poteva arrivare a casa. Una volta è successo che sono andati proprio a casa i tedeschi da lei, perché hanno visto questo panno, hanno detto ‘Che cos’è questa cosa?’ ‘Eh questo li uso per fare i vestiti per i miei figli’ gli aveva detto in tedesco, poi è stata molto calma, ha parlato piano piano con loro, loro non hanno neanche pensato che fosse ebrea. Anche quella era una vita stranissima, poi con documenti falsi, i bambini andavano a scuola da lì con i documenti falsi che gli erano stati dati dal comune. Poi so che il sindaco di quel paese è stato fucilato, perché aiutava, forse a Borgo Sesia, è stato fucilato a Borgo Sesia che era vicino a Varallo Sesia. Eh è questo. Io vedevo questi zii che abitavano a Trieste loro, mio zio fratello della mamma con i figli e la moglie russa, che era arrivata in Italia perché doveva studiare, per quello si è salvata e non è stata trucidata come tutti i suoi fratelli che erano a Kaunas. E quindi lei era sempre sempre attenta, avevano i documenti falsi e non insomma vivevano sul filo del rasoio, alla fine si sono salvati, e poi nel ’49 sono andati in Israele, poi la figlia, una della figlie è tornata qua, si è sposata, adesso vive a Verona. Beh loro avrebbero tanto da raccontare, molto più di me. Certe volte penso chissà la nonna che cosa ha fatto quando, non si sa niente, dicono che è stata uccisa subito, ma… e anche una sua sorella, per esempio a Verona c’era la sorella della nonna. Erano diversi fratelli e la sorella della nonna si era rifugiata, viveva a casa insieme alla zia, con la figlia che era ragazza madre, però si è salvata andando a casa di un cugino, Tullio Basevi, che è stato anche lui deportato. Era lì e un giorno sono andati a prendere Tullio Basevi che era la sua casa e dopo due giorni hanno preso anche la zia e è andata a Bolzano, poi Ravensbruck e non abbiamo saputo più niente. Aveva mandato una cartolina chiedendo biancheria e cambi perché quando era a Bolzano, ma dopo… è stata una portiera o chi le portava da mangiare che li ha denunciati, per cinquemila lire li ha denunciati. Ecco così.
SB: Quindi scusi, giusto per capire la mamma era Basevi, quindi era la mamma ebrea?
VV: Sì, sì, la mamma.
SB: Nonostante ciò era il papà che si nascondeva, giusto? Ho capito bene?
VV: Il papà la difendeva.
SB: No, suo papà.
VV: Il papà mio?
SB: Sì, sì suo papà
VV: Era cattolico
SB: Si nascondeva quando eravate sfollati?
VV: Mio papà doveva stare attento perché era proibito sposare una donna ebrea. Mia mamma era ebrea, la legge era già da prima. Loro si sono sposati nel ’31. Devo dire che mio padre è stato molto coraggioso. Ma mio padre però si doveva un po', non si facevano mai vedere insieme perché, se andavano da qualche parte uno da una parte uno dall’altra. Ma io questo non lo sapevo, l’ho saputo dopo. E poi mio padre lavorava in Prefettura, aveva un bellissimo ufficio al primo piano. Questo me l’ha raccontato mia sorella dell’America, perché io, e aveva un bell’ufficio, lavorava per la censura, poi quando hanno capito che lì andavano i tedeschi a controllare i registri anche del personale l’hanno spostato al pian terreno qui alla Prefettura di Milano, perché la stanza dava su un giardino e lui già una volta era scappato uscendo dalla finestra del giardino. Insomma l’hanno aiutato perché, si anche lui doveva stare attento. Poi quando è stato mitragliato, l’abbiamo saputo eravamo a Ospedaletto, lui arrivava con il treno la sera, invece l’abbiamo visto arrivare su una carrozzella, si una carrozzella con il cavallo che era ferito e la mia mamma quando l’ha visto è svenuta. Ecco. Dopo siamo tornati a Milano e abbiamo ricominciato a studiare, abbiamo cercato di riprendere non so l’anno, quando. Stavamo a casa della nonna finché abbiamo potuto poi siamo andati in un’altra casa. Adriana era nata nel ’40 perciò era, non so, tutto questo è dentro di me non è che, è come se avessi una fotografia dentro di me, a parte tutto il resto, ma non so.
SB: Io ho delle domande.
VV: Sì.
SB: Vorrei fare un passo indietro.
VV: Sì.
SB: Intanto le chiedo se ci può far capire un po' come era costituita la sua famiglia, quanti anni avevate voi sorelle e che cosa facevate prima della guerra, che cosa facevano i suoi genitori.
VV: La mia mamma era casalinga, era molto brava a cucire, ci faceva dei bei vestiti, ma per il resto non lavorava, non ha mai lavorato. Il papà era sempre della Prefettura. Io andavo, ho cominciato ad andare a scuola, perché avevo dieci anni, mia sorella aveva un anno di meno, mia sorella Antonietta, Tata, che sta in America, e l’Iginia purtroppo non c’è più, la terza sorella, noi eravamo quattro, è morta nel duemila e due, ha avuto una malattia brutta, improvvisa, ha avuto una leucemia, stava a Roma e poi Adriana era piccola, nata nel ’40. Quello che mi ricordo molto quando la mamma prendeva la bicicletta, metteva Adriana sul sellino e scappava nelle stradine di campagna per non farsi trovare dai tedeschi eventualmente se dovessero venire a casa, se dovevano venire a casa. Perché loro andavano a vedere i registri di tutti, degli sfollati di tutti. Vedevo anche dei ragazzi che quando sapevano che arrivavano i tedeschi o i fascisti si nascondevano da tutte le parti, andavano sotto i letti a casa della persone anche che non conoscevano per non farsi trovare. E poi una volta, quando dalla mia nonna, adesso questo mi ero dimenticato però non è molto importante. Una sera quando stava ancora nella cascina dovevano tornare a casa, era da noi e doveva tornare a casa. Io l’ho accompagnata, ho detto ’Nonna, io ti accompagno’. Sono andata con lei, a un certo punto la nonna aveva in mano c’era una piccola lampadina da tenere che si chiamava mi pare no chiocciola, un altro nome, un nome così aveva, che faceva anche un rumore, che si accendeva e si spegneva toccandola. Allora si è avvicinato un gendarme, c’era già la repubblica no, tutto vestito di nero e ha gridato a mia nonna ’Cosa fa lei con quella luce, lo sa che c’è il coprifuoco’?” E la nonna l’ho sentita proprio gelare e io non ho detto niente, e niente ci ha lasciato andare per fortuna così l’ho accompagnata. Si chiamava forse aspetta, chiocciola. Era un tipo di lampadina che avevano tutti.
SB: A cosa serviva? Come mai ce l’avevano tutti?
VV: Non so perché, era quella che si usava quando c’era buio. Era molto comune come tipo, ma nel coprifuoco certo non si poteva usare, ma la nonna l’aveva usata. Per un tratto di strada non pensava che arrivasse un così, un gendarme. E così è andata.
SB: Senta quindi lei era piccola comunque…
VV: Sì, sì
SB: E quando è scoppiata la guerra lei come lo ha saputo. Qualcuno gliene ha parlato, qualcuno in qualche modo le ha spiegato cosa stava succedendo o lo ha capito lei da sola in un altro modo.
VV: No, no, no, non abbiamo avuto grandi spiegazioni. Abbiamo visto che tutto era cambiato, tutto diverso, le persone molto tese, molto preoccupate, e poi io l’ho sentito annunciare così me lo ricordo. No, no, diciamo non siamo stati preparati ad affrontare la guerra, ad affrontare la situazione, no. Arrivava di giorno in giorno e…
SB: Per esempio la prima volta che siete scesi in un rifugio, la mamma vi ha spiegato, il papà vi ha spiegato che cosa bisognava fare?
VV: E beh ci dicevano di stare buoni, tranquilli e di non muoverci, di non, niente di particolare. Eravamo forse troppo piccole per essere informate. E poi c’era sempre questa tendenza di mia madre di tenerci sempre, come dire, protette, di non darci troppe informazioni. Penso che questo, sempre l’aveva avuto questa. Mia mamma è morta nel 2004, dopo mia sorella, mia sorella nel 2002, mia mamma nel 2004, aveva novantaquattro anni.
SB: Wow.
VV: Ma di queste cose non ne voleva mai parlare. E perché il fatto della nonna è stato una tragedia. Non solo la nonna, anche la sorella, anche il cugino, anche… Per fortuna uno dei fratelli, dico fortuna, il fratello più grande, erano cinque fratelli, la mamma, la sorella e tre fratelli e uno, il più grande, Gino, era morto nel ’38 per un mal di cuore, quindi lui non ha vissuto niente di questo, ma non lo so, forse è stato meglio così. Erano cinque fratelli che si divertivano a Verona, abitavano nel ghetto di Verona, c’era allora ogni tanto mia mamma mi raccontava delle cose, di quello che facevano per divertirsi, andavano sull’Adige con le carriole, insomma cose così, ma questo era proprio prima.
SB: Quindi da Verona la sua mamma è venuta a Milano quando si è sposata.
VV: Quando si è sposata. Ha conosciuto mio papà a Verona, perché lui stava lì alla Prefettura. Si sono conosciuti e dopo è venuta a Milano. Però anche la mia nonna era venuta a Milano a Verona dopo che è stata vedova, che il suo marito è morto nella prima guerra, nella guerra ’15-’18, però è morto nel ’19, nel febbraio del ’19 perché aveva preso una malattia, la spagnola. La guerra era già finita, ma lui era ancora, diciamo, nel campo, allora da allora la nonna è partita da Verona e è venuta a Milano. Poi la nonna ha vissuto sempre a Milano, faceva la sarta, era molto brava, maestra di sartoria, e così. E non so se, prima della guerra era così, non sapevo molto di quello che succedeva, no.
SB: Veniva fuori per caso, prego…
VV: Una volta la mamma quando la zia, quando siamo tornati a Milano nel ’44 e la zia era nascosta in via Archimede, una sera la mamma ha deciso che voleva andarla a vedere, andarla a salutare, allora, c’era il coprifuoco anche a Milano e con noi ha voluto andare fino lì di sera, in fretta, però insomma anche lì è stata un po', e quindi mi ricordo che mio papà ha dato i biglietti per andare al cinema, eravamo andati al cinema, non lontano, in corso Ventidue Marzo c’era un cinema, e dopo del cinema la mamma ha voluto andare a trovare la zia. Comunque ha preso un rischio molto grosso, perché c’era il coprifuoco.
SB: E voi eravate con lei?
VV: Sì. Certe volte non si considera bene il rischio. Forse la mia mamma si sentiva protetta perché diceva ‘Io ho sposato un cattolico, quindi c’è un matrimonio misto quindi a me non mi toccheranno‘ e invece non è stato così. Vorrei raccontarvi di più, ma purtroppo.
SB: Beh io ho sempre delle domande. [laughs]
VV: Sì, sì [laughs]
SB: Posso procedere con le domande.
VV: Ah sì è messo calmo. Allora ha salvato qualche cosa?
SB: Sì, sì, sì.
VV: Il gatto?
SB: Sta ancora registrando, sì, sì.
VV: Ah sì?
SB: Sì, sì, assolutamente. Io volevo chiederle. Ha accennato a un registro degli sfollati. Siccome non ne so nulla, volevo sapere se per caso si ricorda quando siete arrivati a Ospedaletto se vi siete registrati.
VV: No, il registro era di tutti i residenti, ma anche degli sfollati ed era un paese vicino, Orio Litta. A Orio Litta avevano i registri, quindi quando arrivavano i tedeschi così, mio padre veniva avvisato e avvisava la mamma di nascondersi insomma. E no, non so veramente, sarà negli archivi, perché o registri li avranno..
SB: Però comunque voi comparivate in questo registro?
VV: Eh sì, sì.
SB: Ho capito. E senta e mentre eravate sfollati avete avuto delle difficoltà di qualche sorta a vivere in questo posto? Le condizioni com’erano?
VV: Beh, c’erano tanti sfollati, però non credo che considerassero o che pensassero che la mia mamma fosse ebrea, no. Però stava molto attenta, sì, stava molto attenta. Anzi le devo dire che c’era una sorella di mia padre venuta dal sud e la famiglia non era molto d’accordo che mio padre avesse sposato un’ebrea, questo è ovvio no, e allora lei con la mia mamma non andava proprio d’accordo e una volta quando era lì giù nel cortile della casa, il cortile interno, ha detto ‘Senti, smettila di parlarmi così eh’ la zia da giù, da giù a su dal balcone ’Smettila di parlami così perché io guarda che ti denuncio‘ e una zia io questa cosa l’avevo sentita, poi la mamma è rimasta proprio scandalizzata da questo. Del resto c’erano queste cose. Doveva stare attenta, doveva...
SB: Voi avevate contatti con questi altri sfollati?
VV: No. No, avevamo contatti solamente con chi ci ospitava che era il padrone di questo posto, di questo ristorante, credo che ci sia ancora nella strada principale di Ospedaletto Lodigiano. E solo con loro, poi basta. Poi sì, con altri sfollati sì, con delle persone che avevano dei figli nascosti, due figli maschi grandi in età di fare il soldato che erano nascosti e quindi si parlava così tra di loro, si sapeva di questo ma nessuno diceva niente. E poi avevo contatti con un’altra signora, sì una signora, una professoressa di piano che si chiamava Salomone di cognome, ma non abbiamo mai saputo se fosse ebrea o no, ed era molto brava, molto gentile, molto, sì, mi ricordo questo. Però con poche persone.
SB: Non c’era una comunità?
VV: No, no.
SB: E senta in questo posto, Ospedaletto.
VV: Sì.
SB: C’erano anche lì dei rifugi per qualche motivo oppure non c’era nulla di legato, che legasse quella esperienza al contesto più ampio.
VV: No, di rifugi no. No, no. Non c’erano i rifugi, non mi ricordo. Ogni tanto passava un aereo che non so come si chiamava, Pippo mi sembra, che faceva dei sorvoli ma non sapevamo neanche se fosse tedesco, se fosse, beh sarà stato senz’altro italiano o tedesco perché… No non era una vita di collettività, era una vita molto riservata.
SB: E di questo Pippo gliene ha parlato qualcuno o…
VV: No, no lo sentivo, si sentiva quando arrivava, era un aereo che faceva un sorvolo poi andava via.
SB: Quindi non vi, non vi…
VV: No, no.
SB: Non lo temevate.
VV: No. Lì i bombardamenti non ce ne erano, non ne abbiamo mai vissuti i bombardamenti, tranne il mitragliamento del treno. Probabilmente avran bombardato qualche treno, ma non lo sapevo.
SB: E di sirene invece ne avete sentite quando eravate sfollati?
VV: Oh tante, sì, sì eccome.
SB: Lì a Ospedaletto no.
VV: No, no.
SB: A Milano invece?
VV: Sì, sì, tante.
SB: Tante?
VV: Sì, sì, tante. Era molto impressionante. Adesso quando le rifanno sentire qualche volta si torna indietro subito.
SB: C’era una frequenza assidua durante il giorno?
VV: Una frequenza di sirene?
SB: Sì.
VV: Sì, anche due o tre, sì. Quelle di notte erano più brutte, perché bisognava uscire e andare al rifugio fuori con il freddo. Io mi ricordo ancora le persone che stavano magari di fronte a noi così di notte, perché nessuno doveva, a noi ci dicevano di non parlare, di non fare amicizie nel rifugio, così. Poi gli altri non lo so come facevano.
SB: Ma senta, quindi le persone che c’erano nel rifugio voi non le conoscevate?
VV: Eh no.
SB: Erano persone che arrivavano…
VV: Noi eravamo come dire dei fuoriusciti, dei raccomandati. Eravamo dei raccomandati perché andavamo all’altro rifugio. Non so come ha fatto mio padre, ma ci ha fatto andare in quel rifugio.
SB: Perché non si poteva andare in un rifugio a caso?
VV: No erano tutti dei palazzi, dei condomini, dei, si poteva essere ospitati se qualcuno ti ospitava, però ogni casa aveva il suo. Diciamo che eravamo raccomandati.
SB: E senta per tramite di suo padre o come?
VV: Eh non lo so se tramite mio padre o tramite mia madre o forse qualcuno. Mi ricordo ancora là sulla via tra Via Pietro da Cortona, doveva essere verso Piazzale Susa, prima, prima, mi ricordo ancora il numero della casa, cinque, era il numero cinque, ma è possibile che ci si debba ricordare le cose in questo modo? Non lo so. E la mamma diceva dobbiamo andare lì, perché lì siamo più sicuri.
SB: E vi convinceva? Eravate convinti di questa cosa?
VV: Sì, sì.
SB: Quindi lei si autogestiva, anzi no la mamma la vestiva.
VV:Sì, sì la mamma mi vestiva, diceva ‘Bisogna andare’, perché aveva tre da vestire, io più le mie sorelle. E lei mi vestiva e nel frattempo che vestiva le mia sorelle io mi spogliavo, perché pensavo che era l’ora di andare a dormire. Così insomma si vede che non mi rendevo conto neanche del pericolo che c’era.Sì, sì, questa è rimasto come un ricordo. Insomma non sono tanti i ricordi, però sono… Ormai non c’e quasi più, non c’è nessuno, ci sono i miei cugini, la mamma loro, la zia Golda, quella lituana non c’è più, è morta nel 2010, stava ad Haifa, aveva più di novantaquattro anni, lo zio ha avuto un incidente, il marito, il fratello di mia madre, cioè il marito, era in Israele e lui lavorava alle miniere di Timna, lavorava come chimico e niente un giorno è andato lì, un giorno mi pare che era quasi di festa e la macchina, pioveva e la macchina, le ruote non hanno resistito e ha avuto un incidente e nel ’72. Lui ormai era lì già dal ’49.
SB: Quindi dopo la guerra la famiglia si divide, giusto?
VV:Sì, sì.
SB: Voi rimanete a Milano?
VV: Noi sì. Fino a quando abbiamo studiato, poi dopo insomma negli anni ’60 mia sorella che è in America ha conosciuto un ragazzo di Tripoli che era scappato da Tripoli perché, l’ha conosciuto e si sono sposati, allora lei è partita ed è andata in America. Io sono andata a lavorare a Roma e Adriana è rimasta qui a Milano. L’altra mia sorella purtroppo è morta nel 2002 e lei viaggiava anche, alla fine lavorava all’Alitalia, ma aveva fatto anche, aveva fatto la cantante, aveva fatto anche un concorso a Sanremo negli anni Sessanta, poi alla fine lavorava all’Alitalia quindi.
SB: Senta, le è mai capitato di ripensare a questo periodo a cui appunto avete vissuto sotto minaccia?
VV:, sì, molto spesso.
SB: E ripensa, per esempio appunto per quanto riguarda i bombardamenti, le è mai capitato di pensare a chi guidava appunto gli aerei?
VV: A chi guidava l’aereo? Beh più che altro pensavo a chi sganciava le bombe, più che a chi guidava l’aereo. E quello sì. Lo pensavo sempre. Lo penso anche adesso, perché questo palazzo che ho visto tutto con il fuoco in cima, proprio era come un tizzone, un palazzo molto grande, si vede che avevano buttato più di una bomba e quello proprio mi è rimasto nella mente sempre. Non ho molti ricordi come..
SB: Beh non mi sembra. [laughs]
VV: Quello del gendarme quando camminavo con la nonna che si è avvicinato, quello quando ci penso mi vengono ancora i brividi. È stato proprio, dico ’Ma come è possibile sono pochi metri e spunta questo!’. Poi non parlava la nonna, la nonna mi ricordo che si è come raggelata e io non parlavo, per lo meno io non parlavo, perché se avessi parlato non so. Fortunamente se ne è andato. Tanto poi le cose sono andate male lo stesso. Sono un po' diversi i miei ricordi da quelli di mia sorella, no?
SB:, sì, sono di bambine di età diverse.
VV: Eh sì, sì. Beh però è un bel lavoro quello che stanno facendo.
SB: Ci stiamo impegnando. Allora…
VV: Se ha altre domande io sono qui
SB: Io sono soddisfatta. Se, OK interromperei l’intervista se non ha altro da aggiungere.
VV: No, per il momento no. Può darsi che poi mi viene qualche cosa.
SB: Certo. Allora la ringrazio.
VV: Io ringrazio voi.
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 Sara Ventriglia
Subject
The topic of the resource
World War (1939-1945)
Bombing, Aerial
Creator
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Sara Buda
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-07-25
Contributor
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Greta Fedele
Format
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00:50:12 audio recording
Language
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ita
Identifier
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AVentrigliaV170725
Spatial Coverage
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Italy
Switzerland
Italy--Po River Valley
Italy--Lodi
Italy--Milan
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Lapsus. Laboratorio di analisi storica del mondo contemporaneo
Temporal Coverage
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1943
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
Description
An account of the resource
Sara Ventriglia, the daughter of a Jewish mother and a Catholic father, recalls her early life in wartime Milan. She describes the alarm being sounded, she and her family getting quickly dressed to reach a nearby shelter. She recollects moments inside the shelter emphasising how unpleasant it was on winter nights and mentions the terrifying sight of a building engulfed in flames. She narrates the trials and tribulations of her Jewish grandmother who was arrested in 1943 when trying to escape to Switzerland, likely to be a Holocaust victim. Speaks with an affection for her grandmother and emphasises how the grief is still alive and present. She describes the trials and tribulations of her Jewish relatives forced to live under false identities, one of them deported to Ravensbruck and the subsequent lives of those who escaped the Holocaust. She recounts how she was questioned by a Fascist militiaman for contravening blackout regulations during curfew. Several different wartime anecdotes: how her father was injured when the train he was travelling on was strafed, draft-dodgers hidden in concealed rooms, and the constant presence of Pippo.
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
bombing
childhood in wartime
faith
fear
grief
Holocaust
home front
Pippo
shelter
strafing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/652/8923/PWadeR1503.2.jpg
0b506137cd4da312b391a18185ae0198
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/652/8923/AWadeR150726.1.mp3
95701c1624fa69e8a17fb1a5fdcce23c
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
Wade, Ron
R Wade
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Wade
Description
An account of the resource
Four items. An oral history interview with Ron Wade (b. 1917, Royal Air Force) and three photographs. He flew operations as a wireless operator with 58 Squadron.
The collection was catalogued by Nigel Huckins
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
AM: Okay, so this interview is being conducted for the International Bomber Command Centre. The interviewer is Annie Moody, and the interviewee is Ron Wade, and the interview is taking place at Mr Wade’s home in, near Cheltenham at Bishops Cleve on the 26th July 2015. So, Ron, if you just may be start off with just a little bit about your background, about your school days and what your parents did? Off you go.
RW: All right now, it’s switched off
AM: [Laughs]. Okay, so off you go Ron.
RW: Right. What do you want first?
AM: Well just tell me a little bit about your, what your parents did, and school days, where you were born, just a little bit of background about you.
RW: Yes, right, I was, you’ve got the date I was born.
AM: I have.
RW: And um, my parents, I was one of four children, I had two sisters and a brother. Unfortunately my brother was killed during the war, not on operations, but he, after I was shot down, he was working for the gas company and he would have been, um, he needn’t have joined, let’s put it that way, but er, because I was missing believed killed for six months and he said, ‘they’ve got Ron, I’m going to take his place’, and he joined the RAF. He was coming home on his birthday, 1943, on a motorcycle, and I was the motorcyclist in the family and taking risks a place, he hit a lorry and was killed outright, and so my parents had a rough time because I was, they thought I was, I was injured they didn’t know how badly and so um, they had a rough time.
AM: They must have done, yeah. What did your parents do Ron?
RW: My father was, they had a grocery shop at the time, but before the war my father was a Master Grocer and he was made redundant by the person he worked for it as a, I was born. Let’s start off where I was born. I was born in Stoke-on-Trent and Longton was the name of the one of the six towns, not five towns, they forgot Fenton, and so, um my, that was my father, he was a Master Grocer and those days, when he was younger, to be a Master Grocer was quite a trade. And so um, he, my mother worked in the Potteries in Longton where most of the china was produced and Ainsley and all the top china work, and she was a Paintress, a freehand Paintress, and er, the, also my sister, one of my sisters was also a paint, a freehand Paintress on pottery.
AM: Where did you go to school?
RW: I went to school at Woodhouse, it was called Woodhouse and er, an Elementary School. I wasn’t very good [laughs] at maths but I enjoyed school, but when came the age of fourteen, in those days you had to pay to go to Grammar School. We couldn’t afford that, so at the age of fourteen I was kicked out and I left, and so um, I wandered around trying to get a job. If you think, this was in the thirties and a lot of unemployment and so I was told to go and get a job. So I got a job in a factory at Longton and it was a bit rough because I had to, as a warehouse boy, I was paid five shillings a week and one of my jobs was to scrub the floors, light a fire under a heater in the factory so they could bring their food and put it on the top to heat it up for lunch. If I was late getting all that done, I was in dead trouble [laughs], but scrubbing the floors, it was so the one floor from downstairs, the ovens, we had two big ovens, one gloss and one biscuit, that we called biscuit ovens, [coughs] and then after a while the former warehouse boy he er, he worked in the moulding, he became a moulder in the moulding shop, and he said, ‘have they got on to you yet about moving from here?’ and at that time, I was scrubbing the floors with a scrubbing brush, cold water, down the steps, all wood, wooden steps, cleaning the steps going down there [laughs]. And so and er, then the crunch came when they said ‘right, pack it in, you go downstairs and help unloading from the ovens’ and what happened, it was, they’d be firing and then they used to open up after the firing, take all the bricks away from the entrance and then for twelve hours it would be cooling off. And then they got me with the others, the people unloading right from the top of the ladders and they brought it down and it was still very, very hot ware and then they got me with the others, carrying ware like dinner plates, [laughs], carrying from the oven. Up the stairs, two flights of stairs, along the corridor, which I had to clean [laughs] and into the warehouse, where the women were and they unloaded from the baskets. And one day, I was going up with a basket full of cups and saucers, and I used to carry them on my shoulder, basket on my shoulder and one hand on my hip, going up the same flight of stairs and I caught a water pipe that was sticking out from the stairs, just caught the basket and I had a choice. Shall I go down with the basket [laughs] or try and retrieve what I could, but I decided to let the basket go [laughs] and save myself.
AM: Save yourself.
RW: And there the ugly manager, who was one of the bosses sons stood at the bottom, with his hands on his hips and he saw, he saw all the ware down there, all smashed, and he said, ‘I’ll stop that out of your wages’ [laughs].
AM: And did they?
RW: No, no, they’d have been forever [laughs].
AM: I was going to say wages probably wouldn’t have been enough, would they?
RW: No [laughs] so that was that.
AM: So that was your introduction to work.
RW: My introduction to work.
AM: What about the RAF, how did you come to join the RAF?
RW: The RAF yes - what happened there?
AM: What made you want to join?
RW: From there, I went, I had several other jobs you know, trying to make a living in the 1930’s, wasn’t easy, and I walked around for miles getting jobs for five shillings a week. And then I was always interested in the RAF and I wanted to fly and so I went to join up when the war started and er, they said, ‘no, no’. I said ‘I want to be a pilot’, because my uncle had been a pilot and been killed, and um, but I always, right from a tiny child, wanted to fly, I wanted to be a pilot, and so they said ‘no, we have enough pilots’, and um, my maths wouldn’t have been good enough anyway.
AM: This was right at the beginning of the war, 1939?
RW: Oh yes, the beginning of the war, when the war started.
AM: So you would be twenty two?
RW: Twenty two, that’s right and I had been married. I made the mistake of getting married, and er, anyway I had a daughter by that marriage and she is now ninety seven, eighty seven, sorry, and amazingly enough, she visits me, she stills lives near Stoke-on-Trent.
AM: Yes, excellent.
RW: And she comes now and then to visit. I, then, that’s right, oh they said, ‘if you want to go into aircrew, if you want to fly, we can offer you the um’, what shall I say, oh yes, ‘offer you the way you can get into aircrew and you can be the wireless operator, and then from wireless operator, you would be an air gunner. That’s the only thing we can offer you if you want to fly’, and so this is what happened. I joined up, I was called up and I offered my services then, and I was called up in January 1940 and I did my ITW in Morecambe, sent to Morecambe, and that was quite an experience, because we all walked down the street in Morecambe and they said, ‘you eight in that house, you eight in the next house’, and so this went on and as we were allocated this one house and the dear lady, who was the boss of the house, she was coming downstairs and we were just coming into the house, into the hall and she said, ‘I didn’t want you here, I’ve had enough with guests through the summer’, [laughs] and so that was our introduction to this place. She wouldn’t let us use the lounge, we had a little room at the back and then they had a kitchen, where we were allowed in, but not the lounge [laughs], and I wasn’t very popular with her because I didn’t like her attitude, and she said we had to be in at ten o’clock at night and so one of us used to stay around, say like if we went to a dance, you see, and so this is what we did and er, we made it enjoyable. I think the pranks we got up to such as I cut out a skull and crossbones and put it in the light that it shone, the light shone through the skull and crossbones [laughs]. They had um, a, a bit of a showcase in there and I saw er, a cup in there, I thought, the old man, poor devil, he was really under the thumb with the old girl, and I saw a cup in there, an inscribed cup and I thought, marvellous, he must have been a runner or something like that, and so when I examined the cup, fortunately the door wasn’t locked on the showcase, and I was disgusted to see that it was for mineral waters [laughs]. The cup was given for being very good with his mineral waters, and so what happened there was, I filled it with cold tea [laughs]and I wasn’t very popular at all.
AM: No.
RW: We were allowed to go upstairs to our rooms, she complained about, about the rifles, we all had our the Enfield rifles.
AM: Because you were square bashing?
RW: That’s right, yes, up and down the streets, and so um, she complained because we put our rifles in the umbrella stand in the hall, so she said, ‘no, they must go upstairs and under your beds’, so fair enough, this is what we did. But at ten o’clock in the mornings, we had to get up early, but at ten o’clock we had a tea break and so we all, the whistle went and we all had to fall outside in the street and er, the old boy had to make the tea, you see. By the time he’d made the tea for the eight of us, the whistle went again [laughs] so we had to form up outside again, and er, also the rifles had to keep going upstairs under the beds [laughs], so by the time we had done all these things, then we were going to be late on parade so that’s fair enough we managed it.
AM: Oh good.
RW: Yes, and then we were eventually, we were called by the CO, we had to go, we were called into the CO’s Office in Morecambe and – left, right, left ,right, halt - and er, we stood, the eight of us there, and we stood in front of the CO, and he had his bits of paper on his desk and he said ‘which one of you is Wade?’, so - left, right, left, right, halt - ‘Right, I’ve had complaints from your landlady’, and er, he read out all these different things that I had done in the house. And then I tried to explain, I said ‘I’m guilty of what she said, but it’s very difficult to go up and down the stairs in our boots and not make a noise’, that was one thing that she went on about, and the other thing was that she had to take up the stair carpet and so we were making more noise going up and down the stairs and this went on for a while, but the CO, ‘well, you won’t be here for very much longer’, which we weren’t fortunately, but next door they had a marvellous time, the eight in there, and they were allowed into the lounge and they had a piano, and the pianist there, I’m trying to think of his name - Ronnie, Ronnie, but he played at the BBC and er, his friend ran the Squadronaires.
AM: Right.
RW: I forget his name now, they were a nice couple of guys, and they also were able to fraternise with the two daughters [laughs] so they were unhappy to leave Morecambe [laughs]. Anyway we went from Morecambe up to um, to do the wireless course, wireless operators and er, so as I say I joined in January and when I went to Swanton Morley, no, not Swanton Morley, I’m trying to think of the name of the place we went to now.
AM: No, never mind
RW: It’ll come, and um, that’s right, and so I started a course there as a wireless operator and er, I did quite a few months there, doing Morse. Very difficult, very difficult and I was very happy to leave there [laughs].
AM: Did you pass?
RW: I passed, yes, we had to, and from there I was interviewed, now I was hoping they were putting me onto a pilots course [coughs] and I was interviewed by a group, and they were ex pilots from the First World War and um, as I sat there they were asking questions, ‘why did I want to fly?’ and I said ‘I’ve always wanted to fly since, I, since being very small’ and so er, I thought I am going to get my course as a pilot. But the one question one of these old boys threw at me was, ‘what would your feelings or attitude be, if you fired at a German and you saw his face disintegrate due to your bullets?’ I said ‘bloody good show, that’s what I joined for’ and so [laughs], and they all looked at me, you know, ‘who’s this crazy guy we’ve got here’ [laughs] and so that went on, and I thought, oh no, they’re going to put me on a pilots course. ‘No’, they said, ‘no, you will be an air gunner’. So I went down to South Wales and did an air gunner’s course there and this is just about the end of the Battle of Britain, and er, we were being bombed and shot up every day and night there, and er, and I was chased down the runway one day by a Junkers 88 and I managed [laughs], the bullets were going all around me and I got behind a sand bin and they came through the sand, the bullets from this 88 and then the hut, the hut we were in the, the normal RAF Huts.
AM: Nissen Huts.
RW: Yes, that’s right, all wood, and er, one day they bombed and destroyed the one each side of ours then we had to lie down flat as they strafed us, the bullet holes through the hut, through the wood.
AM: And this was at training camp in South Wales?
RW: In South Wales, yes, day and night. We weren’t allowed, as air crew, we weren’t allowed to sleep in the huts so we had to go out in the field and within tents and sleep outside, and there again, I was a bit crazy and I slept behind the beds. I put my mattress down there and then I thought ‘what’s it going to be?’ and my DRO’s, one of our men, was killed because he didn’t get in the tents, so I was turfed out of there and I had to go into a tent and er, that was the end of the Battle of Britain.
AM: Of the Battle of Britain.
RW: Yes.
AM: What was the training like Ron, the air gunner training?
RW: Oh it was intense, very intense and we had, had er, we had the um, Fairey Battles, Whitley’s 1’s and 3’s which were, they were pretty awful things this is why they had, and the Whitley 5’s we finished up on, they were also rubbish, [laughs] sorry to say. And um, as I said training had to be intense because we were the only ones carrying the war to the Germans, Bomber Command, and so from there other things happened you know, I was lucky to get away with we were, because they were bombing night and day.
AM: Because of the bombing?
RW: And so er, from there I went to OTU at Abingdon.
AM: Abingdon, Oxfordshire.
RW: That’s right, Abingdon, and er, that was very intense. We had very few hours off and because we were needed, and so from there a very good friend of mine, he was a pilot doing his training too and we were formed up into fives.
AM: So it was five, there were five of you in your group?
RW: Five in a group.
AM: This was for a Whitley?
RW: Whitley 5, yes, and er, Mac was his name, MacGregor Cheers and I’ve got it in my book, and he didn’t want to be a pilot, he wasn’t happy training as a pilot, poor Mac. There was me, I wanted to be a pilot and he would have rather, rather been an air gunner but it didn’t work out that way.
AM: How did you get together as a crew?
RW: Oh there we er, we had, later on when we got to the squadron, I moved on to 58 Squadron er, from training and um, this, our CO there, he said ‘I’ve been having too many complaints from you, from all air crew about the Whitley’, and we said ‘we’d rather be on the Wimpeys’, you know the Wimpey?
AM: I don’t know the Wimpey.
RW: Yes, the Wimpey was the one, I’m trying to think of it now, the Wimpey. We were on the Whitleys, I was flying on the Whitleys, this was the, this will probably tell you in the book there [looks through the book].
AM: I can’t find it, never mind it doesn’t matter.
RW: Anyway, we’ll find it yes. It’s my age [laughs].
AM: You’re allowed [laughs].
RW: And so we said we’d rather be on different aircraft, we didn’t like Whitleys, and he said, ‘anymore complaints and you’ll be off flying, you’ll be grounded’, he said ‘you fly in this and it’s a very good aircraft and you have to fly it’.
AM: Where was 58 Squadron based then, at that point?
RW: We were at Linton on Ouse.
AM: Okay.
RW: And that is where we had to form up and choose the crew, choose the fives, and er, it was very good, very good. And, oh yes, when I arrived there, our flight commander came through the hangar, I came from one door and he came through the other door, flight lieutenant, and um, he said ‘my god, we are glad to see you’, he said, ‘we had a rough night on Berlin last night and we had one aircraft left in our flight’. So he said, ‘come and meet the lads’, so off I went in the crew room and er, I met the lads and er, he said ‘right, this is Ron, Ron Wade, and er, he wants a cup of coffee. What do you want, tea or coffee? Who’s on making coffee?’, ‘Oh, I did it yesterday’, ‘now make him a cuppa, whatever he wants’, so I met the lads that way. But er, how we formed up in a crew we went into flying control and into the room there and all milling around meeting each other, formally or informally and this is where we formed up, and er, I was very lucky guy. I had a lucky war really because my original crew, I was taken off, we did two trips, two trips, I forget where it was now, but they said, ‘right that’s me softened up so you are being replaced by this Graham (I think his name was), Graham, because he ditched in the sea and he has been on leave for a couple of months, but he will be taking your place’, then last heard of, they came down in the sea, so this Graham had two trips, two operations both into the sea and the second time they weren’t recovered, so I was very lucky there, but I said to Amy, ‘how must his parents have felt?’
AM: Yes
RW: Because I think of him now, taking my place I had through good luck and he had the bad luck. My folks had the bad luck with my brother being killed and me being [unclear] after six months they thought I’d been killed.
AM: So just wheeling back a bit.
RW: Yes.
AM: So you didn’t, you were taken off that crew and then, presumably, put with another crew?
RW: Yes
AM: And did some more operations?
RW: Yes, with another crew, and then I was waiting to get on another crew and er, it was rather boring because I was sweeping, I was cleaning the snooker table and I got very good at snooker, and I was waiting and then I had several attempts to go on ops but something happened every time. And then on a Whitley 5, they um, they had a lot of what you call exacter trouble. If they snatched too hard then it would go fully fine and we would have to turn back and so er, this happened, different things happened and I didn’t get, because I had, I just, oh yes, what happened, from the trip before, it had been a bit hairy, got a few holes in it and er, I had a premonition from that, that as we were coming into land, I saw the runway and I thought I won’t see this again, I’m going to be killed. Strange feeling, it was a very, very, it, it and I knew I was going to be killed, strangely enough and I wanted to get this trip over, the next trip over, all my crew who were going to be my crew were on leave and I should have waited to come back but this is on January, January 8th I think, I think it’s in there, the book. Oh yes, my roommate, I won’t mention his name, but he came back from leave and he said that he was tired, he knew what the trip was going to be, it was a tough one, Konigsburg, and er, the CO said, ‘there are two fighter areas’, so he said, ‘keep North and be very wary because of the fighters’, and I knew that it was going to be tough because of so many things going on there. And so er, I volunteered for this, and he said that he was tired so the sawbones gave him a pill and told him to go to bed, so I volunteered, do you want to go to bed because always a thing come back, leave, he had a tough one, crew didn’t make it, we were losing so many in those days. And so off with his name, on with mine, just the [unclear] they wanted and er, I thought, I’m going to get it over with, and so off we went and this is when we were in Holland, North Holland, and then we had, they hit the port engine and we set on fire.
AM: Where? On the way to drop your bombs?
RW: Yes.
AM: On the way there.
RW: On the way there, yes, and er, we thought we were going to come down in the North Sea, we were going over the North Sea at the time, and January you didn’t live very long in the North Sea, and so we thought, that’s it, and all the rest of the crew were aged nineteen and I was the oldest.
AM: You were an old boy, twenty three?
RW: Twenty three, yes, and so um, the navigator said, ‘I don’t think we’ll make it, we are not going to make Holland’ and so the skipper said, ‘right I don’t know what you are going to do, but it’s no use coming down, we’ll have to go down into the sea and about five minutes that will be it because Whitley’s didn’t swim very well’ [laughs]. And so I was in the, I was flying as a rear gunner at the time, operating as a rear gunner, and by the way before that I had done a trip from um, the, when I was at OUT, I’d been, I was on a crew, going, dropping leaflets over Italy. We had a trip to Turin and it’s in the book there and dropping leaflets and we were attacked by two fighters and I told the pilot to do this um, manoeuvre to get away from them and um, then when we came up again, they fired at us and then I had the new Brownings, four of them, and they really did damage because I fired at them and then they turned and smoke poured from both of them and they retreated and went back. I didn’t know if they went down or not but they weren’t happy, and so that was an earlier.
AM: So that was Italy,
RW: And I was going to tell you.
AM: So now, now you’re on your way to Holland?
RW: That’s right on operations, I’d gone from there and I had a photograph taken by picture post in the turret, in the rear turret, showing off these new Brownings , and er, yes, so back to the squadron, on our way to Wilhelmshaven and then we were hit and I thought that’s it, this is my premonition coming because fire broke out and it was getting close, my job to get, we were given the order to bail out although if we wanted to over the sea, but by this time the navigator had informed us that we could make it, we just made it, North Holland, so we had been told to bail out. I had to get out of the rear turret somehow, we’d been losing height at quite a pace, so when I got out of the rear turret, because my parachute was in the fuselage, and so I had to open the rear doors of my turret, crawl out, then the order was to get my parachute and harness, ‘cos there’s no room in the turret for them, so my training was that I got these and then I had to get back into the turret with great difficultly, close the doors, turn ninety degrees and then go out backwards.
AM: Right
RW: But fortunately for me, as I was getting my parachute and harness and I put them on, the first wireless op came down the fuselage and he jettisoned the door, waved to me and the sparks and flames coming past the fuselage door, and he waved and jumped through this. Now I’m not getting back in that turret, I’ll never make it and so I was going after him and so I made for the door and, what happened next then, and, oh yes, I was about to jump and then out of the corner of my eye I saw the navigator coming down dragging his parachute and harness. He hadn’t put it on.
AM. Oh no.
RW: And so I couldn’t leave him, the plane was slipping like this – slipping, slipping, slipping - we lost a lot of altitude and we were getting pretty close, and so he couldn’t do anything because he was almost falling over every time the plane went. What had happened, the two pilots had gone from the door, from the front.
AM: So they’d bailed out?
RW: They’d bailed out, because he’d given orders for us to bail out by then, and as I say don’t forget that all the rest of the crew were nineteen, they very young. And so he went, that’s right, so I went back and zipped him up and then pushed him out, hoping that he’s there [laughs], then I went after him. Then I don’t remember anything else, apart from it had been snowing through the night, it was a very, very bad night and um, it was about eight o’clock and then I came down in this field and er, the place is called Anna Paulowna, a little hamlet, and the next morning um, a man going to work on the farm and er, he just saw me and I was covered in snow, and it had been deep snow through the night, and he found I was still ticking.
AM: So you were unconscious?
RW: I was unconscious because, what had happened, the Dutch people told me afterwards, that I had gone towards the plane, so we must have been pretty low when I bailed out. I was the last one out, and so that’s why I don’t remember anything, they said that they called to me to come away ‘cos I was making for the plane, so it wasn’t very far away, but as, what I remember when I bailed out, that I was hoping that the parachute would open [laughs].
AM: Quickly.
RW: Quickly, and the um, I wasn’t scared, strangely enough, I just wasn’t scared, and the only thing I could think of, I missed my bacon and eggs, because the only time we had bacon and eggs was when we came back from an operation, then I was calling swear words to the others ‘lucky bastards’ [laughs].
AM: No bacon and eggs.
RW: [Laughs] You’ll be having my bacon and eggs and that’s all I could think off [laughs]. I’d been looking forward to that, and then they called me to come away from the aircraft and so what had happened then, as the ammunition had been exploding, then I stopped one in the back of the head and so I’d been treated in hospital there and um -
AM: So the Dutch people found you?
RW: Yes
AM: And took you to hospital?
RW: No, oh no.
AM: Oh right.
RW: They called the Germans, because if they’d been found, they took me into the hamlet where they lived and then they called the Germans because if the Germans had come and found me first, we’d have all been shot. So the Germans took me away and then they took me into hospital because I’d stopped the bullet in the back of the head, the doctor said I was very fortunate because if it had been any deeper I would have been killed, which was my premonition. And if it had been over a little, I would have been blind and so what happened, I lost, I found out later, I lost the least of the senses that was smell and taste and I’ve never been able to smell and taste since. I can taste, I was tested for it when I came back home and I can taste sugar, salt, vinegar.
AM: So things that have a strong taste.
RW: That’s right yes, that’s all I can taste, so that was it.
AM: So you are in the hospital, you’ve been treated?
RW: Oh yes, I’d been treated.
AM: Then what happened?
RW: What had happened, I had an enema, do they call it? It was a hell of a mess [laughs] and then I was in this ward and er, I was, I remember being in this bed and looking up and there’s a fellow waving to me across the ward, and I thought, ‘who the hells that. I don’t know him’, and this went on for a whole day when he was waving and that was the navigator.
AM: Right
RW: And I didn’t recognise him and this went on and after a while it came, my memory came back again.
AM: So that’s two of you in the hospital?
RW: That was in the hospital. Oh yes and um, when I got talking to the navigator again, he said, ‘careful’, because I was well known for my dirty jokes at times [laughs], anyway different thing he said, ‘be very careful what you say because that one there, is a Nazi’. The only time they listened to the radio was when Hitler was making a speech so he said, ‘very, very careful what you say’. He used to go to the cupboard there, get this radio out, switch it on when Hitler finished speaking, disconnect, back in there, so he said, ‘be very careful’ [laughs], and from there I went in an ambulance, that’s right. They took me to an old camp, the French, French and Belgians in there and um, I’d asked one Frenchman there, he spoke English, if he could get me some information because we were right next to an airfield and they were working on the airfield, and I said, ‘can you get me an old coat to wear and er, then I can make my way with you to this airfield’. Somehow I was going to, although I was a wireless op, I knew the controls and I was going to try and steal a plane and get back home.
AM: This is in the first camp after the hospital?
RW: In the first camp, yes, and er, it was a rough old camp. I remember the blanket I had was 1917, and er, it was rough, and er, and I’ll never forget having, oh yes, they said, ‘can’t you taste that?’ I said, ‘why it’s all right’. I was eating this stuff, sauerkraut [laughs], rough sauerkraut, they were dished up with, I said, ‘no’ [laughs]. Anyway just after that, next day, two great big Nazi’s came in, ‘wait’, so this Frenchman must have, must have told them what I was up to because they took me and after seeing films of people being taken for a ride, I went in this Opel I think, I think the car was an Opel, it was an Opel, and the one as big as Gary. I had one each side of me, I was down middle of them, and off we went and er, I was taken down to the station, down near the station, into the large, like a town hall - left, right, left, right - up in front [laughs], not so nicer man, this CO, and he said, ‘right, this and that’ [unclear] it was a big desk, I’ll never forget and he said, ‘this man here has had his orders, and he is going to take you on the train to Frankfurt and he’s been warned and told that if you try to escape, or do anything, he will shoot you dead’.
AM: He spoke to you in English?
RW: Oh yes, oh yes in English, and so um, I was, people were trying to attack me on the way up, up to this town hall.
AM: Civilians?
RW: And one man came with a knife and the guard had to fend him off and others because they’d had an air raid there, you see, and so off I went, and went up to this town hall and that’s when he had his orders, anyway I was taken back down to the railway station.
AM: What town was this Ron?
RW: This was in Cologne.
AM: You were in Cologne by then.
RW: Yes, and I was driven right the way down there, and so I thought, oh yes. When I was in the waiting room and other er, Germans were in there, you see, drinking coffee, suppose that’s coffee and things like that, nothing was offered to me [laughs] and so then I said oh, ‘stand up’, and the door opened, as this door opened a major (unclear) he came in.
AM: An English, a German?
RW: No a German, a German major, he came in and they all gave the Nazi salute, ‘Heil Hitler, Heil Hitler’, yes, I came out I said, ‘Heil Churchill’, oh, he was just turning to go and I said this, and he got his gun out his Mauser, his Mauser or whatever it was, and I thought, well you’ve done it this time [laughs], and then he said ‘English schweinhund’ (unclear) off he went. I got away with that one [laughs], especially as I had just had this
AM: The warning?
RW: Warning yes, and um, and that was that and so when the train came, we went up to Frankfurt and um, he was watching me like a hawk.
AM: Were you handcuffed to him or anything?
RW: No, no.
AM: There was nowhere to run to though is there?
RW: No, but all the way I was wondering how I was going to belt him and looking at the window, how strong is it because I was going to smash it with his rifle, you see.
AM: Right.
RW: And it was quite a journey, beautiful trip from Cologne, up to Frankfurt but that’s in my mind all the time, how am I going to get out of here and get rid of him [laughs], and then the chance didn’t come, didn’t come. His eyes were on me every step of the way, he was scared he would have been shot if I had escaped, and so we went to my first real prison camp that was up to the um, what they called, it wasn’t a Stalag, before the Stalag.
AM: Was it a Dulag, Ron?
RW: A Dulag, and once again this officer, German officer came in and I was in the cell there, and one very high window, and er, oh he said, ‘I speak English very well, I was educated in Oxford’, and er, he said, ‘you will find we will treat you very well now, but er, a few things to add’, and er, he said, ‘this form here’, he’d got a form with a red cross on the top, ‘so all you need do is answer a few questions, so there you are’, and he said, ‘first of all, do you smoke?’, and I smoked in those days, so he got a packet of Capstans and a box of Swans.
AM: Vesta.
RW: Vesta matches, put them on the top there and there I was, smoking away, ‘right then, first things, name, rank, number’, that’s all right, name, rank, and number, and so put those in, he said, ’good, then we will let your parents know or what have you, that you are alive and well and injured’, and so um, that’s all right. ‘Now these other things’, and I looked on this form, ‘what squadron, your CO, what was his name, and the airfield you took off from, what was the aircraft you were flying, note it down here’. ‘There we are and that’s all I can give you, name, rank and number’. He said, ‘surely you want your people to know, you want your parents to know you’re alive?’, ‘yes course I do and that’s what you have to do because that’s all I’m giving you, my name, rank and number’. Then he became a German, and he went red and he did a lot of words came out that weren’t English and he said, ‘then you’ll stay here until you do fill that in’, and [laughs], and he grabbed the matches and cigarettes and put them in his pocket, and so I was fortunate in as much as I had to be taken up to the hospital to get my bullet hole seen to [laughs] and so I got away with that. Next cell he, whoever it was, had had a rough time, I heard him groaning and yelling and I think they beat him up because he wouldn’t answer and I refused too. The next morning they had taken my uniform away through the night, they’d taken it, I had to strip it off and they took it all away. The next morning, I saw they knew where the map was in the shoulder, then they’d taken the button off.
AM: So all the stuff that was to help you to escape?
RW: That’s right, they knew where it was, they’d taken it and the needle, the compass needle had gone out of the button [laughs] so then you weren’t full of tricks, and so that was Dulag, and from there, I was taken, I went to, yes, Stalag Luft 1, yes, I was taken there next.
AM: Were you still being taken on your own or were you with other prisoners by then?
RW: No I went in, the other prisoners I met there in Dulag and um, you know it was great to meet them and speak English, it was great and they’d give tips and that. I went to Stalag Luft 1 and um, then we stood at the gate welcoming the boys coming in and it was a sandy soil and we got them to throw the lighters and things in there, because the guards were trying to keep us back, you see, and as we went towards the gate, we did this at every camp we went to, throw your things in, throw them in, throw them in, because they had been stripped of things mostly and so what they did, pick them up and give them back to him and then, and then when we couldn’t get down to things, we just trod them in.
AM: Trod them into the ground?
RW: Into the ground as they forced us back, because them bleeders were very sharp [laughs].
AM: So you could go back for them later?
RW: Yes that’s it, and especially went from Stalag Luft 1 and then did about eighteen months there and then we were moved to Stalag Luft 3 and er -
AM: So what year are we now, 41 probably?
RW: My god, yes.
AM: So you were shot down early 41.
RW: January 41 yes.
AM: And then you were in hospital and eighteen months.
RW: I wasn’t in the hospital for eighteen months.
AM: No, no, the hospital and then you were in Stalag Luft 1 for eighteen months.
RW: That’s right.
AM: So we are now?
RW: Now in Stalag Luft 3.
AM: Probably early 43?
RW: About 43.
AM: By this time.
RW: And we did, and went to this new camp, er, we hadn’t heard of before.
AM: How did they move you, on trains?
RW: Yes, and er, yes, on cattle trucks, they weren’t very clean. There’s wire both sides of the entrance of the cattle truck and we were put in twenty each side, standing up, you couldn’t sit down, we were packed in. When you think half a cattle truck, and so this is how we moved, sometimes we had better accommodation but this new camp we went to was Stalag Luft 3, everything is new there, all the huts were new and so we started a different life.
AM: Were you the first intake into Stalag Luft 3?
RW: We were yes, from Stalag Luft 1 into Stalag Luft 3, and then, after that, they started to bring the RAF prisoners from other camps into Stalag Luft 3, and er, they said, ‘you’ll never escape from here, we’ve learnt too many lessons’, but we did, the lot, a lot of people said they tried, escaped from there and they probably tried but they didn’t succeed and it was difficult, and then all the different things, books had been written by prisoners [laughs] and things, no, it was very difficult. I tried once and out of the corner of our hut, I got down and one man from Cheltenham said, ‘you’ll get us all shot, you know’ because I dug through the floor and dug down and I could see where workmen had been, electricians or something yes, been working outside and there was a trench near the camp, near the um, wire and so I got down there and then got out there in the early hours of the morning. It was dark and er, I thought I can get under the wire, get under there, escape, fair enough, so I tried this and then I heard a guard approaching with his dog. Dogs, they were more like wolves, and he had got this one and I heard him coming along and so I got out of there, swiftly went up the road, oh yes, and I had an experience, I ran between two huts and I didn’t see wire stretching from one hut to the other and I ran into it, and it got me in the mouth, took me off my feet and I was strung up and the wire went into my mouth and forced, forced my teeth out. I lost seven teeth, and I landed on my back and then there was the guard and the dog, and he was afraid of that dog as I was [laughs], they weren’t trained to be friendly and so I was put into the cooler from there.
AM: What was that like?
RW: Rough. I had water to drink, bread, well when they say bread, black bread, just bread and er, I was in there for over a week.
AM: On your own?
RW: Oh yes, yes, oh yes.
AM: And no teeth.
RW: No teeth, they’d come out, I have no teeth now. I tell people that um, if I’ll say I had my teeth out, all paid for [laughs]. But um, all the time we were trying to, if we had any ideas about escaping, we had they had to go to this Massey who was the -
AM: What was the name sorry, Ron?
RW: Massey, Group Captain Massey, and you had to give your ideas to him for the escape committee, but something we noticed when we first went into Stalag Luft 3, that one part where the fence was, they hadn’t built any German huts or anything there, it hadn’t been finished. And so John Shaw, my good friend, he noticed this first and he said, ‘we’re gonna go try that’, he said, ‘we go first, the four of us’, I forget the other one and he said, ‘I go first because I noticed it first’. I said, ‘okay, then I’ll go, you get away now, I’ll go follow on’.
AM: How were you going to get out, were you going to tunnel under?
RW: Tunnel under there because they hadn’t built anything that side, so this is what we are going to do, and so you’ve got to appreciate, so John decided to go. What happened, bang, bang, and I have a photograph I’ll show you, with John, and shown in his coffin, he was shot right through the heart, so if people thought that these guards were asleep in the huts, no, and they were crack shots, they got him right through the heart, poor John.
AM: So the other three of you didn’t go?
RW: No, we’d been discovered that was it.
AM: Did you know the people who were involved in the great escape?
RW: No.
AM: No.
RW: No, they were mainly officers. You see what happened, we started off these tunnels under the cooking, took that away and then got all that (unclear) and then dug down to do the tunnels, but then again, we said this would happen, the officers took over, we started it as sergeants and then they said, ‘no, we are going to take over’, and then we were moved eventually to Heydekrug.
AM: To?
RW: Heydekrug.
AM: Which is?
RW: Heydekrug.
AM: Which is another camp?
RW: Which is another camp, yes, so we’d done a lot of work. I was, I helped out with moving the earth wearing these things there, but the soil, the soil we brought up from below, it was a different colour, so we had to take this earth from down below, walk around, walk around and distribute it and dig it in as we were moving, because they were watching us all the time.
AM: These are from the tunnels you dug?
RW: That’s right, yes [laughs], and we were getting rid of the earth, tons of earth, you know. It’s boring.
AM: Well yes, what else did you do in camp?
RW: Oh all kinds of things, apart from trying to escape [laughs], and er, we wrote shows. We did this, you see, and Les Knowle became a very good friend of mine and he was a pianist before the war, before he joined up and he, a professional pianist, was very good too.
AM: Was he the one next door to you in Morecambe or a different pianist?
RW: No, no, it was a different one.
AM: A different one.
RW: No, Les Knowle, he was a different one. This one I’m trying to think of his name, Ron, I forget now, but he went on to the BBC and worked from there and he was on the RAF Band.
AM: Yes.
RW: And then he became well known.
[Interruption]
AM: I’m just going to pause for a moment.
RW: Have you anywhere else.
AM: No, no, so we’ve got shows, what about, did you do any education they had?
RW: Oh yes, yes, and um, I’ve a pencil, and I was studying maths actually and I was going to do a course on maths and it was difficult because it was very, very cold, very cold, up in Lithuania, this was and getting close to Russia and so I was studying and then trying to write out holding the pencil.
AM: So literally holding it with whole of your hand?
RW: That’s right.
AM: Trying to write.
RW: Trying to write, it wasn’t easy, but it was quite good and then I studied, I was studying, was architect because I had been in the building trade, you see. I was taken away from the factory when I was fourteen.
AM: When you were fourteen yes.
RW: By my brother-in-law, who was, um, he’d come to the factory, fortunately before they absolutely killed me [laughs], and he said, ‘you, out’ and he took me away and made me an apprenticeship joiner.
AM: So you were a joiner. Going back to the camp in Lithuania.
RW: Oh Yes.
AM: So what happened then as, what did you know about what was happening in the war?
RW: We had clever people as sergeants, not all officers then. We had people from all walks of life as sergeants.
AM: As sergeants yes.
RW: And er, we had entertainers from the stage, and I wrote um, with Les Knowle, he wrote the music and I wrote the words for shows on the stage and I’ll show you a picture of him, but I don’t know if you have ever heard of Roy Dotrice?
AM: Yes
RW: You have? Well Roy, I’ll show you a picture.
AM: His daughter was an actress, Michelle.
RW: That’s right, he had two daughters, one lives in the States, Michelle, I was watching her the other night.
AM: And was he in the prison camp with you?
RW: Yes, yes, and then I never thought that he would, because he was very young, he was born in Jersey and he changed his age. He was very much younger than me then and he came over to the mainland and joined the RAF.
AM: What happened at the end of the war, how did you find out that the war was ending and what happened?
RW: Oh yes, now then, we had our radios that were built out of things, things we’d stolen from the Germans. I remember walking behind one man carrying, carrying a box and stealing something out of there and when they, they used to um, we used to be woken up in the early hours of the morning by the Nazis. They used to come in and get us out of bed, tear the place apart, and never put it back again, and all things taken out and then we would be walking around the compound from the early morning to late at night while these Nazis were searching and they, yes, and they used to go away with things. Oh yes, we used to steal their hats and their gloves and they weren’t very happy [laughs], and also if anyone escaped, they used to have what we called a sheep count, and they’d form up the barriers so we used to have to go through, and they’d check and check the numbers, you see, and we used to go through and then we used to go back round, and come in again, in the end they had more prisoners than they wanted [laughs], and that was one gag we got up to, and then some had contact at home. You’ve possibly seen it in the letters they used a code in a letter which the Germans couldn’t spot.
AM: To say where they were?
RW: That’s right, all kinds of things.
AM: So how did you find out that the war was coming to an end? From the radios?
RW: From the radios we had, yes. We had certain guys who were very clever, clever electricians among us, all kinds of things they used to do, where if a German came in the front about or something, a buzzer would ring at the far end telling whoever was doing something, escape committee at the other end.
AM: To stop them?
RW: Then bury the stuff again.
AM: Gosh.
RW: And then all things like that and um, the, yes, parts for the radios be stolen from the Germans [laughs] and they would build a main radio that one clever man used to operate. I forget the names now and um, they used to come around the huts and give us the, the news we used to get daily news, we knew exactly what was happening back home, and e,r when the invasion came, the first time, the Germans were gloating when they said, ‘that was your invasion’, when so many Canadians were killed, remember, my minds going.
AM: On the beaches at, yes.
RW: Yes, where so many were killed, and the Germans thought that was our invasion. They said, ‘you’ve had your invasion, you’ll be here’, I was told that I would be there for the rest of my life, they used to enjoy telling us this, that we would be there and we will be rebuilding Germany.
AM: Because they would win.
RW: That’s right.
AM: Sadly for them but thankfully for us.
RW: Oh, thankfully for us.
AM: They didn’t.
RW: But they loved telling us that we would be there forever.
AM: When it did all end? Were you involved in the long march?
RW: Oh yes.
AM: You were.
RW: That was the worst part of it.
AM: Gary’s making faces.
Gary: I’ll leave it.
RW: Okay. That was a tough one, the long march.
AM: How long were you on the march for, Ron?
RW: I can’t think now.
AM: Months, it was months, wasn’t it?
RW: Months, months, bad weather, bad weather, so many died, and then we were, we had no food and they’d been trying to get through to us and then this one Red Cross wagon appeared and he said, ‘this is the third load I’ve had. I’ve been shot at, and destroyed, then I have gone back and got another load’, and finally, well you know the story.
AM: Sadly.
RW: And some sights there, on that march, and one man, he was signalling with his coat in the meadow, this meadow where we were, shot up by the fighters and I saw him just cut in the air.
AM: Shot at by German fighters?
RW: No, by our fighters.
AM: By our fighters.
RW: Yes, they thought we were Germans.
AM: Right.
RW: And he was just cut in two, Roger. Next time I saw him, just his legs standing there, top half gone and they killed forty, fifty of us there, it was a rough one. Oh, and we were in twos, they delivered these Red Cross parcels, we shared one between two, and when we were shot at by Typhoons by the way, based locally and all the way through, we’d been shot at by Spitfires, and what have you, Hurricanes, they thought we were Germans. And on one occasion, we were walking, they made us walk at night because, so through the day, we had to sleep in barns with their animals, and the Germans, the German people used to give things to the guards but nothing to us, not like this country where there were prisoners, their prisoners there given food but we never got anything from the Germans. If we wanted a drink, we had to wait till we got to rivers, lakes, or something or get washed.
AM: So how did you get rescued in the end?
RW: Oh that is another story. The 10th Hussars. We were hearing reports our, our troops across the Rhine and how close they were getting and we were being marched away, we were going to be hostages and Hitler would have got rid of us eventually, we’d have been shot or what have you. We were heading for Norway somewhere and they were taking us as we were going to be hostages, but so many things happened we were shut up, barns were set on fire, men were there.
AM: With men in them?
RW: Yes.
AM: Yes. But the 10th Hussars were?
RW: The 10th Hussars caught up with us and oh, they were marvellous, they treated us like royalty. They set up trestles in this village in Ratzeburg in Lubeck, Ratzeburg, and er, this little village and it was in March, was it May?
AM: So May of 45?
RW: We went through Luneburg, where they signed the Armistice, and we went through there and then we came back through there when the signing had been done, and it was marvellous, so they set up tables there with food on, couldn’t eat it.
AM: I was going to say, could you eat it?
RW: No, no. One man died because he tried, he tried to eat, couldn’t. Then we came back from Lowenberg on Lancasters and I’ll never forget seeing white girls, posh ladies all made up, I thought they, I thought they were on the stage somewhere, heavy lipstick.
AM: Once you got back you mean?
RW: And this is when we, no, when the 10th Hussars. Oh yes, that’s another one, we had the, this major, English major. I said, ‘can I help?’ because I had had stomach trouble and couldn’t eat anything, so I felt this marvellous feeling.
AM: Freedom.
RW: Freedom, marvellous after four and a half years, freedom. And I’d stuck my neck out several times, one man, I bent down to pick up food or something, I don’t know what it was, peas somebody dropped on the road, and this guard, he came behind me, kicked me up the backside and I went over and I got up and turned round to gonna belt him, and the look on his face, and his Tommy gun was there waiting for it, just what he wanted. All they wanted, an excuse.
AM: To kill you?
RW: Yes and er -
AM: When you saw the Lancaster?
RW: Oh yes.
AM: You’d been in Whitleys, what did you think of the Lancaster?
RW: We saw the side of it really [laughs].
AM: Four engines.
RW: Four engines, yes, marvellous.
AM: So they brought you home in the Lanc.
RW: Yes, they landed at, forget now where it was, down South somewhere, and as we landed they opened the door and a lovely young WAAF came, and I had my box with some belongings in. This girl got it and I grabbed it back from her she said, ‘it’s all right you are home now’ [laughs] and er, she led me off and as I was talking to her, going up to the hangar, I said, ‘this is a holiday’, this is VE Day, you see. I said, ‘you’re on holiday, what are you doing here?’ She said ‘oh we volunteered, we were the lucky ones’. I couldn’t understand it ‘cos we were filthy and the first this they did - whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
AM: Shower?
RW: Not a shower.
AM: Water?
RW: No - debugged.
AM: Oh right, oh sorry, they sprayed you?
RW: That’s right, yes, before anybody could touch us [laughs] and then they had all this food out, I couldn’t eat anything, not a thing, and then from there we came up on the train to where we went, see that photograph, and we came up there, all there, all the records were up there. That was marvellous. Then one day we were taken over, over there, records and what have you, but I went home and that was a rough time because I found my wife, I had my daughter, was that much older, she was only two and a half when I went away, she was seven she didn’t know me, didn’t know me, didn’t want to know me. And er, then my wife had met me at the station, although I didn’t want to see her because I’d had reports and she wrote to me and didn’t want to know me ‘cos she’d met an American and she wanted to get married to him. And so um, that was my homecoming, didn’t want to know me. I‘d had a letter from her saying she wanted a divorce, which I wanted too after that, and then my folks had been trying to meet the train to tell me what she had been up to, what she’d become, well you can understand it, it had been a long time.
AM: Yes.
RW: But the way she did it, she dyed her hair, it was red, and er, I’d asked a friend in camp who came from Stoke, from near where I was, where I lived, if he could find out why, what’s happening because she didn’t write to me. I’d only one letter that I had and she wanted more money, it’s all she was interested in.
AM: So your pay while you were a prisoner of war goes to your wife, doesn’t it?
RW: That’s right, it went to her and then she wanted more money, and so I came back and went up and met my wife, as I say, I didn’t know anything what she had been doing, no one had told me and this friend in camp, I’d asked him to find out what was happening, why I hadn’t had any letters from my, my wife and er, he put it off all the while. I said, ‘have you heard from your wife?’, ‘no’. I didn’t know anything about it.
AM: He wouldn’t tell you?
RW: No, and so when I got back, it was my wife who knew, my wife. He said to me, he said, ‘Ron, I couldn’t tell you what I found out about her’.
AM: No.
RW: Couldn’t tell you. So I met her and she was all over me and I met all her sisters and her brothers because it’s difficult, very difficult because my folks had been trying to meet me off the train but she’s the one who had been told.
AM: She’s the one who’s entitled to know.
RW: That’s right, and she’d got the time of the train, she met me, all the other trains had been coming in my side had been.
AM: They all missed you?
RW: They’d all missed me, everyone.
AM: Oh dear.
RW: My homecoming and I felt like going back.
AM: You married again though. Amy.
RW: Yes.
AM: I’ve met Amy and she is lovely for the record.
RW: Yes, oh the best thing that ever happened to me.
AM: Wonderful. I’m going to switch off now, Ron.
RW: Yes okay.
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 Ron Wade
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Annie Moody
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
2015-07-26
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AWadeR150726, PWadeR1503
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Format
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01:44:54 audio recording
Language
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eng
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
British Army
Description
An account of the resource
Ron was born in Stoke-on-Trent. He left school at fourteen and tells of his experiences working in a pottery factory doing odd jobs until he was called up. He joined the Royal Air Force in 1939 at the age of twenty-two. Ron trained as an air gunner at RAF Morecambe after initially wanting to be selected for pilot training. He completed his air gunner training in South Wales at the end of the Battle of Britain - he tells of being strafed by a Junkers 88 and the damage that was inflicted to the Nissen huts. Ron flew the Whitley, which he did not enjoy. He then went to an Operational Training Unit at RAF Abingdon before moving to 58 Squadron based at RAF Linton on Ouse. Ron tells of being forced to bale out in 1941 after his Whitley was attacked by two German fighters over the the Netherlands. He did not remember that much since ammunition was exploding and a bullet hit him in the back of the head, leaving him with memory, taste and smell impairment. Ron also tells of his first interrogation by a German officer and how his humour nearly causing trouble at the at Cologne railway station. He was transferred to Stalag Luft I and then to Stalag Luft III. Ron tried a few times to escape but was discovered every time - he also details the death of his close friend during one attempt. Ron was eventually transferred to Stalag Luft VI (Heydekrug, Lithuania) which was his last camp before the end of the war. However, with the end looming, Ron was then forced to go on the long march. He then tells of some of his memories of the event, including being strafed by British fighters. Ron was freed when the British Army 10th Hussars caught up with the group near Lubeck, and he tells the story of his homecoming in May 1945.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Vivienne Tincombe
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Oxfordshire
England--Yorkshire
England--Lancashire
Netherlands
Poland
Germany
Lithuania
Poland--Żagań
Germany--Barth
Lithuania--Šilutė
Wales
Germany--Oberursel
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1940
1941
1945-05
58 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
animal
bale out
bombing
crewing up
Dulag Luft
escaping
Ju 88
Nissen hut
Operational Training Unit
prisoner of war
RAF Abingdon
RAF Linton on Ouse
RAF Morecambe
Stalag Luft 1
Stalag Luft 3
Stalag Luft 6
strafing
the long march
training
Whitley
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/982/10254/PHarrisonRL1801.2.jpg
2b6f58855d9b3e918a346406b6733042
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/982/10254/AHarrisonRL181101.1.mp3
37d270aec9efdc8c5f0bbc65e61dd633
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
Harrison, Ron
Ronald L Harrison
R L Harrison
Description
An account of the resource
Three items. An oral history interview with Ronald Harris (b.1936) a map showing where bombs landed in the city and a document concerning bombing attacks on Hull. He was a young boy in Hull during the war when his grandmother's house was bombed.
The collection has been loaned to the IBCC Digital Archive for digitisation by Ronald Harrison and catalogued by Nigel Huckins.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-09-21
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
Harrison, R-2
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
MS: So, I’m sitting with Ronald Harrison.
RH: Yeah.
MS: And you don’t mind me calling you Ron, do you?
RH: Yeah. Yeah. No.
MS: It’s alright to call you Ron?
RH: No. No. It’s fine.
MS: Good. And your date of birth is the 22nd of the 4th 1936.
RH: Yeah.
MS: And at the moment we’re at [deleted] Lincoln.
RH: Yeah.
MS: And the, the date is the 1st of November 2018.
RH: Yeah.
MS: The interviewer is me, Michael Sheehan. And the purpose of the interview as it’s for the International Bomber Command Centre. The Digital Archive. And the reason that I’m raising my voice so much is because you’ve asked me to.
RH: Yeah.
MS: Because your hearing aid is useless.
RH: Yeah. I’m deaf as a door nail.
MS: Deaf as a door nail, aren’t you?
RH: Yeah. Deaf as a door nail.
MS: That’ll do. And also present in the room is Mary Drabble, your friend from down the road who you feed every day [laughs]
MD: Yes [laughs]
MS: And who looks, who looks after you.
MD: Yes.
MS: Right. Ok then, Ron it’s at the moment it’s twenty seven minutes past ten and I’m about to start the interview. If at any stage during the interview you feel uncomfortable, you want a loo break or anything like that just say so and we’ll stop the interview. We’ll pause it. And also, Mary, one of your reasons for being here is to make sure that we don’t tire Ron or not look after him. Are you alright with that?
MD: Yes.
MS: Ok. Right. Ron you’ve given me a map here of Hull and on it you’ve annotated where the bombs dropped etcetera. Where did you live? What was the name of the Road?
RH: St Paul’s Street. In a little terrace.
MS: Where are we?
RH: Just a moment. Where are we?
MS: There’s St Paul’s Street.
RH: It’s that. Fountain Road. There’s that, that one look. That one there.
MS: Right. And there’s a mark on it.
RH: Line of bombs there look.
MS: That’s it. Now, you lived near a railway line, didn’t you?
RH: Yes. You’ve, yes, that’s the — yeah.
MS: And on here you’ve marked where the bombs fell and one of those bombs appears to have fallen right on the house.
RH: Yeah.
MS: Where you lived.
RH: Yeah.
MS: So, do you want to tell us about that? First of all, how old were you?
RH: It was a terrace which, with maybe seven houses on each side and in the middle was a shelter for the residents.
MS: Yeah.
RH: Right.
MS: Good. Yeah. An air raid shelter.
RH: Yes. Yes, it was. Yeah.
MS: Right.
RH: Because all the streets had them down them in them days, as well.
MS: Right. Describe the shelter to me then.
RH: Yeah.
MS: What was the shelter like?
RH: Pardon?
MS: What was the shelter like? What was it made of?
RH: [laughter] It’s no good showing you on there is it?
MS: No.
RH: But that’s it there. It depends on the size of the shelter but they’d bunk beds, look.
MS: Yeah.
RH: So, they’d get three in there look, you see. They was awful. The smell. Awful.
MS: Go on. Tell us.
RH: The smell was awful. The air was foul. You couldn’t open the door because the air raid wardens used to keep saying, ‘Keep them doors shut.’ You know, you couldn’t go out and see what was happening but oh it just, the smell and that and the damp, sweat. The longer you was in, I mean, you was maybe in all night. So that was it. Toilets. Everything was a big problem.
MS: Ok. Were there toilets in there?
RH: Pardon?
MS: Were there toilets in there?
RH: No.
MS: No.
RH: No. if I remember rightly, as I was saying to Mary they put a drum in the corner but you was asked only use it in emergencies.
MS: Right.
RH: But it depends how long you was in there, you see.
MS: You’ve got men and women in there at the same time.
RH: Yes. And children. Yeah.
MS: What, what arrangements did they make for privacy?
RH: What?
MS: Did they put blankets up to give privacy or anything like that?
RH: I’m not catching you.
MS: Ok. If somebody wanted to use the loo.
RH: Oh yeah.
MS: How did they give you some, some privacy?
RH: Well you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t ‘cause there wasn’t such a thing was there?
MS: Right.
RH: It was, it was, it was just survival when you was in there because the shelter would rock. You’d know and you’d think is that my house gone? Is it next door’s? Is it down the next street?
MS: Yeah.
RH: You just didn’t know. It was the size of the bomb. All them are different bombs look. The big ones, they’re real big. The big boys look.
MS: Yeah.
RH: So it, it was a worrying time. They’d sing their heads off, and knit and God knows what. You know.
MS: A bit like a party. Right. Now, how old were you when the war started? About three?
RH: I would be, yes.
MS: Right.
RH: Yeah. I would be. Yes. Yeah.
MS: Ok, so tell me about the night your house got bombed.
RH: Sorry. What?
MS: Tell me about the night when your house got bombed.
RH: I was staying, luckily with my grandmother which was my mother’s mother.
MS: Yeah.
RH: Again, in an area what got bombed ever so badly. I stayed with her that night because my dad was in the National Fire Service which meant he had to be on duty that night. So, he asked, asked granny if I could stop with her the night and fortunately for us it was the one night when the bomb hit the place. So, so it was luckily I was staying with my grandmother that night otherwise it would have been — well I wouldn’t have been here now interviewing, would I?
MS: No. No. When you stayed with your gran were you in a shelter or in her house?
RH: In the house but my grandmother was one that would never use the shelter. The older people were stubborn. My grandmother would always say, I’d said to Mary, in them days you could go to the corner shop and buy beer out of a barrel and she used to get a jug of ale. Even send me. She’d say, ‘Go across and get me a jug of ale.’ They knew who it was for. She’d put it aside of her and say, ‘Let Jerry come over tonight. I’m alright.’ She’d, and when she’d cleared the daughters and everybody, me, into their shelters but she would not. She’d say, ‘Open the doors. Open the windows. Let the blast through if it comes,’ and they’d sit there and that was it. That’s how they was. They just didn’t care and the people on her terrace would maybe be the same. They’d only, if they had children, they’d maybe take them in the shelters but a lot of them just wouldn’t move. They’d just say, ‘Jerry aint going to move me.’ So —
MS: Right. Now, when we had a little chat earlier you told me that somebody then told you the next day your house had been hit. Is that right?
RH: Somebody got?
MS: Did somebody tell your dad your house had been hit?
RH: Yes. One of his firemen mates when they got back to the station. He was on the docks.
MS: Yeah.
RH: So, he, you know and I could tell you about my dad on the docks but —
MS: Go on then.
RH: I don’t know whether it wants recording.
MS: Go on. It’s alright. You’d be surprised.
RH: No [laughs] When we, we moved from here we got another house up Beverley Road. Up, up this area. Stepney Lane, they called it.
MS: Yeah.
RH: And when he used to come home, he used to bring stuff home what they’d salvaged. So, if you remember them days there was tatty little old fire engines.
MS: Yeah.
RH: But he’d come back and he’d bring a box of chocolate. Drinking chocolate. Which, we didn’t know what it was.
MS: Yeah.
RH: And he would say to me, ‘Right Ronnie. Go around the Street. Tell them all to come down with a jug,’ and he’d sit at the front door and fill everybody’s thing.
MS: Oh nice.
RH: Or if it was a roll of curtain everybody in the terrace had the same curtains [laughs] you know. Anything like that. But this bit, I don’t know whether it should be recorded. He used to say well we’ve got, ‘When we go on the docks if the docks are getting hit we’d go on and if there’s a Yankee ship,’ he says, they used to amaze us because they’ve all got guns on which a lot of ours didn’t carry but the Yanks would have the guns on. So, he says, ‘We used to go in and help ourselves.’ And they said, ‘Well, where were the Yanks?’ We’d say and he said, ‘We knew where they was ‘cause as we passed the shelter, we could hear their teeth rattling.’ [laughs] And I said [laughs] I said, ‘What do you mean?’ He said, ‘They all run to the shelter. So,’ he said, ‘We used to go on the ship and have a look around,’ and this is where these boxes of chocolate —
MS: Is this where you salvaged stuff?
RH: Yeah. Chewing gum. Yeah. No, they used to go in and roam around the ship and find the storeroom and they’d say, ‘Oh we’ll have that.’ And of course then my dad used to share it all out, you know. But, but I don’t know whether [laughs] —
MS: He’s not around, still is he?
RH: He used to say, no, he always knew where they was.
MS: Yeah.
[laughter]
MS: Now then, tell me what you saw when you got to your house.
RH: What? When I got up.
MS: When you got to the house it was bombed, yeah?
RH: Well, yeah. I mean, it was frightening. It was. It was frightening to see it, and I say I’m not sure, again me and Mary was talking about it. I’m not sure whether the shelter top had fell in. They used these chaps who I go to, one of them says to me, ‘That got it real bad.’ He said, ‘A friend of mine went to rescue on that day. They got it,’ he said and they couldn’t do a thing because the concrete. The wall for some reason had given. The concrete had come down on them but that’s only what I was told. And of course, that’s maybe where these young kiddies — there was, I think, it’s on there somewhere they was four and seven or something like that. Two girls and their parents was killed. So, so it could have been that what’s done it you see.
MS: Yeah.
RH: Crushed them. I don’t, but —
MS: And what did you find in the debris? Was there anything that you salvaged?
RH: Well [laughter] well, I got a red lorry. All bent up. Yeah. But we did get a butter dish [laughs]
MS: You did get a butter dish.
RH: Yeah.
MS: Right. Tell us about the lorry and what your dad did.
RH: Oh, I had it for years and years afterwards. It was, it was a family treasure and then as you get older you recall these things, don’t you? But can I just —
MS: Yeah. Sure.
RH: Tell you another one. Mary said you ought to be told.
MS: Before you move on to that, if you don’t mind, you told me earlier that you found the lorry and it was badly damaged.
RH: Yes.
MS: And what did your dad do?
RH: Well, just took it back to my grandmother’s and then got an hammer and he tried to bring it back as good as he could. I mean, I thought it was brilliant because we didn’t have toys. The station where he was, we used to walk down to it and they always had the doors open ready for a quick — but all the men used to be making rocking horses and, you know, them clowns on wires.
MS: Oh yeah.
RH: And all these things and they used to be doing that for the children that had lost everything. So, I was alright. I got little bits that way you see but, but yeah, no Mary this morning says tell them what, being a lad, to us as I say it was fantastic. We went in town as kids and the bus station had been hit.
MS: Yeah.
RH: So, all the buses was in this big room. Well, we thought it was fantastic. We’d all them buses to ourselves. We went to another building and I know this sounds silly doesn’t it but the lift, there’s a cable down the middle. We put cloths around our hands and jumped to catch the wire. So, I must have been about eightish then. Seven or eight. And we slid down and as we slipped down [bang] on the back of the head. And we went, ‘What’s that?’ And it was a policeman and he gave us all a good hiding. I mean he really belted into us. So, he said, ‘Now go home and tell your dad and your mother that the policeman’s done it. My number is,’ so and so, ‘And report me if your dare.’ And we thought, ‘What’s he on about?’ And then we found out later in life it’s where Hull records was kept and there was a policeman at the door on duty. It got a direct hit and it just, they never found him.
MS: Oh.
RH: The policeman. They found his helmet somewhere and that was all they ever found. So that’s why we got punished that day for it.
MS: Got you.
RH: And that was in, in the town itself. Right in the town centre it was.
MS: Right.
RH: But, and then another time, Mary said you must know what, it’s an awkward one isn’t it? We, we went out one day and a chemist near us, again near my Grandma Brown had been, the area had had a bomb and the fish and chip shop had gone and all that but the chemist. So, we goes in as kids and you know them big bottles they have in the window there?
MS: Oh the carboys.
RH: Beautiful.
MS: Yeah.
RH: They’re still there. Oh, get a brick, you know, so we smashed them so I always feel guilty every time I see them nowadays and of course the lads would break into all these little drawers with wires and of course the lads — chocolate. All this chocolate. You know what’s coming.
MS: [laughs] I do.
RH: Honestly there’s about four of us. Well we sat down. Wow. Chocolate. Oh, this is what chocolate tastes like. Brilliant. About an hour later we’re passing, we’re going back to my Grandma Brown’s area and there’s a river, a little river, with a bank. We all go down there. We drop off our pants. We’re all sat on the grass and all the women was on the bridge shouting, ‘You mucky little devils.’ ‘You want your — ’ you know.
MS: Yeah.
RH: And all that, and we can’t understand this. We can’t understand it. The lads were saying, ‘But this isn’t natural is it?’ And as I say we was all lined up and they were all stood on the bridge. Everybody was giving us it and we didn’t, we couldn’t say, ‘Well we’ve had laxative.’ Could we? [laughs]
MS: You’d had Ex-Lax.
RH: So. you know, so [laughs] so I’ve never seen, touched laxative to this day.
MS: In a sense you’ve never needed to.
RH: But honestly it was so simple and so desperate.
MS: How did you treat the area? You told me earlier it was you and your mates.
RH: It was. It was a bad. It was bad. It was bad, bad. That’s only the little area of Hull that but it —
MS: No. I mean from your attitude how did you see the area? Was it an adventure?
RH: Well, brilliant for kids. For our age group it was brilliant. I mean this school. This St Paul’s Street School. Do you know I can even remember the teacher saying, ‘What’s them up there?’ And we said, oh, you know, whatever they are, ‘Oh the Lancasters going over.’ And you know you think that wasn’t right was it? Watching things like that. And then they’d you’d go in the shelter. But Grandma Brown and all this area was very British. Really British.
MS: Yeah.
RH: All the walls was covered in, “Doing a good job lads.” “Soon be home lads.” You know. “God save the king,” and all this. Every wall you went, terraces, all over. Shelters. They was all covered in it.
MS: Any flags?
RH: Eh?
MS: Any flags?
RH: Well, as much as they could. I mean in them days.
MS: Yeah.
RH: That wasn’t the thing was it? But it’s, they was brilliant, people really. They was.
MS: Yeah.
RH: Brilliant.
MS: Tell us what you were telling me earlier when you’d go down the road with your mates and you’d see a bombed building and you’d see cupboards hanging out and stuff like that.
RH: Yeah.
MS: What were you, what did you do then?
RH: Well to us it was just another house gone, you know. And to be honest looking back as a, as a child I can’t even remember thinking, ‘Oh I hope little George’s mam and dad’s alright because that’s where he lives.’ You know, you never thought of that. You just thought see if that’s like that tonight [laughter] you know, we’ll have a — it was, yeah, it was, I think, I think these people helped you to be like that because they never showed worry. And I say my Granny Brown used to come. She’d shout, ‘Hey Mavis.’ And Mavis would come out and they’d stand and Lancs would be going over and they’d be counting them, ‘I make it twenty just gone over. What do you make it, Mavis?’ ‘Yes, oh, I made it nineteen.’ And then so many hours later the lads would come back wouldn’t they and then they’d go, ‘Tch we’ve lost three.’ You know. ‘We’ve lost four.’ That’s the only time you’d see them say, ‘Oh dear, dear, dear,’ you know, ‘We’ve lost a couple,’ or whatever. But the Jerries used to just come over the Humber. I mean you used to think they was letting them in. I mean they’d come over like mad. It was, it was, oh it was a regular thing. You may as well have waved to them, the Jerries. It sounds daft, doesn’t it?
MS: No. It doesn’t.
RH: They was coming down the Humber but you’d get I was reading some of them that up to thirty or forty Jerry planes coming down but they weren’t all after Hull. They used to go out, bomb Sheffield or wherever. On the way back if they’ve ought left, they just let it all just drop on here, you see.
MS: Yeah.
RH: But —
MS: Did you lose any friends?
RH: No. Not, not what I’m aware of but there again you don’t know ‘cause a lot got sent away. When I come out the army and I went back to my job I worked at a tannery somewhere up here around ‘cause the River Hull ain’t on here even you see.
MS: Yeah.
RH: Yeah. There’s a tannery. A fairly big place but I worked there and I went back and you know the lads used to say to me, ‘Do you know, if you’ve been in Lincoln —' I was with the Royal Lincs you see.
MS: There’s the tannery.
RH: Yeah. Well, I went back there and I’d done my National Service and the lads would say, ‘Oh well I went to, I was posted. I was sent out as a child. Do you know a place called Bardney at Lincoln?’ I used to say, ‘Yes.’ And they used to say, ‘Oh there were hundreds of us sent to Bardney.’
MS: Just down the Road.
RH: And places it like that. And Washingborough.
MS: Yeah.
RH: They was all you know, they knew and I’d say, ‘No, I’ve been posted. I’m in Lincoln. I’ve been posted with the Royal Lincolns.’ They’d say, ‘Oh we never got into Lincoln but we went, we was on the farms.’ So, I lost a lot that way, you see. Their parents shoved them off where, you know. I suppose with my situation my dad wanted me there with him.
MS: Yeah. And you say about your situation.
RH: Yeah. Yeah.
MS: Can you just explain about that?
RH: And opposite. Opposite us where them bombs come down. Yes, that’s, just opposite there was a little pawn shop. I always remember. And as a kid I used to take my dad’s suit over on and you know, the old story take it over, put it in. Get some money for the weekend so he could have a few pounds. You know. Used to take the suit out for the weekend.
MS: Yeah.
RH: And yeah, and put it in Monday’s and you know it’s —
MS: Life went on.
RH: It’s marvellous isn’t it?
MS: Yeah. Life went on. Now you said a minute ago you referred to your situation. You were living with your dad because something rather sad happened didn’t it?
RH: I was, sorry?
MS: You were living with your dad.
RH: Yeah.
MS: Because something rather sad happened to you, didn’t it?
RH: Yeah. He got married again when we’d moved from here.
MS: But you lost your mother, didn’t you?
RH: Yes. Yeah. It was a step-mother obviously and we just, of course she had her own family then so it made it worse and worse for me all the time. It was unbelievable but at any rate —
MS: Ok. Where did you, where did you live when you were bombed out?
RH: We went to, just [pause] down, it’s Rodney Street. Somewhere there.
MS: There’s Rodney Street.
RH: Yeah. That’s where my Grandma Brown lived so you know they, I remember all this happening. We lived in a place called Blake Street and it was somewhere around Rodney Street. Somewhere in this area, I think.
MS: Blake Street.
RH: Blake Street.
MS: Can’t see that. There was a lot of stuff falling around your granny’s house wasn’t there?
RH: Well —
MS: That’s where she lived.
RH: Yeah. They’ve all been pulled down now and rebuilt now. They’re all like motorways and God knows what like. But yeah, it’s —
MS: What’s your, what’s your strongest memory from the wartime?
RH: I think [pause] well little bits. I think that going back to that house and finding my lorry and then thinking back now and then — the Brown family. One of the sons was in the navy and they had a big party one night and all his mates came who was going on the ship. They went to Newcastle. They got on a ship and it went out and it went. It turned over, apparently in the ice. So, they was all lost. I remember that night when everybody was happy and kissing and saying, they’d let you know when they get back and all that so. There’s that. There’s my lorry. There’s the people. The people. The area. It was, yeah. So, it’s —
MS: It wasn’t a sad time was it?
RH: Pardon?
MS: It wasn’t a sad time was it?
RH: No. No. No. Sent us way down. Well it’s here look, the start of it.
MS: Yeah. No, I mean, I mean you didn’t have a bad childhood, did you? is that what you were telling me earlier? You had a, you actually, you just got on with it didn’t you?
RH: I’ve just —?
MS: Didn’t you, I’ve just had to raise my voice a bit. You just got on with life, didn’t you?
RH: Oh yes.
MS: That’s what you were telling me earlier.
RH: Definitely. No. Definitely. Oh no, they got to. As I say yes so we went to school with bits of cardboard in the bottom of your shoes like everybody else. A cornflake box or summat, but you know. We was cold and wet and miserable. Gaslights wasn’t it? But, but yeah it was, it was nice. And the other memory I’ve got of seeing about three trawlers in the Humber and I can remember seeing them with the bits stuck up where Jerry got them, didn’t they? Three I think there was.
MS: Oh right. I didn’t know about that.
RH: Yeah. In the Humber. So, they were stuck there. They were still there in 1950-odd I would think.
MS: Were they?
RH: Yeah. Yeah. They was. They was just stuck. I think they were just trying to get into port and it’s I sometimes do wonder how Grimsby’s still there. Because I think of all that, all the gun work going on and I think Grimsby [laughs] was only across the water.
MS: Yeah.
RH: You know, and you think don’t put the guns too low mate or you’re going to hit Grimsby [laughs] you know. And I often think about that and I think well the planes obviously must have got it weighed up coming in. Then there was the two forts wasn’t there? In the Humber which —
MS: Oh yeah.
RH: Yeah. There’s two forts. Fort Paul and I forgot the other one. They had a net across, I think. Submarine net. And I know just as the war finished the dock in the centre of the town had two or three submarines there. I think they was German what had surrendered.
MS: Yeah.
RH: And the worst thing that happened was the day everybody in Hull thought it was over. They all went down. My grandmother, all of us, even my old granny, we went down to the town. All the Yanks come and they put the lights on. Well we’d never seen them. The fountain lit up you know and all that, you know. It was absolutely fantastic but that happened on one of the roads, Holderness Road and there’s a plaque there now up on Boyes’ shop. They came out the cinema thinking it was all over. They put the lights on and as they come out a Jerry plane decided he didn’t like the idea of peace and he went down and de de de de [machine gun noise] and then he got twelve of them coming out the cinema and they thought it was all over. They’d been told it was finished but what happened here I don’t know but he went down and so there’s, there’s a plaque up. There was twelve. The last twelve, the last people in Britain killed were in the war was them twelve.
MS: That’s terrible. I didn’t, I’ve never heard of that.
RH: Didn’t you?
MS: No.
RH: Yeah. Yeah. The last. The last people killed in the last war was there. Yeah.
MS: Not very nice. Right.
RH: But yes but sad days isn’t it really when you look at it? I go now when me and my brother will wander around. I’ll go around all, some of these areas and yeah, they bring back memories. But —
MS: How did they, I asked you earlier but can you tell me on tape, how did the school deal with losing children? What did they do?
RH: Nothing. No. I can’t remember anything. All we did, we had assembly in the morning and of course it was always, “For Those in Danger on the Sea.” And, you know, it was all, we sang hymns and we used to get things like, you know, ‘Right children, Tommy Brown won’t be here unfortunately. His house got bombed last night and we’ve lost him.’ But that, you know, and we just said, ‘Oh dear.’ You know.
MS: And moved on.
RH: Yeah. You know, you know as I say, you know, you look at that lot and some poor devils there hadn’t had much chance had they, look?
MS: No. Nor here where all these clusters are.
RH: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
MS: Yeah, these I’m looking at a, I’m looking at a plan that has been given to me by Ron and on it are all the bombs that dropped.
RH: Yeah.
MS: In that particular area of Hull and he’s pointing out that particular cluster.
RH: Yeah. So that would be one plane wouldn’t it look, that would have been one big line—
MS: That looks like a stick. Yeah.
RH: He’s dropped them and gone back home then has he?
MS: Yeah. So, he has. But the other thing that intrigues me is there’s quite a few railway stations around where you lived.
RH: Yeah. Oh, there is. Yeah. They had the Stepney Lane which I lived near and because that house we had here we moved again to a place [pause] where’s the tannery?
MS: There’s the tannery.
RH: Here. Farringdon Street, somewhere. Stepney Lane.
MS: Yeah.
RH: Yeah. Here look, you see. We moved there look [laughs] then we got all that again. Look.
MS: Yeah.
RH: And now all of the houses on one side of the street we lived, six foot off the window was the shelters with three foot gaps in.
MS: Yeah.
RH: For you to walk through. But all the shelters, the houses opposite was blown to smithereens and it was all open ground. But them houses, all ours just got the windows blown out. The shelters —
MS: Yeah.
RH: Saved a lot of it but so it was just everywhere you moved so you just thought well let’s hope he doesn’t go for this area ‘cause you never knew what the hell they was aiming at look.
MS: No.
RH: What was they after?
MS: No. I know what you mean.
RH: It was a morale wasn’t it? Just it’s —
MS: Well, it was an important port as well wasn’t it?
RH: And then, and of course what upsets all the people in Hull and it still does to this day that nobody knew Hull was getting it because Churchill wouldn’t, it was, it’s only come out in the last ten years hasn’t it? This, the thing. Churchill said it’s only can be called a town in the northeast. You must not mention Hull because Hitler thinks he isn’t getting nowhere. If you mention about all the bombing, he’ll be rubbing his hands and apparently when they found one of his offices, he had a full scale map of Hull. Every building in it. And they said that they must have had somebody working there a long while before the war. He knew exactly where he wanted to be.
MS: You know, I want to ask you a question. I was talking to somebody else who said that just before the war started a balloon, a manned balloon actually, a German one, came up the river and over Hull. Do you remember that?
RH: Oh, the, oh the balloon.
MS: Yeah.
RH: Yeah. Oh, do you mean the aircraft wires?
MS: No. The, somebody told me who I interviewed told me that the Germans, before the war, sometime before 1939 brought a balloon right up the river.
RH: Oh, Hull got bombed by airship.
MS: Yeah.
RH: Yeah. It got bombed and my dad said, he said, ‘The damned thing went right over,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t mind but, in some parts, it took the chimney pots off.’ Yeah. It went over and then I don’t know if it was a British one or what but one come down in the Humber. Right in the middle. It landed on a sandbank I think but I don’t know what happened to them.
MS: No.
RH: But yeah. No. Them balloons. They had them on the Humber.
MS: The barrage balloons.
RH: On the barges yeah, didn’t they?
MS: Yeah.
RH: But again, when I lived on Beverley Road on where, just at Stepney Lane a balloon broke loose from one of the parks. The Pearson’s Park.
MS: That’s it.
RH: Yeah. It broke. The RAF had this balloon thing so as kids we used to go and watch it. And they used to [wham?] didn’t they in them days and one broke loose and of course it went bumped across all these chimneys. And [laughs] and in the end it come down in Nicholson Street or somewhere which is here somewhere. It says there Stepney Lane. Where’s Stepney Lane?
MS: Stepney Lane runs across.
RH: Yeah. Yeah.
MS: There’s Stepney Lane.
RH: Yeah. Oh, that’s it. yes. So, it came down Nicholson Street any road and it finished up everybody had silver shopping bags after that.
MS: Because they were made of a silver material.
RH: Yeah.
MS: Oh right.
RH: Yeah. If you asked anybody in Hull about silver shopping bags getting on, they’ll tell you what, what it was. It come down and as I said I think they just let the women help themselves to it because I don’t know what happened to it. But yeah, that took all the chimneys off as it was going. Rolling over. So, they couldn’t get hold of it because it just kept bump, bump. Over the tops. So yeah, it’s —
MS: Do you remember, do you remember the war ending?
RH: Do I —?
MS: Remember the end of the war? Do you remember the end being declared?
RH: Oh yeah. When we all were, yeah, and all the town lit up and all that. Oh yeah. And the Yanks. They had jeeps, didn’t they? We had bikes didn’t we but they had jeeps. But yeah, the, a lot of the bombed building areas obviously they piled all the wood and lit it so there were bonfires all over. The Yanks was giving kids, me and all of us was climbing on the jeeps and they was riding around with us. And I mean it was a treat. We’d never. We were still using ruddy tram cars in, in Hull at that time.
MS: Do you remember the rationing?
RH: Eh?
MS: Do you remember the rationing?
RH: Oh God yes. Yes. I do. I do. Yeah. I do. Yeah. Certainly, do yeah.
MS: Were you, were you short of food or hungry?
RH: Oh God. Always. Always. Yeah. I mean they used to queue up for [pause] I’ve been where one of the, my grandmother’s daughters, I went with her and I think we was queuing, it was either for whale meat or what was the other one Mary? Whale meat or horse meat was it? Yeah.
MD: Horse meat.
RH: Yeah. And queuing for whale meat. If we could get some get it, you know. Bloody big queue and you’d stand there [shiver noises]
MS: Freezing.
RH: Yeah. And when you came out you came out with a little packet. But they made a meal of it. Tripe, you know. Stuff like that. Some of the houses, if they could get hold of flour and stuff in them days they used to do, we used to call them hot cakes in Yorkshire. And they was about that big and that thick. Homemade. About an inch deep but what they used to do is you used to get up at five in the morning and go to Mrs Jackson down the Street. She’d open a front bedroom window and she’d sell them. Them cakes. When they’ve gone, they’ve gone?
MS: Yeah.
RH: And then another day somebody would, you’d say, ‘Get down there tomorrow she’s doing scones,’ you know. And this is how it used to be. And as kids we used to love it, think it was great. One house used to do some meat pies. I often wonder what was in them [laughter] but they used to do meat pies but when you went you got a meat pie but obviously they was cut into three and four but at the same time you took your jug with you and you had your meat pie and they give you a jug of gravy to go with it. But this was the people. That’s what I’m saying. They’re the type of people who wants to share everything. You know. Nothing was, nothing was yours. You shared everything which, which meant Mary knows about. The same thing. It was, it was stick together and we’ll beat the buggers, you know.
MS: Right.
RH: You know.
MS: What did you do after the war then? You were still at school.
RH: The what?
MS: You were still at school after the war.
RH: I would say yes. Yes. And as I say we left at fourteen and as I say I went to that tan yard. The only reason I went there was because my step-mother wanted money. And by my going there it was a mucky, filthy, stinking job so you got money. So, when I come out the army, I went back just, which you had to because they kept your job open didn’t they, for you to, you know. So, I went back and then I thought hang on you’ve just been in the Catering Corps. You’ve been up to Catterick. You’ve been to Aldershot. You’ve passed all the courses. Why don’t you go for chefing? Which I did do and it wasn’t long and I made head chef in a big place, didn’t I? At Cottingham. I took Mary to show where I used to be and then I come over to Lincoln. I’d run The Green Dragon for a bit and then The Centurion and then I had my own place up the High Street. I used to do a lot of RAF dos. They was a bloody nuisance at times but —
MS: What place did you run on the High Street?
RH: The Lindum Restaurant was, it was above the mini-market in them days. We used to do dancing.
MS: Oh right.
RH: And all that. But we used to get a lot from Scampton. A lot of parties. There used to be, I used to know all the sergeants in them days and they was good as far as they’d always pinch stuff. Always pinched stuff when they had a drink. They used to get plastered. So, I used to check up and then I’d ring him up and say, ‘Right. I’m missing one soda syphon,’ [laughter] so and so. He’d say, ‘Don’t worry Ron. I’ve got them here.’ You know. And he’d come back and bring them back and he’d say, ‘Anything, we’ll pay for it. Any damage,’ you know. So, I used to have loads of dinners and dances with them, so, you know, but that’s how I got in to Lincoln. I married a Washingborough girl and we lived in Hull for about ten years and then she decided she wanted to come back to mummy.
MS: Right.
RH: And daddy. So, I did. Her father used to say to me, ‘We stood in Washingborough watching Hull burn. And we couldn’t do a thing about it.’ And then anybody I talked to in the RAF would say, ‘When we come out of Norway, we could watch Hull burning from Norway. Could actually see it,’ and you’d think, good God.
MS: That’s a coincidence. I interviewed someone in Washingborough.
RH: Isn’t it?
MS: And they told me exactly what you said.
RH: Is it?
MS: Somebody told me exactly what you’ve just said.
RH: Had they?
MS: They could stand on the side of the river.
RH: Yeah.
MS: In Washingborough or in Heighington.
RH: Yeah.
MS: And just see what fires.
RH: What fires. Yes. Yeah. They did and as I said as far as, well the other side of the North Sea they used to see it. In fact I’ve got a tape somewhere, years old and it’s a chap in a ship and he’s saying, ‘We’ve just come,’ I think it was barge, ‘Come out of Lincoln into the Humber but,’ he said, ‘We’re stuck here, we can’t go across to Hull because we’re stood here watching it get blown to smithereens. And we’ve got families there and we can’t do a thing about it’ And I thought well that’s says it all doesn’t it?
MS: Did you witness the fires when you were a child? Did you see the fires?
RH: Oh God yes. Oh yeah. Oh yeah. Oh aye. My dad made sure I did. He used to — there was a big museum in Hull and, a massive thing, I’ll always remember it. It had aeroplanes along the ceilings and that. A museum. My dad took me one morning. He said, ‘Come and have a look where I was last night.’ We went and it was, it had got a direct hit. Everything was lost in it. All records. Everything, you know and I says, ‘Oh dear,’ and he says, ‘Yeah we was here all night. This is where your dad’s been all night with this fire.’ And as they did one, you see, there was another but I don’t know if you know they had things like runners. Did you, did you know?
MS: No.
RH: All over Hull was children of maybe fourteen or fifteen with a bike and they used to stand on corners so if they stood here and say you’re there and that bomb fell they would jump on their bike and get to the nearest fire brigade or whatever there was.
MS: Yeah.
RH: To inform them what had happened because there was quite a few bombs landed in gardens and didn’t go off. Them little kids jumped on their bikes and off like mad and they used to run around and that, that was genuine that. And that was their job. Just, just running. Just telling them there’s a bomb dropped in so and so street so they’d say in a minute or they’d send someone down you know and things like that and then clear the area but there’s quite a lot. Years after the war they found them butterfly bombs.
MS: Yeah.
RH: Stuck in, in the lofts. Blokes would go in the lofts and say, ‘Oh my God, you’ve got two stuck,’ [laughs] you know. And there was, there was —
MS: Hull got it.
RH: The, the incendiary. The flat bottomed bomb with the thing on the top. My dad literally and I’ve said to Mary I can’t believe it now when I think. People would say, ‘Len, I’ve had a bomb dropped in the back and it hasn’t gone off.’ And he’d say ok and he’d go around and bring it and I think I was sat next to him. and he used to be, ‘Don’t worry it’s only one of them.’ And it would be an incendiary would it maybe?
MS: Yeah.
RH: They was. They was flat.
MS: Yeah.
RH: Flat but like that and then the blades on hasn’t it?
MS: That’s it.
RH: Yeah. And he used to do that and he’d say that’s it. That’s alright and I’d be there [laughter]
MS: And you’re miming your father disarming an incendiary bomb with you sitting next to him.
RH: Yeah. I know but I look back on it and you think it can’t be right. This can’t be.
MS: It probably was.
RH: But it, it’s how they was. He was saving some family being blown possibly so he thought well if I do it it’s only my son and me [laughter] you know. But no, it’s, it is strange. It’s strange when I look back on it now. It’s, It’s, yeah, it is unbelievable but —
MS: Did you actually witness any bombing? Did you see any bombing yourself?
RH: Well no because we run for the nearest cover didn’t, we?
MS: Yeah.
RH: But, I mean, you knew who was dropping them. You’d see. See them come over. One’d come over and you’d think oh my God. I stayed with an aunt. Oh, on there, it’s on the map up here. I stayed with an aunt and opposite her, like where your car is, there was big guns.
MS: Oh right.
RH: So, on the night the houses were [imitating buzzing sound] when there was. But in that field where they was a flying bomb landed. That was one of the first the British got. It didn’t go off. It come down. They got it and found out a lot from it, didn’t you say?
MS: Yeah.
RH: Wouldn’t you say. And I remember we had the shelters in the garden. They built the shelters didn’t they and soil over it and that.
MS: Oh. The Andersons.
RH: We come out, yeah, we came out of one of them and then I says, ‘Oh,’ and she says, ‘Oh God, look at that,’ and there was this Jerry bomber stuck in the actual house a few doors up.
MS: A bomber.
RH: Well yeah. The big, well a big plane, yeah.
MS: Right. No, no.
RH: It wasn’t a fighter.
MS: No. I was making sure you weren’t saying a bomb.
RH: Yeah.
MS: It was an actual aeroplane.
RH: Yeah. No, and it was actually stuck in the roof, this thing and they just said, ‘Oh well. They brought that bugger down didn’t they?’ That was it, you know. You’d think that they needed medals didn’t they? You know, you look at it now they could be sirs, weren’t they? Sirs and ladies. Yeah.
MS: Absolutely. I know. I know.
RH: But no, I mean you didn’t actually see. You used to hear them. You could hear [whistling] You knew they was coming down you see, but no its, it’s just everyday life. It was then I’m afraid and you had to put up with it didn’t you? What could you do?
MS: You got on with it.
RH: You, well you couldn’t do anything.
MS: No.
RH: Again, you look at it, you know I think about all these old people and you think, you know, most of them are on the disk there. These people that got clobbered and you think what the hell was it all about?
MS: How many people died in Hull?
RH: Oh dear [pause] I got all this for you, look.
MS: I know. You’re a star.
RH: The big bombing do’s lot.
MS: Yeah.
RH: Just times.
MS: You said earlier —
RH: There you are.
MS: There we go. Right.
RH: Yeah.
MS: Let’s have a look.
RH: You’ve got over, yeah. There’s one thousand two hundred people, look. Lost their lives.
MS: Yeah.
RH: But these, they make it clear these were only the people they found. There’s all them what was never found. There’s three, three thousand look, people were seriously injured. Out of the one thousand, well a hundred and ninety two thousand houses look. There’s only five left look.
MS: Only five thousand escaped damage did they?
RH: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Look. So, it’s two hundred and fifty two thousand, look. Houses, churches.
MS: You’ve got there a hundred and fifty two thousand people were homeless at one time or another.
RH: Yeah. Yeah.
MS: Right.
RH: So, you can have that.
MS: Thank you. That’s very kind.
RH: I don’t know if these are any good to you. I mean —
MS: Are you sure you want to hand these over because —
RH: No. Actually, I bought them because I’ve already got them.
MS: Right.
RH: Actually, Fosse School was it? No, it was Robert Patt’s. The teacher gave them, gave them some, you see. I mean that’s the shelter you saw. That’s that thing. That’s what we had to put up with every day. Look.
MS: What’s that there? What is it?
RH: These are all, yeah, bombings. That’s a shelter what —
MS: That’s an Anderson shelter flattened.
RH: Yeah.
MS: You’re showing me a photograph of a house that’s been bombed and next to it is the remains of the Anderson shelter.
RH: Yeah.
MS: Which is totally flattened.
RH: Yeah. So that’s that. That’s your Spitfire thing raising money wasn’t it?
MS: Yeah.
RH: For the Spitfire. That’s another mess look.
MS: Right.
RH: Firemen and that, digging. Look. And air raid wardens.
MS: That’s one of your balloons on a barge.
RH: Yeah.
MS: Yeah.
RH: Yeah. That’s it. And that’s that thing. That’s the cenotaph because there’s only two in Britain. You know that do you?
MS: No. I knew about the cenotaph in London.
RH: No.
MS: But there’s one in Hull.
RH: There’s only, there’s only two. That’s one in London. One in Hull.
MS: Right.
RH: And the funny thing is it’s a Royal Lincolnshire Regiment bloke mentioned on these. Yeah.
MS: Right.
RH: Yeah. So, as I say that’s the, the thing, look. That is my, that’s well that’s that one that you’ve got isn’t it?
MS: Yeah. Is there anything else you think of that you want to talk about on the archive? You know. The Digital Archive.
RH: The what? Sorry.
MS: Is there anything else that you want to record? Your memory.
RH: No.
MS: For the Digital Archive.
RH: Not really. Not really. That’s about your zeppelin look.
MS: Let’s have a look.
RH: I’ll give you them look, because I did them.
MS: Right.
RH: I got them for you because you said that you might be interested, you see. So —
MS: Well it’s been very useful using the map.
RH: So, I thought, well, you can.
MS: Yeah. Let’s have a look.
RH: You can use them. That is — I told you I lost my mother.
MS: Yes.
RH: I tried to find the grave. Nobody would tell me where she was. Even her sisters. Nobody would ever told me where she was. So, about four year back or so I went to Hull and my brother and his wife said, ‘Well, we’ll find out.’ So, they rang up, Henry, and we got an interview. So, we went down and this bloke gets this book out and he says, ‘Yes. I know where she’s buried.’ So, and so. And then he said, ‘Hang on, it says refer to another book.’ So, he opens another book and he says, ‘Oh. Your mother, a brother, two children and your grandad. Your great grandad. They’re all in the same grave’. And I says, ‘Five in a grave?’ He says, ‘Yes, they are.’ So, I says, ‘What do we do?’ This chap took us down. He showed us a blade of grass and he says, ‘There you are, look. In there. They’re in there. But we can’t tell you where because in them days they had a piece of wood and somebody kicked them out the way.’ So, he says, ‘They’re in there somewhere.’ And he stood like this on this stone and he says, ‘Number 287,’ or whatever it was. And then he looked and he says, ‘Hang on a minute. This stone’s 287.’ So, we walked around the other side and it’s a war grave.
MS: Oh.
RH: Big Royal Lincoln’s badge on it. And he says, ‘Do you know where Lincoln is?’ I said, ‘Yeah.’ And he says, ‘Well, do you know ought about the Royal Lincolnshire Regiment?’ I said, ‘Yes. I was with them.’ So, he says, ‘Well isn’t that something.’ He says, ‘This is your grandad’s war grave.’ And I says, ‘But why is there all these other people in it? Children and that. He says, ‘I don’t know.’
MS: It was the war.
RH: And it’s a, and it’s a new one It’s not that little one, it’s a nice one. And it’s a big one where the war graves are narrow aren’t they, you know? Yeah. And beautiful stone. So that was just the area look. Where he is.
MS: And what a coincidence that your mother’s buried in that site of the regiment you later joined.
RH: I know, it’s, I can’t understand the children. And so, I’ve looked it all up, Henry, and [laughter] why it’s been kept quiet is because one of my aunts was two little children, her husband was in the First World War wasn’t he? And it’s his grave.
MS: Right.
RH: So, he died of gas I reckon because he died, its reading six months after the war finished.
MS: Right.
RH: So, I bet he’s come home and he’s, he’s, he must have had gas.
MS: It might have been flu.
RH: Or whatever.
MS: Do you remember the flu that killed millions?
RH: Oh well.
MS: It could have been that. It got my grandad.
RH: Could be then. Yeah. And so that’s why. Nobody can understand it. The bloke who did it says, ‘I’ve never known it.’ He said, ‘I look after all these graves but I’ve never heard of one with a war grave with children,’ and, and you know and sons and daughters in it. He said, ‘It’s unbelievable.’ So, so as I say I do go over and I bought a thing for it you know for my mother to get over, you know. But it’s right next to Hull Fair actually so [laughs] so she gets livened up every year, you know. But, yeah, that’s about all I can say, tell you.
MS: Well first of all can I thank you.
RH: That’s alright.
MS: On behalf of the IBCC.
RH: That’s alright.
MS: Can I also thank you on behalf of myself because I found it really an interesting chat.
RH: Yeah. Yeah.
MD: Good.
MS: I’ve got a couple of forms.
RH: You don’t have to pay for the coffee before that.
MS: The coffee was awful [laughs] It was. I was forced to drink it [laughs] Right.
RH: [laughs] Is it what you wanted?
MS: It is.
RH: Is it?
MS: Absolutely. And what [coughs] Sorry I’ve got a frog in my throat.
RH: Yeah.
MS: What I need to do, I need to take you through some paperwork now. I’m going to ask you to sign something in a second.
RH: Yeah.
MS: And what it confirms is that you’re quite happy that you took part in the interview.
RH: Yes.
MS: No problem with that? And you’re giving the copyright to the university.
RH: Yes.
MS: For use in any media. Yeah. They will look after your personal details.
RH: Yeah.
MS: They will not disclose those.
RH: Yeah. Well there’s nothing.
MS: No. But you need to know for your protection.
RH: Yeah. Yeah.
MS: Yeah. Are you happy, do you agree that your name can be associated with the interview? So, if they played the interview to somebody or let them see it.
RH: Yeah.
MS: They’ll know it’s Ron Harrison but they’ll keep back all your other details. Ok?
RH: Yeah.
MS: So, tick that.
RH: That’s fine. Yeah.
MS: Ok. Do you allow me to take a photograph of you?
RH: No. No. You can take one.
MS: No problem. Yeah.
RH: Yeah.
MS: Ok. And do you agree to the interview being available online? So that someone could come along with a computer and go, ‘I’ll listen to that guy there.’ Are you happy with that?
RH: Well it wouldn’t hurt would it. Would it?
MS: No.
RH: Would it? It wouldn’t hurt would it?
MS: Well, the other thing is have you got grandchildren?
RH: Yes. I’ve, yes, I’ve got six.
MS: Have you? Well they’ll be able to go online and go to the International Bomber Command Centre and actually listen to you talking.
RH: Oh.
MS: And when, in the years to come when you’re not here that interview will still be there.
RH: Oh good.
MS: Ok. And what it says down here is —
RH: Do you take the daft bits out? Or do you leave —
MS: No. They’re the best bits, Ron.
[laughter]
RH: Oh dear [laughter]
MS: They are.
RH: They’ll be saying, ‘Why does that bloke keep saying eh?’ Eh?
MS: It’s because you’re from Hull. Right. I used to live next door to a bloke from Hull.
RH: Yeah.
MS: Right. I’m going to shorten this. It’s the responsibilities of the archive. Basically, they aim to be a really comprehensive repository. A holding place, for this information, and it’s to do with research and education.
RH: Yeah.
MS: Yeah. It’s housed and managed by the University of Lincoln and the University undertakes to finance, preserve and protect everything to do with it including donations. Yeah.
RH: Yeah.
MS: Now, over here they will need to confidentially and securely store your details in case they need to contact you about this agreement. Right. For any more information on how they store and use such stuff, such stuff, if you go to online, you’ll be able to find that.
RH: Right.
MS: But do you use a computer at all?
RH: No. Not now. I did do but no I don’t.
MS: You don’t.
RH: No. To be honest we’ve got to that age where technology is getting left behind.
MS: I know what you mean.
RH: Isn’t it?
MS: It goes on to say that the details that you’ve provided like your address and all the rest of it.
RH: Yeah.
MS: Will not be made publicly available. And then it goes on to say the agreement is covered by English law.
RH: Yeah.
MS: And I’ve signed down here because I’m the person who interviewed you. if you’re happy with all that would you put your signature in there for me please.
RH: Yeah.
MS: So if I give you that to lean on. Sorry, if you sign there for me. And I’ll stop this now.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Interview with Ron Harrison
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Michael Sheehan
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2018-11-01
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Sound
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
AHarrisonRL181101, PHarrisonRL1801
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending review
Language
A language of the resource
eng
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
Atlantic Ocean--North Sea
England--Lincolnshire
England--Hull
England--Yorkshire
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
00:56:18 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
As a child, Ron Harrison witnessed the bombing of Hull. He describes what it was like to be a child exploring the bombed out areas of the city with his young friends. His father was a fireman and while he was attending fires in the dock area their family home was hit. Fortunately Ron had been staying with his grandmother that night. Ron recalls his father salvaging a toy lorry which had been badly damaged and was found in the wreckage. He repaired it for Ron and it remained as a much loved family heirloom. He describes how the firemen would make toys for the children who had lost everything in the air raids. Ron recalls a gathering of local lads who were off to join their Navy ship and the party to wish them well. All were lost when the ship was later attacked. He recalls the rationing and the spirit of the local people around him towards the bombing. Ron also recalls the night when residents thought the war was over and all assembled in the town centre to celebrate. The lights came on but a lone Luftwaffe plane descended and attacked the crowd killing twelve. Ron also describes the day the war ended when the children were being driven around the town centre in the American jeeps.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Julie Williams
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1945-05
bombing
childhood in wartime
civil defence
final resting place
heirloom
home front
memorial
shelter
strafing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/448/7918/ASaraniR170325.2.mp3
800bd1562b956acccb35758c125350c7
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
Sarani, Rinaldo
Rinaldo Sarani
R Sarani
Description
An account of the resource
One oral history interview with Rinaldo Sarani who recollects his wartime experiences in Pavia and the surrounding area.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Sarani, R
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-03-25
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 Rinaldo Sarani
Description
An account of the resource
Rinaldo Sarani reminisces about the bombings of Pavia describing widespread damage at Borgo Ticino and people being extricated out of rubble. Stressed the importance of bridges: ponte della ferrovia, ponte vecchio, ponte dell’impero, ponte della Becca. Describes how inefficient anti-aircraft fire was, being mockingly dubbed “pensioner’s flak“. Reminisces about various wartime episodes: Pippo flying at night, the danger of minefields, partisan actions, killings, fascist militiamen brutalities, the Mongols (which were part of a German foreign division), makeshift shelters, and people being tortured in Broni. Describes a bomb dump explosion and how people disassembled ordnance to salvage explosives used for fishing, often with tragic consequences. Elaborates on the Fascism and recollects a person being helped by Rachele Mussolini.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Filippo Andi
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-03-25
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
00:42:32 audio recording
Language
A language of the resource
ita
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Sound
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
ASaraniR170325
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Italy
Italy--Po River Valley
Italy--Pavia
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Conforms To
An established standard to which the described resource conforms.
Pending OH transcription
anti-aircraft fire
bomb dump
bombing
home front
incendiary device
Mussolini, Benito (1883-1945)
Pippo
Resistance
shelter
strafing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/1875/46440/SHarriganD[Ser -DoB]v090002.mp3
8598a787d9cade4d126b750d930ea0c2
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Aviation Heritage Lincolnshire
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-06-19
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Aviation Heritage Lincolnshire
Description
An account of the resource
34 items. Interviews with veterans recorded by Aviation Heritage Lincolnshire.<br /><br />Interview with Bertie Salvage <br />Three part interview with Dougie Marsh <br />Interview with Terry Hodson <br />Interview with Stan Waite Interview with John Langston<br />Interview with Nelson Nix <br />Two part interview with Bob Panton <br />Interview with Basil Fish <br />Interview with Ernest Groeger <br />Interview with Wilf Keyte <br />Interview with Reginald John Herring <br />Interview with Kathleen Reid <br />Interview with Allan Holmes <br />Interview with John Tomlinson <br />Interview with Cliff Thorpe and Roy Smith <br />Interview with Peter Scoley <br />Interview with Kenneth Ivan Duddell <br />Interview with Christopher Francis Allison <br />Interview with Bernard Bell <br />Interview with George Arthur Bell <br />Interview with George William Taplin <br />Interview with Richard Moore <br />Interview with Kenneth Edgar Neve <br />Interview with Annie Mary Blood <br />Interview with Dennis Brader <br />Interview with Les Stedman <br />Interview with Anthony Edward Mason <br />Interview with Anne Morgan Rose Harcombe<br />
<p>The following interviews have been moved to the relevant collections.<br /><span>Interview with <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/items/show/46454">Kathleen Reid</a></span><br />Interview with Wing Commander <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/items/show/46467">Kenneth Cook DFC</a><br />Interview with <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/items/show/46456">Colin Cole</a><br />Interview with <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/collections/document/46464">Charles Avey</a><br />Interview with <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/items/show/46470">John Bell</a><br />Interview with <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/items/show/46459">Les Rutherford</a><br />Interview with <a href="https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/items/show/46460">James Douglas Hudson</a></p>
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
Interviewer: This is an interview with Mr Richard Moore at his home in Lincoln talking about his wartime career as ground crew in the Lincoln area.
RM: Ok. We’ll go from there. Well, I joined up when I was eighteen and my first port of call was Weston Super Mare which as you know is not very far from home and I did six weeks square bashing there. We lived in private houses and we were well looked after. When that six weeks was up I was posted to Locking which is just outside of Weston and I was there for seven months learning my course. After we passed out, some of us passed out, some didn’t and my first squadron was Squires Gate at Blackpool. Boulton Paul Defiants they were. Something new to the Germans because not only did they have a pilot they had a mid-upper turret as well, a gunner so it could fire front and back. But Jerry soon got, soon got wise to it. A very clever race the Germans. I went on leave and when I came back we’d moved to Woodvale in Southport and those planes were call Beaufighters. They were twin engine light bomber. And one day our chief came to us and said, ‘I’ve got to post six of you to a place called Swinderby.’ Oh, we were going to Sicily. The squadron was going to Sicily. I said, ‘Well, I know where Sicily is but where’s Swinderby?’ He said, ‘I believe it’s in Lincolnshire.’ ‘Alright,’ I said, ‘I’ll be one to go to Swinderby then.’ Good job I did. They took a pasting in Sicily. And we get to Swinderby and it was, ‘Oh, we don’t want you here. You’ve got to go to Wigsley.’ So we go to Wigsley. ‘Oh, we don’t want you here.’ Back to Swinderby. In the end, in the finish we were at Wigsley and we were working with AV Roe men doing crossed aircraft and our chiefy turns up and says, ‘Drop everything. Get all your toolboxes and kit. We’ve got a bit of a job on.’ He didn’t say where but he took us back to Scampton and I see these Lancs. There was one in a hangar. No bomb doors just two arms down you see. I thought these are queer Lancasters.
Interviewer: This would be early 1943.
RM: Yes. Yes. And so, a chap and I worked all night on one of them. God, it was damned cold in that hangar. It was in May, wasn’t it? It was May time and all of them had been flying low over the water and all the plates underneath towards the rear gunner were all mashed in. We had to change all them. And I lived in Saxilby at the time. I could live out because my wife in Saxilby and I wasn’t far away and as I was cycling down Tillbridge Lane they were taking off on this raid. Didn’t know anything about it. I know the chap’s dog had got killed. Nigger. It was killed the day before they went and Gibson said, ‘Bury it at 12 o’clock. That’s when we’ll be over the target.’
Interviewer: Did you see anything of Guy Gibson or —
RM: Oh, I saw him in the distance. I’ve met Micky Martin.
Interviewer: Oh yes.
RM: He was a nice bloke. Australian he was. He was a good pilot. So and off I went home and the next day we knew all about it.
Interviewer: So you saw these aircraft obviously different to the normal Lancasters.
RM: There were no bomb doors you see.
Interviewer: Did you wonder what was, you know happening?
RM: No. Nobody said anything. I said, ‘Well their just two arms now. Then we realised it was for the swimming, the swimming bomb you see. Yeah. And we lost what seven did we? Or was their eight I think we lost.
Interviewer: Yes. It was eight. Yes.
RM: Fifty six men. And Martin and Gibson, they kept flying each side of the dam to give the other chaps to get in and draw the flak off. But it took the last bomber to break the dam.
Interviewer: That’s right. Les Knight.
RM: And then they went to the other one but they couldn’t get to the third one. That was impossible I think. They’d run out of time. Yes, it was quite a great occasion. But as I say within a few days we were off. We went to Bardney.
Interviewer: How many of you were there working on the —
RM: Well, there would be about maybe a group of us. About fourteen I should think because there was fitters, engine men, riggers. There were air frames, wireless operators, electricians and what else did we have? We wouldn’t have the bomb people because people, special people put the bombs on the planes. But you know —
Interviewer: Did you actually see the bombs that were going to be put on these?
RM: No. I did not see them.
Interviewer: They were all —
RM: No. Because once we finished at night we went to bed. Us two, then the rest took over in the morning. And then they said, ‘You can’t go out of camp.’ And I wanted to go home you see. Anyway, they let me out. I got on my bike and I said I was going down Tillbridge Lane as they were taking off. A wonderful sight.
Interviewer: Three of them together in waves weren’t there?
RM: Yeah. Yeah. Yes. A bit of a noise but it was great.
Interviewer: And you saw the bombs. The different bombs.
RM: No.
Interviewer: Rather than the —
RM: Yes.
Interviewer: The usual. Hanging below —
RM: That’s right.
Interviewer: Below the –
RM: These sort of bombs and then of course the next thing was the Tallboys. weren’t they?
Interviewer: Yes.
RM: Terrific they were sized. Yeah, so when I came back the next day he said. ‘We’re off again.’ So we went to Bardney. M for Mother had crashed and we wanted to get it up in the air again.
Interviewer: So you were repairing the crashed aircraft.
RM: Yes. Yes.
Interviewer: And getting them ready for —
RM: Yeah.
Interviewer: Flying again.
RM: That’s right. Got them in the air because we were losing a lot of planes you see.
Interviewer: Right.
RM: And also, when a plane had done a big, we had to do a major inspection on them and when they had done so many flying hours just to make sure they were alright for because I mean it’s like a car isn’t it you do so many miles and you have an MOT or whatever they call it. And so we worked on M for Mother. First night on ops she never came back.
Interviewer: Oh dear.
RM: That was a bad job that was. Then blimey the lorry rolls up again. ‘Come on. Get in.’ Syerston in Nottingham. Just at the border that was and we had twelve major inspections to do on Lancs there. And after that then we were disbanded because the war was nearly over.
Interviewer: Right.
RM: So, 5 Group, Bomber Command was disbanded and we ended up, some of us on a BABs flight testing this new radar on a Oxford, Airspeed Oxfords two engine planes. Sent down somewhere in the south. I can’t tell you the name of the place and I met Micky Martin. We had a good old chat about the old days and —
Interviewer: Did he talk about the Dams raid?
RM: Yeah. He didn’t say a lot. He just, you know sort of, ‘Lucky to be alive,’ sort of thing. But he was a good pilot.
Interviewer: He was a bit on the eccentric side, wasn’t he?
RM: Oh yes. Yes. He didn’t say a lot I don’t think. But Australians are either or. You know. Got plenty to say for themselves.
Interviewer: They usually have. Yes.
RM: But yes. It was, it was good years. We, oh we went off. We went, before that I missed something out. We went to East Kirkby to do some jobs there and as our bombers came into land one, early one morning the German fighters followed them in and shot the camp up. There were cannon shells all over the place. We were diving for cover everywhere. One poor WAAF got killed.
Interviewer: Oh dear.
RM: But I don’t know what was the matter with our radar to let the Jerries get in so close to our bombers as they were landing. And there was one took off one night when they were going on a raid and it blew up. Went down the runway and the only man who survived was the rear gunner. He was blown out so he survived. He was lucky. I don’t know why it blew up like that.
Interviewer: No. What were your feelings during this time? I mean, did you, did you realise you know the important job you were doing?
RM: Oh yes. Yes.
Interviewer: And —
RM: It was a really worthwhile job. I mean I know we were only ground crew but they couldn’t have done without us could they?
Interviewer: Couldn’t have got off the ground without you.
RM: No.
Interviewer: Literally.
RM: I mean sometimes we had to refuel the planes you know. It was good.
Interviewer: And it was good camaraderie between you.
RM: Yes. Yes.
Interviewer: You all.
RM: Oh yes. We never —
Interviewer: Did you get to know many of the aircrew?
RM: Not a lot. No. Because I mean I didn’t [pause] when we did an inspection every morning, you’d do a DI every morning on the planes, a Daily Inspection in other words that was about all you saw of them. It was you know the only time perhaps you saw them, when they got an eye on you and you pulled the chocs away. That was it you know. They didn’t sort of mix a lot with ground crew.
Interviewer: No. Did you, you worked on Lancasters?
RM: Oh, I started off as I told you on Boulton Paul Defiants.
Interviewer: Yes.
RM: Beaufighters.
Interviewer: Manchesters.
RM: Yes, I —
Interviewer: Did you work on those?
RM: To be honest, yeah. I flew a Manchester.
Interviewer: Oh really.
RM: Not very far mind you.
Interviewer: No. No. I think —
RM: I was —
Interviewer: That was the trouble with them.
RM: We were at Swinderby and I went up with this pilot and he said, ‘Would you like to fly it?’ I said, ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He said, ‘Go on. Take the controls but I’ll keep my feet on the rudders. But don’t turn it left or that way or we’ll flip over and we’ll be gonners.’ I didn’t do it for long but it was, it was an experience.
Interviewer: How fantastic.
RM: Yeah.
Interviewer: They were.
RM: Oh, those engines were too big for those planes. Vulcan engines. I knew one crossed up near the tree in Saxilby village one day. My misses said, ‘I thought you might have been on that.’ I said, ‘No. I wasn’t.’ But she did play hell with me one day because when we were at, when I was at Swinderby before all this we [pause] I was picked to go with this group we had a little section as you turn off the Newark Road to go to Swinderby camp there’s a bit of a corner of a field. We had a little section in there we had a Spitfire in. We were working on an Halifax bomber and all that sort of thing and one day chiefy said, ‘I want a rigger and an engine man to go down to the Percival Gull works in Luton. I said, ‘Oh, I’ll go.’ Daft like. And my friend, a chap called Saul he said, ‘I’ll go as well.’ So we gets on this Airspeed Oxford and off we set off and we were going over London and nearly run into a barrage balloon because we were flying into the sun. He saw it at the last minute and we got down there. Landed in a field and came back safely. When I told her about it she went bananas. She said, ‘You stupid idiot.’ Sort of thing. ‘Because you have a daughter,’ she said, ‘Remember.’ I said, ‘Well, there you are.’
Interviewer: You’re here to tell the tale anyway.
RM: Yeah. Yes. And then as I say we got on this radar business at [unclear] and then well we kept flying different places. Dakotas we used a lot to fly about in. And then we went down to St Mawgan in Newquay and worked a bit on there. Different planes because a lot of them were obsolete then, weren’t they? The Wellington and the Hampden and the Stirling they’d all got, well they weren’t much cop really were they? To be honest. They did their job but they were very vulnerable.
Interviewer: Yes.
RM: Especially the Wellington because it was only fabric. And I was going to be a flight engineer but my wife said, ‘No, you’re not.’ Because they used to get their head shot off you know, the poor old flight engineers because they stood beside the pilot watching all the dials.
Interviewer: That’s right.
RM: So I didn’t do that. I said, ‘Well, I survived the war so I should have been alright.’ Anyway, as I said as we went down and we stayed down at Newquay for a bit at St Mawgan and then they come to me one day and said, ‘You’re going to Leconfield.’ I said, ‘Leconfield? Where’s that?’ he said, ‘In Yorkshire.’ I said, ‘That’s a hell of a long way to go to be demobbed.’ I was going to get demobbed you see and so I get to Leconfield and we stopped there working on Wellingtons of all things. And then a load of RAF, these young ATC cadets turned up and were going for a flight on one of these Wellies. That crashed.
Interviewer: Oh dear.
RM: Terrible. Lost. Lost all these kids. Just couldn’t understand it because I mean they were, we all thought they were in tip top condition. Anyway, I got on a charge there because what was he called? He was a mad man our engineering officer. He came around and he found some water on the bed in the, in the Wellington and he asked me, ‘Why didn’t you see that?’ I said, ‘Well, it wasn’t there when I did the DI.’ But he wouldn’t have it so he put me on a charge.
Interviewer: And what was the outcome of that?
RM: Oh, I got seven days, I think. Confined to barracks. That’s all.
Interviewer: Right.
RM: Nothing, it wasn’t serious.
Interviewer: And what, what had been the problem?
RM: Well, there was —
Interviewer: Did you find out? Was there a leak.
RM: Well, there was a hatch.
Interviewer: Yes.
RM: There was a leak and it must have rained or something and dropped through on to the bed.
Interviewer: Right.
RM: Because it wasn’t there when I did it or I’d have mopped it up. But these things happen, don’t they?
Interviewer: Yes.
RM: Got to find a scapegoat you know for some, some of these jobs. Yes. So when I was at Leconfield and then we were on the bus next morning to Uxbridge getting your demob suit and then home.
Interviewer: Right.
RM: My daughter didn’t, didn’t want nothing to do with me. Didn’t know who I was.
Interviewer: What do you feel about your war years?
RM: Very good. Very good. A lot of camaraderie. Whatever you call that word. Camaraderie is it? I can’t remember.
Interviewer: Camaraderie.
RM: That’s the word. Yeah. Yes. Everybody looking our for each other. That was one thing about it. And the NAAFI were good. They came around every morning. Tea and a wad you know. Great.
Interviewer: You didn’t get a chance to have a flight in a Lancaster.
RM: No.
Interviewer: No. Would you have liked one?
RM: Yes. I could have done but I don’t know why I turned it down. I don’t know why. And I wish I had now. I missed that. You never know. I might get a chance.
Interviewer: Yes, indeed.
RM: Go to Coningsby and say, ‘I want to come up with you, mate.’ Yeah. So there we are. But very good years. Good crowd. I don’t think we had many troublemakers you know. You do get some but not a lot. I only ended up LAC so I was nothing. Leading aircraftsman. That’s all. I didn’t get my stripes.
Interviewer: Well, you were doing a wonderful job like all the ground crew.
RM: Yeah. All these different aircraft. I can’t believe how they started from a Boulton Paul Defiant and ended up on a Lancaster. The Halifax wasn’t a bad bomber either.
Interviewer: No.
RM: That was quite good. The Halifax.
Interviewer: I think each crew was very fond of its own aircraft.
RM: Oh yes. Oh yes. Yes.
Interviewer: Anybody who flew in the Halifax.
RM: With this Just Jane. Who was that? Which was that? Was that a Lancaster?
Interviewer: That’s a Lancaster.
RM: Yeah.
Interviewer: That’s the Lanc well it’s a Lancaster that’s at —
RM: Coningsby.
Interviewer: East Kirkby now.
RM: East Kirkby. That goes up and down.
Interviewer: Yes.
RM: Up and down the runways.
Interviewer: That’s right.
RM: You can taxi in it. Yeah.
Interviewer: Yes.
RM: Well that that did a lot of raids didn’t it? A lot of raids, Just Jane, I think. They’ve all got their bombs on the side of the cockpit.
Interviewer: That’s right. Yes.
RM: Yeah. Happy days. But really. Was it worthwhile?
Interviewer: I think, I think we’ve got to think that it was.
RM: Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
Interviewer: We don’t want to think that fifty five thousand lost.
RM: Men plus.
Interviewer: Died for nothing. I mean.
RM: No. That’s what I think. Sometimes I wonder was it worth it and then I think well we had to keep them away, didn’t we?
Interviewer: We did indeed. Yes.
RM: We were alone, weren’t we? I mean the Americans wouldn’t have come into it if it hadn’t been for Pearl Harbour.
Interviewer: No. No.
RM: They were selling fuel to the Japs. Then the Japs go and bomb Pearl Harbour just to say thank you. Oh dear. Oh dear. I don’t know. It’s [pause] I don’t know what to make of this. What’s going to happen, do you?
Interviewer: I don’t. It’s been absolutely fascinating, Mr Moore.
RM: Was that alright?
Interviewer: That’s fine.
RM: That’s about as much as I can tell you.
Interviewer: Yes, that’s —
RM: There’s bits I’ve missed out because I lost my memory a bit you know.
Interviewer: No, it’s been really interesting. Thank you very much.
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Interview with Richard Moore
1004-Moore, Richard
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SHarriganD[Ser#-DoB]v09
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Claire Bennett
This Interview was recorded by Aviation Heritage Lincolnshire.
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Royal Air Force
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eng
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Sound
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00:16:49 audio recording
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Pending revision of OH transcription
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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--Lincolnshire
England--Somerset
England--Yorkshire
Description
An account of the resource
Richard Moore served as ground crew at RAF Locking, RAF Squires Gate and RAF Wickenby.
Beaufighter
crash
Defiant
ground crew
ground personnel
Lancaster
RAF East Kirkby
RAF Leconfield
RAF Locking
RAF Swinderby
RAF Wickenby
strafing
Wellington
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/501/8392/PCurnockRM1602.2.jpg
643656b7e6ec193f16a6c4727abb34ce
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/501/8392/ACurnockRM160418.2.mp3
b80f69b98b79e3838478986eed3fab73
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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Curnock, Richard
Richard Murdock Curnock
R M Curnock
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IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
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Curnock, RM
Date
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2016-04-18
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Description
An account of the resource
92 items. An oral history interview with Warrant Officer Richard Curnock (1924, 1915605 Royal Air Force), his log book, letters, photographs and prisoner of war magazines. He flew operations with 425 Squadron before being shot down and becoming a prisoner of war.
The collection has been licenced to the IBCC Digital Archive by Richard Curnock and catalogued by Barry Hunter.
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
GR. This is Gary Rushbrook for the International Bomber Command Centre, Bomber Command Association. I am with Warrant Officer Richard Curnock, 425 Squadron and we are at Dicks’ home near Leicester in a village called Syston on the 18th of April 2016. Dick, just tell me a little about yourself, I know we are in Leicester, were you born in Leicester?
RC. No, I was born in Grantham [inaudible].
GR. So born in Grantham. Brothers, sisters?
RC. Three brothers I had Sam, Bob and myself, all three of us, well they went to higher school I went to elementary school myself and when the war came we all joined up together, well two joined up together in sequence with our age.
GR. Were you the youngest, oldest?
RC. Yes. I’m the youngest, and there was four years between us and Sam was the oldest and unfortunately he got killed and he went.
GR. Did you all join the RAF?
RC. He joined the RAF first and he passed out on, well he went over to Canada on training. I have got cousins and all sorts over in Canada. He had a great time over there and so when he came back he was in the [sic], where did he go into first. Oh I think he was in some training unit, but the next thing we knew he’d been seconded to the British Overseas Airways which is a civil airline and he was flying [inaudible] Whitley aircraft which is one of the worst things in the world. The Air Force sold fifteen of them, I think it was, to British Overseas Airways ‘cos they wanted to start a line up taking spare parts and that down to Gibraltar then onto the Middle East and he was, he was the pilot for one of these aircraft, fifteen of them sold to the Air Force.
GR. Had he, obviously we are going to talk about yourself in a bit, had he already done a tour with Bomber Command or anything?
RC. No he was straight over from training into BOAC and he got doing trips down to Gibraltar but on the fourth trip I think it was, he went on down [inaudible] there they had some aircraft, they wouldn’t fly properly. One time it was tail heavy, next time it was nose heavy, there was always something wrong with it and told him to have it [inaudible] from BOAC and give it some repairs on the tail unit and so they did that, gave him the parts to sort it out, so they thought would sort it out and they took off from Gibraltar and they went flying over the sea there, the bay, and all of a sudden it just dived into the sea. That was in 1943 [voice fades away].
GR. Just dived into the sea.
RC. No reason at all [inaudible]. That was in 1943.
GR. Was you in the Air Force by then?
RC. No I was at home then.
GR. Well we will backtrack a bit, so your elder brother did obviously volunteer for the RAF, middle brother?
RC. He volunteered as well.
GR. For the RAF?
RC. For the RAF yeah. He was accepted in the normal training and he finished up in Canada as well and he came back and he was on training Airspeed Oxfords. This is where I first met him, I didn’t know he was anywhere near me. We’d been up in Dalcross and saw him and I was on a gunnery course up there, air gunnery and flying in those things, Ansons.
GR. Ansons. Looking at a model of an Anson, looking at a lot of models actually but yes, the Anson training aircraft.
RC. Little did I know but he was on flying Airspeed Oxfords on night, night vision courses, sorry for night vision and I happened to be walking out one night with the lads. In front of me was some other airmen and I thought I know that walk [laugh] no it can’t be, it was, it was my brother, I didn’t know he was there. The last I knew he was in Canada. He’d come back [inaudible] in the Mediterranean doing, he was doing a bit of training up there, doing night flying. So we had three weeks together up there and he got posted away somewhere and he posted out of the Air Force I didn’t know what happened to him. But for some reason he was post, transferred from the Air Force into the Royal Signals but why he was taken I have no idea.
GR. And he doesn’t know.
RC. He wouldn’t know now because he is dead now.
GR. Yes, yes.
RC. He was supposed to be on a night vision flying course but I never knew, the next thing I knew was that [inaudible] he was a year later he was, it was over a year later he was in [inaudible] sorry.
GR. No, no, no, it’s absolutely fine.
RC. He got transferred to the Royal Signals then went over to D-Day over on the continent for the rest of the war.
GR. So the younger brother, yourself when did you join up, you obviously volunteered?
RC. That’s me, volunteered in 19 [Pause].
GR. Well am just looking through the memoirs and I can see a photograph of you in uniform in 1941 is that the three of you. You must have joined up in about 1941.
RC. Yeah oh I was in the ATC for ages, about four years and then the [pause].
GR. You obviously followed your two brothers.
RC. Yes I followed them and [pause]
GR. Where did you do your training?
RC. We went to start, first of all down in London and went to a oh a big hotel somewhere.
GR. Would that be St Johns’ Wood, Lords Cricket Ground?
RC. Lords Cricket Ground and we were stationed down there [inaudible] for lessons and that, marching, used to march like mad up the streets of London and my feet have worn out [laugh]. We got quite a lot of that down there for a few inoculations and that when we first went there and boy they were stiff.
GR. Yes your arms were too many, too many injections.
RC. Every time you moved your arms ,oh, ah, somebody hit you, oh, oh. Anyway we got over it and from there I went onto Bridlington, Bridgnorth for a start for training as as air gunner and from Brignorth we went up to Bridlington and we did a lot of work on the Aldis lamp, signalling. We were sending on the beach to somebody up on the pier, letters and figures, and reading this back and we were there for, oh, probably there, how long I was there, I can’t remember. From Bridlington where did we go after Bridlington, oh, to Scotland.
GR. Dalcross.
RC. Dalcross and at Dalcross we were flying Ansons.
GR. I think from Dalcross you moved onto Wellsbourne?
RC. That’s right that was the Conversion Unit and I went on to Wellingtons.
GR. Is that where you met your crew?
RC. That’s where we met crew first one that I met was those three there, the bottom three.
GR. Right I am looking at a photograph and those three gentlemen are?
RC. Bob Friskey, Eugene Fulham and the Skipper Chuck John were the three I met there and [inaudible] next one up.
GR. I think the other member of the crew was Gordon Dimswell.
RC. Oh Gordon that’s right, he was the bomb aimer.
GR. He was the bomb aimer.
RC. Yes that was the crew of the Wellington [inaudible]
GR. Which was the Wellington.
RC. Yeah we flew from Rosebourne in Yeadon.
GR. And then I presume you would have moved onto Heavy Conversion Unit where you would have picked up two other crew members.
RC. That’s right we picked up Gene
GR. Gene Fulham
RC. No
GR. Ginger Wheadon.
RC. Ginger yeah, Ginger was the [interrupted]
GR. And Wes Carrick, you normally picked up a flight engineer and another air gunner.
RC. Yes a flight engineer.
GR. Just looking at another photograph, yeah.
RC. And the other one was, eh.
GR. Another air gunner.
RC. Another air gunner [inaudible].
GR. That’s Wes Carrick.
RC. Yes.
GR. Just looking at a reunion photo with Wes on.
RC. [inaudible] we picked him up and then we went to a Conversion Unit.
GR. Then you spent about four to six weeks at a Heavy Conversion Unit getting used to flying four engined.
RC. [Dick speaking quietly in the background under Gary]
GR. What aircraft were you flying at the Heavy Conversion Unit.
RC. Halifaxes.
GR. I know some people used Stirling’s, you went straight onto Halifax.
RC. [inaudible] Halifax three.
GR. Halifax III’s yeah, what did you think of the Halifax?
RC. Fantastic, yeah it was a good aircraft [inaudible] yeah chucked about a bit being the rear gunner, skipper was good at landing most times, sometimes I was bounced, head to toe, boom, boom, boom, boom.
GR. This was during the Heavy Conversion Unit, and when did you find out what squadron you would be going to?
RC. I think we moved on from there, [inaudible] Conversion Unit then onto the squadron and eh.
GR. That’s 425
RC. That’s 425 Squadron yes and.
GR. Was that French or Canadian?
RC. French Canadian
GR. French Canadian squadron.
RC. Yes French Canadian squadron on eh
GR. I think they flew from Tolthorpe and then Dishforth wasn’t it.
RC. No Dishforth first Tolthorpe second, yes it was only our second trip was in fact. Did one trip and got half way there and turned around engine failure.
GR. That was your first trip?
RC. First trip, engine failure, I think we only did about three or four hours in the air and had to turn back, over France, had a port engine failure.
GR. How did the crew feel about that, you know, your first operation, was it daylight or night time?
RC. Night time.
GR. Night time.
RC. Yeah well you just worked it out, starting on our first trip this sort of thing happens and of course we had [interrupted] to turn around.
GR. And that’s the pilots decision to, eh.
RC. Yes, turn about, drop the bombs in the sea and come back home. Our next trip was, where was that.
GR. Your first mission was the 24th/ 25th.
RC. Yeah that’s right.
GR. Then according to your records you flew the following night.
RC. We did yeah.
GR. Augsburg.
RC. Augsburg yes.
GR. What happened then?
RC. We didn’t get there [laughs].
GR. So after your first trip which was aborted, your second trip.
RC. We got within I think we were about eighty odd miles away from where we were going, which was down at Augsburg. I think we were probably an hours flying from the target. The skipper said he could see the target, I couldn’t in the back, but they could see the target and everything. Target so and so, so and so the next thing I knew ‘Woom’ the anti aircraft.
GR. Anti aircraft fire.
RC. Anti aircraft fire hit the port wing in between the two engines the right place and set them both on fire and so I was in [inaudible] nothing but flames coming past my turret and it eh.
GR. And I can’t presume to think how you felt.
RC. You can’t no. Eh it was such a bang, just like dustbins, bang and so the skipper came on and said we have been hit, I think we will have to abort [inaudible]. I think we all said ‘do you want us to bale out?’ We all said our names, we got the message [inaudible]. The mid upper gunner and myself got out the back end [inaudible] he came down [inaudible].
GR. When you say the back end was that out through the rear turret.
RC. No I didn’t go out through the.
GR. There was a door, wasn’t there?
RC. Yeah, on the right hand side and so the mid upper and myself went out from the rear part. But the thing was we said ‘all right Skipper we are going now, happy landings’ or some stupid thing and as I was getting out of the turret the parachute was in the fuselage anyway [inaudible] so put that on and I said ‘remember what you got to do.’ ‘Cause you have all sorts of things plugged in there, you got to take these things out. So I thought alright, I was getting the things on before I took me helmet off, took everything else off before I put my helmet back on again, it’s going to be cold out there. And the sort of things that went through your mind you know so I spoke to Wes who came down and shook hands and said ‘see you later’ the stupid things you did so we both went out the back, there were flames dashing by us. And I went out, I think I, yes, I went out first, he said you [inaudible] and went out in front and he followed me behind and the things you think of when you are floating down. The first thing was count to ten before you pull your rip cord, then I felt my parachute was clipped on, I thought [inaudible] floating down I thought one, two, oh bugger it [laugh] and I pulled it [inaudible]. Floating down, do nothing [inaudible] coming down, no idea where we were, there were towns and everything but apparently we were coming down over a town. Of course towns have got buildings and when I started coming down I thought what am I going to come down on [inaudible]. Things coming up I thought ‘God, I am going to land on a Church’ and then I thought they are trees and I landed in between two big poplar trees. There was a little tree down below and apple tree, I shot through this apple tree.
GR. You went into the apple tree which was lower down.
RC. It was lower down and I frightened the squirrels a bit [laugh]. Anyway [inaudible] this could take time. I sat there and thought, oh, there is an air raid siren going. Oh [inaudible] taking my outer clothing of, get me flying suit, it was definitely colder, as it was winter time oh I tried, I climbed over the wall in the garden onto the road, I thought, how am I going to get out of this place? I walked round to see where I am, [inaudible] every time I walked out to go somewhere there was an all clear, so they had two, two all clears in [inaudible]. So one of those is gone, saw me walking round and I heard the siren go again so I thought quick turn around, I thought I had better get back into the place [inaudible] So I went back into the garden. I went in, put my flying clothes back on and went to sleep. Thought the best thing I could do. I couldn’t see myself going to walk out through a town with flying clothes, wouldn’t have got very far and, eh.
GR. And did the thought, because by 1944 obviously the German civilian population didn’t take kindly to Bomber Command going over.
RC. They didn’t.
GR. And we have heard some stories.
RC. Well I could tell you when we were taken from the police station.
GR. So what happened to you in the morning, was you?
RC. In the morning, sorry, I was still asleep and there was a squirrel came over me, that woke me up and two old ladies walked out of the house next door to me.
GR. Saw you.
RC. Well they saw the parachute stuck up the tree [inaudible]. I thought I will get somebody round in a minute. Anyway I waited a minute and a policeman came round. He was shorter than me, I have never seen anything like it, he’d got a hat, black, it was a big black helmet, nearly as big as he was. I nearly laughed my head off but thought I had better not, so anyway he told me to take my flying suit off, so I took those off and he had a bicycle there and made me put the stuff on the bicycle and we rode to the police station and he had a gun pointed at me [inaudible]. Took me round the police station and from there they, what did he do? He took us round to the Gestapo headquarters and, eh.
GR. When you said they had.
RC. The police had contacted the Air Force.
GR. Was you on your own or were there any more of your crew.
RC. I was on my own then but they picked up the mid upper gunner and the bomb aimer, three of us and they took us back to the Gestapo Headquarters but on the way down they decided they would take us in a tram. Of course there are Civilians in a tram [inaudible] I didn’t know whether we were going to get out of there after that because on the lamp posts on the way bodies were hung up. American airmen.
GR. American airmen were hanging from the lamp posts.
RC. Yeah hanging from the lamp posts which didn’t go down very well with us and we got lots of black looks from people around about us and we had to get off it. So then to Gestapo headquarters, I got all my flying kit on over me arms and that and the wireless operator, he done a stupid thing he landed in a tree and instead of finding a way to get down from the tree he decided to release himself, ‘woom’ dropped how [inaudible] fractured his spine. So we gets in this Gestapo headquarters and he was there and he said his back hurts and that. And this Gestapo chap comes in from the other room, picked up a chair and went to hit him with it. So it just happened I had got my clothes over my arm, my flying clothes, I put it up and stopped him hitting him, he was bashing him on the head with a chair. So anyway from then on I think we stayed one night in three cells and then they took us, we had three nights in a room, single room, as big as this. You was put in there and kept in there, I think it was for three nights they kept us in this room and kept coming in asking questions, switching the light off, keeping you in the dark and that went on for about three days.
GR. You yourself were physically?
RC. Oh no and then they took us in and put us all together in the interrogation. Taken in one at a time, the officer in the room first thing he said to me ‘did you like flying your Halifax’. ‘Yes it was very nice’. Oh dear, so he was going on about this and he said ‘let’s see, Canadian’, ‘no, not Canadian’, [inaudible] ‘no, French Canadian’. He didn’t like that much. [inaudible] This commander, commander so and so, could be. We know his daughter and he gave us the name of his daughter. He said ‘didn’t you go out with his daughter?’ I said ‘no, not me’ [laugh]. Yeah, that sort of thing, he didn’t say much about the Aircraft. He got sheets and sheets of stuff on the Halifax [inaudible]. And from there they took us to, where did they take us to, they took us to interrogation centre.
GR. Was that Dulagluft.
RC. Dulagluft from there [inaudible] what was going to happen from there on [inaudible]. We had the Americans [inaudible] I can’t think.
GR. A bag, looked like a suitcase. Little suitcase to put all your.
RC. Which had everything from a pipe.
GR. Did you get any Red Cross parcels then, I know you got them later?
RC. Yeah did later but for a start [inaudible] anyway we, we got this parcel with all the bits in it, beautiful shirts, underwear, ties, cigarettes, tobacco, pipes
GR. Everything you could.
RC. Everything you wanted.
GR. Just backtracking, did all the crew get out?
RC. Yes we all got out.
GR. You all got out.
RC. [inaudible] The wireless operator, he finished up in hospital but the rest of us finished up in the same camp.
GR. So you all got out of the aircraft.
RC Yeah we all got out all right yeah.
GR. So you were at Dulagluft feeling a bit sorry for yourselves.
RC. Yes we all were, anyway we weren’t treated too bad you know. They decided they had to move us out of the camp somewhere and I think from there we went to [interrupted].
GR. You ended up at Stalagluft VI Hydegrug.
RC. Hydekrug which was up in, eh.
GR. Lithuania.
RC. Lithuania which was miles away from where we were shot down or the interrogation centre [interrupted]
GR. What did you think of the Prisoner of War camp?
RC. Well it took us about seven or eight days in cattle trucks to get there for a start. That was a strain for a start, especially if you wanted to go to the toilet and where do you go to the toilet in a, in a cattle truck? Which is, the cattle truck is divided into three portions, one end aircrew, other end aircrew ,the German guards in the middle. If you wanted a wee or anything we made a hole in the corner of the carriage it was all you could do and that was seven days, you thought you would never get off that train. It wasn’t our last trip, oh dear our longest and from then on we [inaudible] to Poland we started off, I think we.
GR. You will have been in the prison camp about nine months.
RC. We had been there in the war, yeah.
GR. And then what was well known as the long march, that is when they started moving all the prisoners from the East to the West because the Russians were advancing.
RC. Well we were [interrupted].
GR. What was life like in the camp, you were there nine months?
RC. It wasn’t too bad in the camps, but it was a well used camp so people who were in there got used to it, to life in there. I wasn’t too bad, we used to get, we had the parties and people doing stage, eh/
GR. Shows.
RC. And that sort of thing.
GR. And did you get your Red Cross food parcels through alright or did they start to dwindle off.
RC. Dwindled off. They were not too bad for a start and then they went sour on us, they brought one food parcel between fourteen men which wasn’t very much and it was a job for anybody that was in charge of the of the camp, the rations.
GR. To determine what you got.
RC. Ah, how many men to a parcel, you get about seven or eight men to a parcel, some were to ten to one parcel.
GR. And was you a smoker or did you use your cigarettes as currency.
RC. We used them for both. I had a pipe, I used to fill my pipe up and light it up, couple of puffs on it, somebody would come [inaudible] have a puff [inaudible] seven or eight men queuing up for it [inaudible] just before, it wasn’t long [slightly mumbled]
GR. How many of the crew ended up on the same camp?
RC. Six of us.
GR. Oh right so you all ended up in the same camp.
RC. Yeah two, me and the engineer we were in the same room and four Canadians were in another one. Yeah but we [inaudible] the easiest way because the Canadians went with the Canadians and we went with the English. And the room I was in was called D9 and it was for general use. The people that read the news, the news readers and the chap who took the news off the radio, were in our room and the camp Commandant, no all the people who had jobs in the camp were in that room, yeah.
GR. Did you have any specific job or eh?
RC. No, no I was just general dogs body [laugh].
GR. And then round about Christmas 1944 or very early ‘45 they moved you out the camps didn’t they?
RC. Yep and [inaudible]
GR. And obviously it was known as the long march because I know some of the men were literally on the road for four to five months, how long?
RC. I was about three weeks.
GR. About three weeks yeah.
RC. That was long enough.
RC. But, eh.
GR. Then I think you all ended up in a place called Fallingbostel.
RC. Fallingbostel yes.
GR. Which was like a transit prisoner of war camp, wasn’t it.
RC. There were Americans there as well, a unit of the Americans. Then from that place they shipped us out in April I think it was. They said you have got to go for a walk now. We said ‘all right do we need anything?’ [inaudible] the more people took with them [inaudible]. The Canadians apparently were the worst, their folks used to send them over ski, skates and all sorts of things, and places to skate in [inaudible].
GR. We are just looking through a very famous book called ‘Handle With Care’ which is what a prisoner did of all the different cartoons and drawings. And is there a picture here of the Canadians going out.
RC. A few cartoons.
GR. Yes, because you all had your own little log book that all your colleagues did drawings in, yeah.
RC. That’s another book.
GR. That’s another book, yeah. So when you started off on the march had the weather deteriorated or was it?
RC. April time.
GR. Not too bad then?
RC. Not too bad.
GR. Not too bad, and did you know the War was coming to an end.
RC. Well we knew more or less everybody was being pushed back [inaudible] It shouldn’t be too long, we just wondered how long, but I forget [inaudible]
GR. I will go back to the other one.
RC. Yeah, We crossed over the River Elbe and that [inaudible] a lone Spitfire cruising round this bridge, and machine gunners, New Zealanders on each end, trying to shoot at it [inaudible] we could watch it from where we were we were sitting , by the bridge, we could watch this aircraft, it was one of the single aircraft around. The machine guns belting away at it like hell, four machine guns belting away like hell, they didn’t get near it [inaudible] plastic eyes [laugh].
GR. And obviously you didn’t want the attention from the Spitfire because you didn’t want it to come down.
RC. No.
GR. No. So you are on the March, I must admit I am just looking through your memoirs and you have highlighted the 19th of April. Was that when you were attacked by the Typhoons?
RC. That’s when we got hit by the Typhoons, yeah, yeah.
GR. Which I know was obviously an incident that has been well documented.
RC. It has, yes.
GR. Can you just tell me a little about what happened that day?
RC. We had just gone through or been dished out with Red Cross parcels, we got initially Red Cross parcels and we had come through the main forest and we had come out where it was a bit clearer and we saw these aircraft flying away from us. I thought, oh they are probably some of ours and didn’t think any more about it. The next thing we know the four Typhoons came belting [inaudible] firing like mad. I flung, well flung myself on the floor, I was in a ditch, if you could call it a ditch. It would probably be a bit wider than this room and it would probably be about that deep.
GR. Dick is saying about twelve inches deep, so not very deep at all.
RC. I had been in this ditch [inaudible] I thought was a tree or something, it should have been a tree but it wasn’t, it must have been weed and it was about fourteen inches high [inaudible]
GR. You were trying to hide behind it.
RC. Didn’t do any good. The chap next to me, he got one through his shoulder, a bullet and the chap that was behind me in his heel, took it in his heel.
GR. So both men next to you were wounded. So not a very nice experience and they obviously didn’t know they mistook you for German soldiers or a column moving up so.
JC. And apparently one of the, what you may call it, never flew again.
GR. I bel, I believe the actual squadron leader who was the, once he found out what had happened he, he, he couldn’t live with it so.
JC. That’s right.
GR. I am just looking in your memoirs and Gordon Wheadon, Ginger, was he killed?
JC. He was our engineer.
GR. So your actual engineer was one of the ones killed.
JC. Yeah he was, he was behind me, I never knew he was in the column behind me somewhere, he must have run out across this field and got killed by bullets. I had to go and find him, I couldn’t find him anywhere [inaudible]
GR. And I think, again, there was about thirty five POWs killed that day and six German guards.
JC. Yeah.
GR. So obviously you carried on, tell me about the end of the war, how did the war finish for you?
JC. Eh well I finished in a very nice place [inaudible] when I came back from Germany.
GR. Sorry, so you are on the long march, you are marching and marching and marching, no, no my fault, did you walk into Americans or did you walk into a British Column or?
JC. We were we’d been marching [inaudible] to a little village and we stopped the night there and we woke up in the morning there were no guards about. I thought that’s funny there is no guards about, and then we looked out and said ‘there are no guards anywhere’ and then a lone American, was it American, I think he was American on a motorbike came along oh [inaudible] Oh he said ‘you are free now’, we said ‘you what.’ Then there was all hell bent trying to find transport to take us back to Luneburg which was about twenty, thirty miles away and some of our boys disappeared and came back. When they came back they brought a bus, a fire engine, horses, motor bikes, anything that was on wheels, anything we commandeered and so we then we had to make our way back down to Luneburg and the roads were in terrible condition or [inaudible] There was hardly room for one vehicle to go through but we just kept going and came down to the River Elbe, over the Elbe pontoon bridge and can’t think of the name of the place.
GR. So at Luneburg were you then flown home or.
JC. Yeah we stayed there, I think, for one night or two nights in Luneburg while they took our particulars down and then we got to, I forgot the sort of aircraft, there were Halifaxes and Lancasters.
GR. What did you fly back in?
JC. I flew back in a Lancaster.
GR. So you flew out over Germany in a Halifax and came back in a Lancaster [laugh]
JC. Yeah and treated [inaudible] when we got back on the airfield WAAFs and airmen everywhere, greeting, not that we wanted anything straight away [inaudible] [laugh].
GR. And I think by the end of the war there was something like ten and a half thousand RAF Bomber Command veterans exactly like yourself being flown back home.
GR. Did you stay in the RAF long or were you demobbed.
RC. I still had about ten months to go and I went to, I went to see a squadron leader, he said [inaudible] I said ‘yeah, I fancy a ground job now’, ‘oh’ he said ‘there is plenty of ground jobs. First three, pigeon keeper, clerk, what was the other one, there was three of them [inaudible] ‘five or six months to do, I don’t want to do that’. He said ‘what do you want to do?’, I said ‘well the best thing I can do is be a driver’. ‘Ha, everybody wants to be a driver’ so I said ‘ I tell you what put me down for MT driver or nothing’. It didn’t take long for the MT course to come through, I started me holidays initially. The first place I went to, oh I had a, I think I had a month or two months at an MTU, Maintenance Unit, we used to go round various airfields dismantling Spitfires. I was the driver and I had six mechanics came round with me and a corporal, we dismantled aircraft, to scrap and empty petrol out of them.
GR. Had a nice time in Italy.
RC. [inaudible] In a camp in tents for a start, when we went over there and it was beautiful weather and that and a job came up. They wanted three vehicles to go down to Southern Italy to pick up an officers’ equipment whose station was closing down and the equipment clearing out from it. Three, three tonners to go down, our MT Officer at the time was an ex aircrew man and so he said to me do you want a job, there’s you and there’s ‘em, there’s I have forgotten what his name was, two of us ex aircrew, he was ex aircrew the MT Officer, really good chap, ex aircrew. The corporal driver and the corporal knew the way down, knew the way down through Italy, stopping at Rome and [inaudible] Naples and all sorts of places, you name it. So we had three, three tonners and we had three guards in the back and went down there and stopped in Naples and everywhere we could on the way down.
GR. Very good.
JC. And the same on the way back, brilliant time, anyway.
GR. I am sure you deserved it after being in the prison camp for so long.
JC. Yeah.
GR. Did you want to stay in or did you have a choice?
JC. No I wanted to get out, Anyway, yes, came back from the trip down Italy and there wasn’t much else to do so they decided to send us home and they did and I got demobbed at the same time.
GR. I think that was early, early 1947.
JC. Yeah.
GR. And that was the war finished. Right so I am going to switch everything off, that was absolutely wonderful.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Interview with Richard Curnock
Creator
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Gary Rushbrooke
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2016-04-18
Format
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00:53:16 audio recording
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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ACurnockRM160418, PCurnockRM1602
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Royal Air Force
Royal Air Force. Bomber Command
United States Army Air Force
Royal Canadian Air Force
Description
An account of the resource
Richard Curnock was born in Grantham and joined the Royal Air Force in 1941. He achieved the rank of warrant officer and served in 425 Squadron. Richard tells of how he followed his two older brothers into the services, and his time serving in the Air Training Corp and in the Heavy Conversion Unit. Richard was in a Canadian crew and baled out after his aircraft was hit. He talks about his capture including details of United States Army Air Force aircrew being hanged from lamp posts and interrogation at the hands of the Gestapo. Talks about his time as a prisoner of war in Stalag Luft 6. Richard took also part in the long march, when prisoners were moved west ahead of the Russian advance. Recollects when they were strafed by mistake by Typhoons, being flown back home, and his post war service in Italy dismantling Spitfires.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Great Britain
England--Yorkshire
England--London
Germany
Germany--Lüneburg
Germany--Augsburg
Germany--Bad Fallingbostel
Lithuania
Lithuania--Šilutė
Italy
425 Squadron
air gunner
aircrew
Anson
bale out
bombing
demobilisation
Dulag Luft
ground personnel
Halifax
Halifax Mk 3
Heavy Conversion Unit
Lancaster
lynching
Operation Exodus (1945)
Oxford
prisoner of war
RAF Bridlington
RAF Dishforth
RAF Tholthorpe
Red Cross
sanitation
shot down
Spitfire
Stalag Luft 6
strafing
the long march
training
Typhoon
Wellington
Women’s Auxiliary Air Force
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/31/249/ABottaniP1601.1.jpg
370b5e924083c290f03135227fd331c4
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/31/249/ABottaniP161202.1.mp3
85ca9ca58ae587f9b1096e8123c0f9e2
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
Bottani, Paolo
Description
An account of the resource
One oral history interview with Paolo Bottani who recollects wartime experiences in Milan.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
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
Bottani, P
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2016-12-02
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
EP: Come prima domanda le chiedo di cominciare da prima della guerra, prima che cominci il conflitto, eeh mi racconti un po’ della sua famiglia, eeh dove eravate e di che cosa si occupavano i suoi familiari.
PB: Sì eh prima della guerra naturalmente ero piccolino quindi la memoria un po’ un po’ un po’, un po’ annebbiata diciamo così. Però mi ricordo bene che la mia famiglia era una famiglia di operai, eeh immigrati, mio papà proveniva dalla provincia di di Piacenza e mia mamma dal cremasco, eeeh erano operai purtroppo mio papà viveva un momento difficile per le sue idee politiche, non voleva iscriversi al partito fascista che era per la maggiore a quei tempi e non gli davano il lavoro perché lui non era iscritto al partito, quindi questo m’è rimasto impresso benché piccolino, perché la famiglia di conseguenza ne ne soffriva. Mia mamma invece era volgitrice di motori elettrici alla Ercole Marelli di Sesto San Giovanni. Avevo una sorella che era impiegata presso una ditta di cosmetici, la Beiersdorf. Ecco questo è quello che mi ricordo del periodo anteguerra. Nel 1940 poi, mi hanno iscritto alla prima elementare come tutti i bambini ed ho frequentato qui a Precotto la prima classe, elementare. Mi ricordo che eravamo tanti bambini, oggi si lamentano delle classi affollate, noi eravamo in quaranta, quindi la maestra della quale mi ricordo il nome, Angela Arpiani, era una brava signora torinese e ci aiutava parecchio perché eravamo abbastanza discoli eh: che i genitori al lavoro, noi eravamo a casa da soli, non c’erano le badanti o le babysitter o, eravamo in giro per le strade, qui a Precotto era una zona rurale, c’erano campi, e noi ci ci divertivamo ad andare per i campi. Quindi la prima e la seconda elementare direi che, essendo pure in guerra, perché la guerra è cominciata nel ’40, non abbiamo subito parecchie eh diciamo difficoltà, a parte la faccenda di mio papà che non lavorando era costretto a fare dei lavoretti così un po’ in nero, si dice oggi, per poter portare a casa qualcosa, e poi aveva l’orto che lo lavorava e ci dava la possibilità di, di vivere ecco. Il brutto comincia verso la fine del ’42 l’inizio del ’43, cominciarono i bombardamenti, cominciarono le difficoltà della vita. Ecco lì ho cominciato a mettere nella mia mente le difficoltà proprio, di vivere, molti disagi come per esempio il freddo, la paura, il freddo la paura, e la fame, e la fame, cominciava a scarseggiare il cibo. Il freddo era terribile perché difficilmente avevamo la legna per bruciare, andavamo in giro a raccogliere qualche pezzettino di albero, di di ramo rotto degli alberi, portarlo a casa noi bambini per poter scaldarci, però era la fiammata del momento e quindi il calore era molto, molto scarso. Poi eeeh i geloni: col freddo la conseguenza logica per noi bambini erano i geloni sulle mani sui piedi, eeeh oggi non vedo più i bambini con i geloni, ma io mi ricordo facevano male, molto male questi geloni. Specialmente quando la mamma ci lavava, ci faceva il bucato come si dice nel mastello in casa, eeeh i geloni venivano fuori, col calore, un dolore immenso proprio. Poi c’era la paura del, dei bombardamenti delle sirene: ecco io una cosa che ancora ho in mente adesso quando sento una sirena, scatta dentro di me come una una un uno stato psicologico che mi richiama quei momenti là che dovevo scappare, è rimasto in me. Perché la sirena era sinonimo di bombardamento ‘Scappa, scappa!!’ perché arrischi la vita. E quindi questo qui è continuato per alcuni anni fino al ’45 e devo dire però, nel ’42 finita la seconda classe, mia mamma e mio papà decisero, visto che cominciavano a bombardare Milano, di spedirmi, di mandarmi a casa di mia zia a Crema, come sfollato. Quindi non non, vi immaginate anche lo stato di disagio trapiantato in un’altra località, nuovi nuovi bambini da conoscere, un modo di vivere che era differente dal mio purché simile, per carità, però molto differente. E così sono stato a Crema per, per un paio d’anni, però a Crema bombardavano, quindi la situazione era pressoché identica Milano Crema, non sapevi più dove andare, ecco. E mi ricordo che una volta mi hanno portato a casa, per vedere la mamma, mio zio, e nel ritorno, quando siamo ritornati a Crema, la difficoltà è che il treno arrivava fino a Cassano poi c’era il ponte sull’Adda, naturalmente bombardato, e quindi noi dovevamo traversare su una passerella larga poco più di di, circa un metro, sopra il fiume con un corrimano da un lato solo e dovevamo attraversare questo fiume di sera, al buio, e mi ricordo ancora il vortice delle acque che correvano sotto e m’ha creato uno stato di paura veramente notevole, però era l’unico mezzo per poter andare a prendere il treno dall’altra parte per poi proseguire per per Crema. Quindi anche quello lì uno stato di disagio. Dicevo prima, Crema veniva bombardata come Milano più o meno perché c’era il ponte sul fiume Serio e ogni due per tre erano lì gli aeroplani, e lì ho provato una sensazione durante il bombardamento. Dunque Crema non era attrezzata coi rifugi come Milano, a Milano quasi tutte le case avevano i rifugi sotterranei negli scantinati, Crema invece non c’era questa, non credevano che venissero a bombardare, erano meno preparati. E quindi si rimaneva in casa, si rimaneva in casa, rimanendo in casa lo spostamento d’aria, io mi aggrappavo a mia zia in un angolo della casa perché sentivi la casa che ‘Ooooooh cade cade cade!’ ci aggrappavo a mia zia perché avevo la sensazione che la casa, la casa cadesse, veramente una sensazione terribile. A crema poi invece ho subito un mitragliamento, e lì l’ho scampata proprio per poco: venivano i caccia, lì passavano le colonne tedesche che da Cremona andavano a Milano e una volta noi eravamo bambini, giocavamo per strada eeeeh è arrivato un paio di caccia, ma così all’improvviso senza neanche suonate le sirene, che se suona le sirene noi scappavamo. Arrivano sti caccia ‘Aaaaaaaaaa papapapam’ cominciarono a sparare, noi non sapevamo più dove andare, le pallottole ci battevano ai fianchi del del, sulla strada, e io un bel momento mi sono buttato dentro ad una porta che ho trovato e poi il caccia è passato, via andato con la sua bella scaricata di pallottole, e fortunamente [sic] non ha colpito nessuno ecco. Poi dopo, quando sparano le mitragliatrici, diciamo rifiutano i bossoli delle delle delle pallottole, noi bambini andavano a raccoglierli, andavamo a raccoglierli perché dopo li vendavamo, perché era ottone e quindi l’ottone aveva un significato anche saltar fuori la mancetta per per comperarci qualche caramellina, quando c’erano eh. Quindi l’esperienza di crema è stato un po’, un po’ pari a quella di Milano ecco, l’unica cosa che che che, la difficoltà scolastica perché da una scuola all’altra quindi ho avuto delle difficoltà. Poi, come dire, ecco una cosa che ho imparato, ho imparato il dialetto cremasco cose che invece qui parlavo in milanese ecco e quindi mi è servito anche quello. Quindi i miei genitori vedendo che bombardavano Crema e bombardavano a Milano allora tanto vale che tu ritorni a Milano. Ecco e allora mi han riportato, terminata la la quarta classe, mi riportano a Milano e mi iscrivono alla scuola qui di Precotto. Ironia della sorte, io dovevo andare, perché a Precotto non c’era più posto, alla scuola di Gorla dove c’è stato quell’eccidio di duecento morti. Fortuna, destino, mia mamma è andata a brontolare col col provveditore, il direttore, un certo Peroni (mi ricordo anche il nome) certo Peroni, è riuscita a farmi tornare a Precotto, perché noi venivamo dalla parte opposta della scuola, quindi era molto distante, andando a Gorla raddoppiavamo la strada, allora il il direttore là si è un po’ convinto e ci ha concesso di ritornare a Precotto eh ecco e quindi questo qui mi è andata anche bene. Ecco la vita a Precotto durante la guerra: era terribile, la paura era tanta, la paura era tanta, come dicevo prima le sirene poi a Milano suonavano alla gran più bella, però noi ormai bambini eravamo abituati a a questo genere di vita, perché nonostante tutto noi bambini giocavamo, perché c’era pericolo, c’era la fame, c’era il freddo però si giocava, con quello che c’era, coi giochini lì di poco conto che si potevano racimolare allora, e giocavamo. Poi eeeeh è venuto quel triste giorno del del bombardamento della scuola: ci siam recati a scuola eeeh va beh è venuto non so se devo raccontare il fatto ma penso che sia ormai risaputo, beh comunque mi han tirato fuori dalla scuola eeeh sano e salvo, tutto imbiancato, tutto impolverato. Ecco l’unica cosa che posso dire che è anche un qualche cosa che fa un po’ ridere, mia mamma era al lavoro a Sesto, io sul viale Monza che stavo andando a casa, non c’era in giro nessuno, ecco una cosa che mi ha messo anche paura, ero solo per strada, non c’era nessuno neanche un’anima proprio, tutti richiusi per per il timore del bombardamento, ed ecco che appare un un un signore in bicicletta, non so neanche chi fosse, io l’ho considerato un angelo custode dopo, che mi fa, io non so mi esprimo in dialetto ‘Uè tì nani in doe te vè?!’ cioè ‘Tu bambino dove vai? ‘Eh sun drè andà a ca’’ ‘ Cià ven chi che te careg in mi su la cana della bicicletta e te porti a cà’. Perché io ero a quasi, quasi un chilometro la mia casa da quella zona lì. E così mi ha portato a casa, arrivo a casa, mia mamma non c’era, mio papà neppure, tra l’altro non erano neanche al corrente che era bombardata la scuola. Arrivano, no arrivo io veramente, arrivo io e mio zio ‘Oh vin chi poverino vieni qua che ti met tuto sporco, bagnato’. Io avevo una sete terribile perché il bombardamento ti lascia la polvere in bocca e il sapore di zolfo. ‘Vieni qui che ti do un bicchierino di Fernet’ [laughs] io quella volta lì m’han dato da bere il Fernet, una porcheria solenne, non ho bevuto più il Fernet in vita mia. Ecco, dopo questa esperienza che grazie al cielo ne sono uscito, ecco i miei genitori mi rimandano a Crema [laughs] perché qui le scuole non c’erano più eh, tanto è vero tanti miei amici qui a scuola uno andava presso una mensa, quell’altro presso uno stabilimento, quell’altro presso l’oratorio della chiesa, cioè le varie classi le hanno smistate. Io invece mi hanno mandato a Crema e ho completato gli studi elementari lì a Crema, ecco. Questo qui è a grandi linee la la mia esperienza di guerra, però quello che mi ha segnato maggiormente è stata la lontananza dalla, dalla mia famiglia per un certo periodo, il freddo la paura, la paura, la paura anche del del Pippo che di notte veniva a sorvolare la città e tutti avevamo timore le finestre, chiudevamo tutto, spegnevamo la luce che temevamo che questo Pippo qui sganciasse qualche, qualche bomba ecco, quindi questo qui è a grandi linee eh, il dopoguerra. Il dopoguerra è stata, è stato bellissimo, cioè siamo rientrati, però mi sono rimasti i segni tanto è vero che quando suonavano le sirene degli stabilimenti, io abitavo vicino a Sesto e a Sesto c’erano tanti stabilimenti, io scattavo come una molla e e partivo per cercare rifugio però dopo sapevi che oramai è finito, però è rimasta dentro ancora quella quella quella sensazione lì di scappare, fuggire, fuggire la paura era terribile, il bombardamento è brutto eh, i bombardamenti son brutti. Quando andavamo in rifugio in braccio a mia mamma che bombardavano qui a Milano, tremavo come una foglia, era il mese di agosto eh ero lì che tremavo ‘Eh ma tu sta fermo Paolo sta fermo, sta qui tranquillo’ e io tremavo tremavo tremavo, probabilmente l’effetto della paura, col senno di dopo eh non lo so, e così, e comunque la guerra l’è l’è, è una brutta roba dai diciamo così. Poi nel dopoguerra invece non è che le cose andassero meglio eh, grazie al cielo mio ha trovato da lavoro, da lavorare come autista e quindi qualche cosettina si muoveva, però il freddo c’era, perché ancora il riscaldamento non non era avviato, non c’era ancora la legna per bruciare, il carbone cominciava ad arrivare pian pianino, quindi nel ’46 è stato un anno piuttosto pesante ancora che ha risentito dell’essere stato in guerra. Io a scuola mi hanno iscritto ad una scuola di avviamento al lavoro, a Sesto, e andavo a piedi eran quasi tre chilometri, tutti i giorni a piedi andata e ritorno, a piedi andavamo perché mezzi c’erano ma costavano, c’era il tram di Monza che portava là. E quindi andavamo a scuola ma più delle volte d’inverno ci lasciavano a casa perché non avevano la legna per riscaldare le le classi, per cui per noi era una, era una pacchia nel senso che i bambini basta dire di non andare a scuola e tutti contenti ecco. Se devo dire un particolare che del bombardamento eh, quando è suonato l’allarme che i maestri ci hanno indicato la via del rifugio in maniera anche veloce ‘Su su bambini muovetevi che che il pericolo è incombente’ ecco in quel momento lì è scoppiata, e mi ricordo bene, una gioia infinita tra noi ragazzi ma non perché suonasse l’allarme, era era in procinto un bombardamento, no no perché noi smettevamo di fare lezione e quindi eravamo felici beati e contenti, come tutti i bambini del resto eh, vivono la guerra ma anche sanno giocare ecco e questo qui, ho sempre giocato, ho sempre giocato ecco, studiato poco perché va beh, ero a casa sempre da solo nessuno mi mi spingeva a studiare per cui ecco io penso che che.
EP: Vorrei farle qualche domanda sul, su proprio quando è scoppiata la guerra: lei si ricorda che cosa si diceva, che, quali erano i discorsi un po’?
PB: Sì sì mi ricordo che c’era dell’euforia, eran tutti contenti, mi ricordo di questo, sì sì, mi ricordo, vedevo le persone anche i genitori, a scuola, parlavano dell’entrata in guerra dell’Italia, però lo dicevano con una forma ‘Tanto si vince, porteremo a casa la ricchezza, staremo meglio’ e quindi c’era una euforia, c’era euforia, c’era euforia. Fino al ’42 eh, poi ha cominciato a spegnersi e poi dopo è successo quello che sappiamo un po’ tutti immagino.
EP: Ehm riguardo invece appunto l’esperienza del bombardamento, lei si ricorda che cosa succedeva dentro il rifugio, quali erano un po’ le cose che si facevano?
PB: Ah sì sì guardi, siamo rimasti in rifugio, da quando è suonato l’allarme, è scattato l’allarme, saran passati due o tre minuti, perché la scuola di Precotto era su un piano terra no e quindi entrare in rifugio, a parte qualche fatto un po’ unico che non è riuscito ad arrivare in rifugio ed è morto, però noi bambini siamo riusciti a scendere abbastanza velocemente. E dicevo prima, in forma anche abbastanza gioiosa, cioè non pensavamo certamente che venivamo bombardati, eravamo contenti perché, dicevo, abbiamo smesso di far lezione e via era felicità no, e quindi eravamo gioiosi, quindi nel rifugio giocavamo, ah i soliti spintoni ‘Ti ohe, aaah bim bum’ le solite cose dei bambini. Poi a un certo punto, dopo pochi minuti eh, perché è successo quasi subito, si spegne la luce, oibò, si spegne la luce poi cominciano, un boato enorme, tremato tutto cominciato a cadere i calcinacci, polvere, odore di zolfo, bambini che piangevano, altri che che si lamentavano, uno era sporco tutto di sangue, e allora lì è cominciato a essere un po’ una faccenda più più seria ecco. Io come dico però, nonostante tutto, non ho perso la calma, sinceramente, dico la verità, ero abbastanza tranquillo, paura sì, ma tranquillo, e poi dopo pian piano dopo dieci minuti circa, la sapete immagino la storia di quel sacerdote che che, don Carlo Porro, il quale ha intuito che han bombardato la scuola, è corso subito, e assieme a tre o quattro volontari, ha aperto un pertugio perché ha capito che eravamo ancora sotto, ha aperto un pertugio e lì ha cominciato a sfilarci. Io sono stato il penultimo a uscire, ci mettevamo in coda, i maestri, devo dire i maestri abbastanza coraggiosi, devo dire, sì perché sono stati capaci di mantenere la calma e soprattutto di creare un po’ di ordine, quindi ci hanno incolonnati e si è creato una specie di scivolo con le macerie, siamo arrivati al soffitto del dello scantinato e lì c’era questo pertugio, ci prendevano le braccia e ci tiravano fuori come tanti salami no. E lì, poi dopo non succedeva nulla, io mi ricordo che il signore che che c’era lì vicino ‘Ecco ades te sè fora’ parlo in dialetto scusatemi eh ‘Te sè fora, va cur cur a ca’’. E io mi dicevo ‘Mah cur a ca’?! Cur a ca?! Ma dove vado?’ era tutto bombardato, non sapevo più dove fossi. Quindi vai di qui, vai di là, dove sono? Dove vado? Non c’era nessuno, ma in un bel momento mi sono ritrovato in una via che conoscevo, via Bressan, e di lì sono entrato su viale Monza e poi ho incontrato quel signore in bicicletta che mi ha portato a casa, però primo momento, sono rimasto veramente scioccato perché, mi hanno detto ‘Vai a casa, vai a casa corri vai a casa che c’è ancora pericolo’ [coughs] però vai a casa, era era difficile perché non si capiva più nulla, poi sul viale c’erano il tram, che era stato divelto dalla dalla, dai binari del tram, era lì mezzo su mezzo giù, un cavallo poveretto con uno zoccolo tagliato via, perdeva sangue, si lamentava, tutte scene di questi tipo, no? Terribili, però persone nessuna, ecco ripeto, una delle cose che mi ha colpito, la solitudine che mi son trovato quando mi han tirato fuori dal dal rifugio, ero proprio solo, c’era nessuno, no ‘E adesso cosa faccio io?’, dopo ho trovato quel signore lì che mi ha portato a casa ecco.
EP: Ehm tra, tra i bambini della classe, lì nei giorni, nei momenti successivi al bombardamento, ne avete riparlato, è stato un argomento anche?
PB: No. Come dico, io non ne ho riparlato coi miei amici perché m’han portato a Crema. Ecco a Crema, lì la direzione, i maestri, la propaganda fascista, diciamolo così, eeeh mi hanno accolto come, non dico come un eroe ma come uno che che, che che ha compiuto un atto bello, doveroso no, perché ‘Eh bombardato, eh qui, gli americani assassini!’, cioè la solita propaganda del regime, e quindi mi han fatto ergere a eroe, detto così in parole, e quindi non ho potuto parlare con, con i miei amici, dopo nel ’46 li ho rincontrati però oramai era finita la la, e quindi non ne ho parlato perché mi hanno portato via subito, per cui, e ho avuto quella esperienza qui del, di Crema.
EP: E appunto anche dopo la guerra c’è stata occasione di rincontrare le persone che avevano avuto quella esperienza?
PB: Sì ma non ne parlavamo, no, non ne parlavamo. Probabilmente c’era un silenzio, un silenzio anche timoroso di dover rievocare situazioni tristi, di paura, di di sofferenza, probabilmente questo, no non ne abbiamo mai parlato, no, no.
EP: E riguardo eeh la fine della guerra proprio, lei si ricorda i giorni finali, che, se se ne parlava, che cosa si diceva.
PB: Sì sì sì. Io mi ricordo, dunque ero a Crema, purtroppo, purtroppo, ero lì sfollato, mi ricordo che il 25 aprile una, un gruppo di partigiani, tra l’altro mi hanno colpito anche veramente, armati fino ai denti, con, sembravano dei dei banditi del del, messicani con le con le con le strisce di cartuccere, i mitra, i mitraglieri, e portavano delle donne, ex collaboratrici fasciste che le avevano rapate e pitturate di rosso la testa, ecco passavano per la via lì, così, ecco questo qui mi ha colpito, mi ha lasciato un po’ un po’ come dire, non mi è piaciuta la cosa ecco, non mi è piaciuta, proprio una brutta, un brutto ricordo di quella lì, che poi mi han detto poi che queste donne qui le portavano al campo sportivo e lì le hanno uccise tutte ammazzate, fucilate ecco. Quindi mi ricordo ero lì a Crema ho vissuto questo momento brutte del dopoguerra, della presenza di questi partigiani che erano accaniti, proprio veramente, forse perché sono un tipo tranquillo non non mi, non mi ha sfagiolato tanto ecco quella presa di posizione lì verso quelle donne, anche se colpevoli per carità, io non non voglio giudicare, però quel trattamento lì, così meschino no, non mi è piaciuto ecco dico la verità questo. Poi dopo nel periodo della fine della guerra c’è stata la la la come dire, la restituzione delle armi, mio zio aveva lì tre moschetti che aveva nascosto quando l’8 settembre molti militari hanno lasciato il reggimento per ritornare a casa, quando è stato l’armistizio dell’8 settembre, e mi zio aveva accolto tre militari, di Vigevano erano, eeh li han cambiati, gli han dato i vestiti da borghese e lui ha tenuto lì tre fucili e la la divisa, quindi sono andato con mio zio a restituire al comando partigiano, perché c’era l’obbligo di restituzione delle armi occultate durante la guerra, ecco, così mi ricordo questo. Qui a Milano non c’era quindi non non non ho presente, perché la situazione di Crema per per quanto fosse abbastanza indicativa però in dimensioni più ridotte, ecco sì, essendo una cittadina piccolina. Però ecco, un’altra cosa che mi ha colpito, eeeh i tedeschi che prima erano arroganti eh, perché io ho sempre avuto paura dei dei militari tedeschi, anche questa qui è una cosa che, quel modo di parlare loro che per noi era era incomprensibile, duro, forse magari a loro insaputa, però creavano in noi bambini uno stato di timore, di paura, e quando vedevamo i tedeschi, sempre armati di tutto punto eh, io parlo di Milano, vedevamo i tedeschi eeeh scappavamo perché avevamo paura, erano duri proprio, al contrario di quando sono arrivati gli americani, che gli abbiamo incontrati e ci davano qualche cioccolatino la ciuinga, cevingam [chewing gum] lì quello che è, quindi era un altri tipo di rapporto, ma ecco un’altra cosa ho avuto paura dei soldati tedeschi, poveretti come dico magari non non ne avevano intenzione di farci paura, però il loro modo di vestire, di essere armati, il loro modo di parlare così secco duro e ci ci condizionava ecco. E poi ho visto questi tedeschi sempre lì a Crema su una camionetta con questi partigiani qui che li insultavano, li picchiavano, li li, li li come dico si sfogavano un po’ verso questi tedeschi qui, giustamente, ingiustamente lasciamo domineddio a, a giudicare.
EP: Ehm riguardo a chi ha compiuto il bombardamento vero e proprio, che cosa pensava lei da bambino di questi bombardamenti
PB: Guardi a onor del vero noi non pensavamo, non sapevamo neanche chi fossero, certo eravamo come dire spinti dalla propaganda a pensare che chi veniva a bombardare erano degli assassini, ecco questo ce lo avevano inculcato bene eh, perché se voi morite, se voi soffrite, è per causa di quelli là, non di noi che vi abbiamo portato in guerra, ecco questo qui è, è quello che noi eeeh provavamo. Ecco però non sapevo, sapevamo che erano inglesi [emphasis]. Sì, e allora tante volte passavano le formazioni di aerei sopra Milano e andavano, che andavano in Germania a bombardare, noi eravamo lì a contarli ‘Uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque’ era bel tempo, il sole bello, e ci divertivamo a contare gli aerei che andavano, però quei giorni che sono venuti a bombardare eeeh la scuola di Precotto eravamo a scuola non abbiamo potuto contarli [laughs] li abbiamo contati dopo.
EP: Ehm successivamente, cioè una volta adulto, ripensando a quei fatti, che opinione le è rimasta?
PB: Beh l’opinione rimasta è che io odio la guerra, ecco qualsiasi forma di guerra proprio, non riesco a capire la necessità di fare una guerra proprio, io da piccolino ho capito che è stata una guerra inutile, proprio inutile! Quanti miei amici che sono morti ancora piccoli, quanti papà che son morti in guerra, al fronte, quanti, quante mamme nella sofferenza nella fame, quindi cosa ha lasciato? Cos’ha lasciato? Valeva la pena? Cioè è questo che mi pongo. Da adulto ho detto, ma vale la pena? Perché le guerre si differenziano, si differenzieranno dal modo in cui uno la fa ,però è sempre, la finalità è sempre quella, inutile inutile, crea solo dolore, morte, basta non crea niente la guerra non crea niente, non crea proprio niente, questo qui mi è rimasto molto impresso, tanto è vero che io son contrario eh son pacifista a oltranza.
EP: Va bene, io sono.
PB: A posto.
EP: A posto, la ringrazio moltissimo
PB: Ma di nulla.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Interview with Paolo Bottani
Subject
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World War (1939-1945)
Bombing, Aerial
Creator
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Erica Picco
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Lapsus. Laboratorio di analisi storica del mondo contemporaneo
Date
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2016-12-02
Contributor
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Francesca Campani
Format
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00:33:25 audio recording
Language
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ita
Identifier
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ABottaniP161202
Spatial Coverage
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Italy--Po River Valley
Italy--Milan
Italy
Temporal Coverage
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1944-10-20
1943-09-08
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
Description
An account of the resource
Paolo Bottani recalls wartime memories of a working-class family in Milan. Describes the widespread enthusiasm for the declaration of war, followed by a relatively calm period. Mentions alarms as greeted initially with joy because classes stopped and the care-free attitude of children who used to salvage shell casings for their scrap value. Recounts the first bombing he witnessed when in Crema and gives a detailed account of the Precotto primary school bombing, where he was trapped underground and brought to safety by the effort a rescue party. Describes the aftermath of the bombing on the surrounding areas and explains how the authorities presented him as evidence of the Allies’ brutality. Recalls his life as evacuee: fear, hunger, cold and painful frostbites; disrupted communication; destroyed bridges replaced by precarious footbridges, strafing. Recollects events at end of the war and describes head-shaved female collaborators paraded in shame. Mentions a life-long distress reaction to sirens and connects his strong pacifist stance to the experience of being bombed.
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
animal
bombing
bombing of Milan (20 October 1944)
childhood in wartime
civil defence
fear
home front
perception of bombing war
strafing
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https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/62/535/PGhirettiM1701.1.jpg
e09ad9731b1c11c3a75edb59ceb96139
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/62/535/AGhirettiM170507.1.mp3
258099db0923ba93cfc36cef3bc6bf69
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Title
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Ghiretti, Maurizio
M Ghiretti
Description
An account of the resource
One oral history interview with Maurizio Ghiretti (b. 1940) who recollects his wartime experiences in the Parma region.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Date
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2017-05-07
Identifier
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Ghiretti, M
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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L’intervista è condotta per L’Interantional Bomber Command Centre. L’intervistatrice è Sara Buda. L’intervistato è Maurizio Ghiretti. Nella stanza sono presenti Sara Troglio per l’IBCC, la moglie Adriana Ventriglia. L’intervista ha luogo in [omitted] a Milano. Oggi è il 7 maggio 2017, ore 11:35. Allora, buongiorno.
MG: Buongiorno.
SB: Ehm, vorrei partire da prima della guerra. Intanto, appunto, se mi dice la sua data di nascita e il luogo.
MG: 5, la mia data è il 5 aprile 1940. Non ricordo, i miei primi ricordi iniziano nel ’43 e l’unica cosa che, insomma, ricordo con una certa, anzi, la prima che ricordo, è la caduta del Fascismo. Per una, questo perché, perché in casa mia, anche se io ero piccolino, tutti gli avvenimenti, quelli successivi di cui ho un po’ di ricordi, venivano esplicitati, quindi non cercavano di tenermi ovattato al di fuori di quel che accadeva e ma soprattutto questo fatto, la caduta del Fascismo mi è rimasta in mente perché di fronte a casa mia c’era una casa con una grande scritta inneggiante al Duce e dopo il 25 luglio del ’43, il giorno dopo o due giorni dopo adesso non posso ricordare, di notte era stata imbrattata con feci umane ecco, tanto per dare un’idea e io mi ricordo la padrona della casa che con la scopa e il secchio stava cercando di pulire la facciata della sua casa, ecco. Quindi questo fatto è. Un altro episodio che ricordo è quello invece dell’8 di settembre perché in casa mia, dopo l’annuncio, io mi ricordo l’annuncio alla radio, noi non possedavamo la radio ma si andava ad ascoltare, ma per lo meno i grandi andavano ad ascoltare la radio in un bar vicino e l’appello del nuovo primo ministro, che era Badoglio, no? Il generale Badoglio il quale aveva detto che insomma la guerra continuava eccetera eccetera ma che avevano chiesto, l’Italia aveva chiesto un armistizio. E questa cosa qua me la ricordo anche perchè mio padre disse che, mentre tutti festeggiavano, la guerra è finita, la guerra è finita, mio padre invece era pessimista e disse che ‘e i tedeschi? Adesso dovremo vedere la reazione dei tedeschi’. Due o tre giorni dopo sono piombati i tedeschi. Ah proposito, i miei, io non vivevo a Milano, io allora vivevo in un paese a otto chilometri da Parma, Monticelli Terme, quindi i miei ricordi sono lì, in questo paese, ecco. Non, non ho ricordi cittadini, comunque ricordo, ricordo poi i mitragliamenti, i bombardamenti che però vedavamo da lontano soprattutto di notte.
SB: Io vorrei partire, vorrei fare un salto all’indietro.
MG: Sì.
SB: Vorrei capire intanto appunto cosa faceva la sua famiglia prima della guerra e come era composta la vostra famiglia.
MG: La mia famiglia era composta da padre, madre e una zia che viveva con noi perchè il marito in quel momento era in guerra, era militare. E il nonno, quindi eravamo
SB: Il nonno padre di?
MG: Il padre di mio padre e la zia era la sorella di mio fratello.
SB: Stavate appunto a Monticello...
MG: Sì, erano artigiani.
SB: Cosa facevano appunto...
MG: Parrucchieri.
SB: Parrucchieri.
MG: Sì, la mamma, il papà. La zia non faceva nulla, no, la zia non faceva nulla e neanche il nonno, il nonno ormai, comunque, non so. In gioventù aveva fatto il fuochista, non so, in una fabbrica, quindi non.
SB: [laughs] Ok, quindi a un certo punto cambia qualcosa. Quando, qual’è il suo primo ricordo riguardo a un cambiamento radicale della situazione attorno a lei? Quando cambiano le cose?
MG: Eh, il, le cose cambiano in quel periodo appunto, dalla caduta, dal luglio del ’43 e poi con l’8 di settembre. Perché immediatamente dopo le cose si fanno piuttosto complicate. Intanto vabbè lì nel paese arrivano i tedeschi perché lì c’erano degli alberghi e quindi gli alberghi sono occupati dai tedeschi e quindi abbiamo proprio i tedeschi in casa. Le cose cambiano perché ci sono i rastrellamenti notturni e quindi gli uomini, mio padre ed altri, sempre e comunque quasi sempre avvertiti, io non so da chi ma probabilmente dagli stessi tedeschi, non dai [emphasises] tedeschi ma probabilmente da un [emphasises] tedesco, perché la cosa strana è che, tutte le volte che di notte c’erano dei rastrellamenti per prendere gli uomini e mandarli in Germania a lavorare, guarda caso, tutti gli uomini che conoscevo io compreso mio padre in casa non c’erano e si nascondevano. Dietro la nostra casa c’era una cosa strana, noi avevamo anche un orto, avevamo un, non so, non so neanche come dire, vabbè insomma un edificio che si raggiungeva solo con una scala a pioli e se uno tirava su la scala a pioli lì non si vedeva nulla e questi uomini se ne stavano lì nascosti, tutti quelli del vicinato no, se ne stavano lì nascosti quindi non hanno mai portato via nessuno. Poi c’era il problema, il problema del cibo, c’era il problema del riscaldamento, perché allora c’erano le stufe. Io mi ricordo che d’inverno, questo per sentito dire in famiglia, mio padre con sua sorella, con i cugini di notte sono andati a rubare una pianta intera in un campo vicino e siccome nella notte aveva nevicato, quando loro hanno trascinato la pianta nel cortile era rimasta tutta la scia e ma di notte loro hanno, dunque hanno, hanno tagliato la pianta, l’hanno portata nel cortile, hanno tagliato tutti i rami, hanno messo via tutta la roba, al mattino poi non so verso le dieci tanto sto inventando, arriva la padrona del fondo dove, dove avevano rubato e lei non era, non era Sherlock Holmes ma aveva visto la scia [laughs], perché era proprio, noi avevamo il, un, come si chiama, ho detto il cortile, ma anche che il,
SB: Orto.
MG: non un giardino
SB: Orto.
MG: l’orto che confinava proprio con questa,
SB: [unclear]
MG: il possedimento della signora, quindi insomma, nella neve si vedeva benissimo cos’era successo ecco. E poi vabbe’ il cercare anche il cibo, devo dire che comunque in casa mia non c’erano grandi problemi perché i miei zii erano proprietari terrieri quindi insomma le cose, tanto per dirne una, io non, ho sempre mangiato pane bianco e anzi siccome i bambini trovano che in casa d’altri si mangi meglio, io contrabbandavo il pane bianco con la casa di un vicino il quale mi dava pane con la crusca e per me era più buono il pane con la crusca. Queste sono sciocchezze di bambini. Eh!
SB: E quindi andando avanti.
MG: E andando avanti, poi, vabbe’ allora sempre la storia qua dei tedeschi in casa, e poi, a partire dal ’44 i bombardamenti e i mitragliamenti degli alleati che lì, allora c’erano questi alberghi con le truppe tedesche, e poi c’era qualche fabbrica di conserve di pomodoro, con le vecchie fabbriche con il camino ecco. Allora io sono stato varie volte testimone dei mitragliamenti. Suonava l’allarme perché quasi sempre quando si sentivano e arrivavano degli aerei insomma suonava l’allarme e mi ricordo una volta, ero in campagna con uno dei miei zii e c’era un solo, un solo aereo, era un aereo da ricognizione mi pare, però di solito sparavano, sparavano non so bene se sparavano alle mucche, agli animali ma, o se sparavano anche alla gente. Fatto sta che comunque quella volta eravamo in campagna ha suonato l’allarme e non so per quale ragione mio zio mi ha detto no, non è l’allarme, è l’asino di un vicino, di un altro coltivatore lì vicino, invece era proprio un piccolo aereo e ci ha anche sparato. Vabbè, ci siamo tuffati in un fosso e buonanotte, non è successo nulla. E poi invece, altre volte mi sono trovato nella piazza del paese proprio mentre mitragliavano gli alberghi e lì io sono proprio scappato, però anche lì non ci sono stati né morti né feriti. Altre volte, invece, vedavamo, per esempio c’era una fabbrica che era a un chilometro e così di giorno hanno tirato varie bombe, c’è stato qualche morto, tutte cose che naturalmente io ho sentito ma nel frattempo, tutte le volte che quando io ero a casa, tutte le volte che c’era, c’era così, suonava l’allarme eccetera, o mio padre o mia zia mi prendevano e mi portavano, sempre attraverso il famoso orto, giù, e ci rifugiavamo in una, aspetta, c’era un canale con tante fronde, no, e lì pensavamo di essere al sicuro, insomma, tranquilli. Però, così, mi ricordo che il senso del, paura, non so, paura, mia zia era terrorizzata, mio padre pure, mia madre non gliene fregava niente, lei non si è mai mossa da casa, mai [emphasises] mossa da casa. Era, non so per quale ragione, ma aveva detto che a lei proprio non le interessava, se doveva morire [laughs] preferiva morire in casa propria. Poi un’altra, altri ricordi sono i bombardamenti invece di notte, che avvenivano per bombardare i ponti. Avevamo un ponte su un fiume poco distante, il fiume Enza, che in linea d’aria sarà stato a due chilometri, tre chilometri, adesso, più o meno, magari anche quattro, dai. Poi i bombardamenti a Parma e i bombardamenti probabilmente sul Po. Il Po però era molto distante, non so, sessanta chilometri almeno, ma di notte io mi ricordo che sempre scappavamo da casa in mezzo alla campagna, via, e, dopo aver sentito le sirene e poi la cosa impressionante, quella mi è rimasta in mente, era la luce dei bengala, perché i ponti venivano illuminati a giorno, no. Beh, il ponte non lo vedevo ma vedevo il bagliore, no, lontano, e anche quando bombardavano i ponti sul Po, la stessa cosa, o altri ponti su altri torrenti, che ne so io, fiumi della zona, e se lo facevano di notte, si vedeva, si vedeva questo bagliore, perché veramente buttavano giù un sacco di bengala, da lontano si vedeva. E poi io mi ricordo anche che qualche notte i miei dicevano che stavano bombardando Milano, però a centotrenta chilometri di distanza, non lo so, era estate però, sempre per via dei bagliori, poteva, loro dicevano Milano ma chi lo diceva che era Milano poteva essere,che ne so io, Piacenza, o poteva essere Brescia o un’altra città, adesso, o Cremona, non lo so insomma ecco. Però questo, questa attività dei bombardieri insomma io me la ricordo piuttosto bene.
SB: Ok. Ehm dunque, mi ha colpito le cose che diceva riguardo alle sirene. Nel senso che, io mi sono sempre immaginata che le sirene avessero un suono univoco ovunque, mentre invece lei ha detto che in alcuni casi c’erano delle sirene che potevano essere assimilate al suono.
MG: Ma potrebbe essere.
SB: ad un suono.
MG: Sì, ma io ci penso adesso. Può anche darsi che mio zio non volesse impressionarmi.
SB: Lei ha ricordi di questi rumori.
MG: Perché Oddio suona la sirena, ah è l’asino di, adesso io non mi ricordo più, il nome della persona che aveva veramente. Be’ adesso io non so se assimilare. La sirena era una roba non so, non saprei spiegare, non ha nulla a che vedere con le sirene, con le sirene che sentiamo adesso negli appartamenti o nelle macchine, quando rubano le macchine eccetera. Aveva, gracidava. Suono un po’, un po’ strano.
SB: A me interessa molto perché è, nel senso, persone della mia generazione non hanno mai sentito una sirena, gli aerei [unclear]
MG: [unclear] credo che andava a manovella eh, mi pare. Non era una cosa elettrica, a manovella, c’era una persona, appena sentivano. C’è da tenere presente che lì nell’Emilia Romagna, dove abitavamo noi, eh beh, la maggior parte degli aerei che venivano a bombardare verso il Nord, soprattutto in direzione Milano, passavano di lì. Magari quelli che andavano, non so, verso il Veneto no, perché erano più lontani ma gli altri nella zona nord-occidentale passavano tutti di lì, e quindi. E tutte le volte naturalmente che si sentiva, facevano andare ‘sta, questa sirena ed eravamo, [unclear] io se penso ai grandi, quando passavano che, non rimanevano in zona ma tiravano diritto e dicevano ah quei poveri disgraziati a cui tocca oggi, però insomma finiva lì. Era, era una cosa quasi normale. E la fuga con la zia, perché poi alla fine poi era sempre la zia che mi portava via, io mi ricordo che quando finalmente sono arrivati i liberatori il 25, il 26, io non mi ricordo, è che io, perché allora gli ultimi tempi la zia tutti i giorni fuggiva e non c’era niente da fare. Andavamo là in questo posto, sotto le frasche, e quando si sparse la voce che gli americani, non, sì, gli alleati, perché poi lì sono arrivati, mi pare che fossero i brasiliani, che erano arrivati i liberatori, allora io dissi alla zia; ‘beh ma qua non torniamo più’, eh no, non torniamo più, [unclear] non torniamo più, e a noi dispiaceva un po’ perché giocavamo noi, noi bambini, lì, era un modo come un altro per passare, per passare la giornata insomma.
SB: Quindi, c’erano dei momenti comuni con degli altri bambini
MG: Sì.
SB: che avevano luogo nello stesso luogo in cui voi vi rifugiavate.
MG: Sì, quelli che scappavano andavano tutti lì, nel, dove c’era questo canaletto, con queste fronde, no, gaggìe, si chiamano, no, gaggìe.
SB: E quindi vi ritrovavate lì, tutti i bambini del paese.
MG: Non tutti perché dipende, ognuno aveva la sua, la sua zona, ma quelli dove abitavo io era la più vicina, eh sì, diciamo, per lo più erano donne, donne che chiacchieravano. Naturalmente i loro discorsi sull’arrivo degli alleati era ‘ci, non arrivano mai, ci mettono troppo tempo’ e quando mitragliavano, bombardavano, erano maledizioni, perché insomma. Si capiva che loro dovevano anche bombardare, ma quando bombardavano, per esempio quando era giunta la notizia che a Parma avevano bombardato, quella volta di giorno, e in un rifugio dove si erano rifugiati gli abitanti di un gruppo di case, mi pare che ci sia stato più di sessanta morti perché la bomba ha colpito proprio l’ingresso del rifugio, e è scoppiata dentro al rifugio. Quindi, insomma, liberatori sì ma nello stesso tempo soprattutto, poi quando era giunta la notizia che la maggior parte degli edifici più belli della città erano stati bombardati, edifici che non avevano nessun, eh, non erano un obiettivo militare eccetera, la stazione più o meno, [laughs] è rimasta quasi, quasi illesa ecco insomma non è che ricordi proprio bene ma voglio dire insomma. Ecco allora quando c’erano queste cose c’era un po’ di, e poi non si poteva. Altri discorsi contro invece gli occupanti non sempre gente ne parlava perché c’erano anche i sostenitori degli occupanti, dei tedeschi, quindi insomma bisognava stare anche attenti, all’erta.
SB: E quindi, tornando a questi momenti, mi interessa molto il fatto che il momento del salvataggio, cioè nel senso della corsa al nascondiglio fosse anche un momento ludico, se ho capito bene.
MG: Sì, sì, per noi bambini sì. Sì, sicuramente.
SB: E c’era in quello che facevate qualcosa di connesso all’esperienza che stavate vivendo?
MG: Non ricordo.
SB: Canzoni, o
MG: No no no no, anzi no, guai, quando passavano gli aerei guai se parlavamo perché dicevano che ci sentivano, [laughs] le donne, le persone grandi ci dicevano che ci sentivano, ‘zitti, zitti’, cose di questo genere insomma. Ricordo, ecco, oh un altro episodio. Durante il tentativo di bombardare la fabbrica e di colpire quel famoso camino lunghissimo camino, io ero con mio padre e quando hanno incominciato a sganciare le prime bombe, dunque era a un chilometro di distanza, mio padre pensò bene, eravamo in aperta campagna ma c’era un tombino, c’era una canaletta per l’irrigazione con un tombino e mio padre mi prende e si cala dentro il tombino. In quel momento lì passa un prigioniero di guerra, non so di che nazionalità era, era alleato, non era americano, doveva essere stato o inglese, o, o, sì probabilmente era inglese oppure australiano, il quale in un stentato come militare dice a mio padre, in uno stentato italiano, ‘guardi, che se tirano una bomba qua vicino a terra, molto meglio star [laughs] nel, su un piano insomma e non dentro a un tombino ecco perché è pericoloso’. Questa cosa e’ un altro dei fatti che proprio mi è rimasto indelebile. E allora fuori subito. Perché c’erano dei prigionieri alleati che vivevano, erano stati mandati ad aiutare i contadini a lavorare nei campi anziché starsene tutto il giorno dentro le baracche perché a trecento, sì, no a un chilometro e mezzo c’erano delle baracche, dove c’erano questi militari e allora alcuni di loro preferivano invece andare a lavorare, anche perché in questo modo mangiavano meglio. Un’altra cosa che ricordo sono sempre questi prigionieri, questi qua invece so che erano inglesi, invece che avevano accettato di fare la prima, non mi viene la parola, adesso ci siamo, lo scolo delle acque come si chiama?
SB: Fogna.
MG: La fogna. La prima fognatura io me li ricordo che, un pezzo insomma è stato fatto da questi, da questi soldati inglesi che erano prigionieri. Ricordo, questo invece me l’ha raccontato mia madre, che una vicina è uscita con una mica di pane, era proprio, in campagna facevano del pane grosso così no, e l’ha dato a questi militari e qualcun’altro, qualche altra donna l’ha redarguita: ‘come, dai il pane ai nemici?’ eccetera eccetera e lei ha risposto che, siccome aveva un figlio militare e che non sapeva che fine avesse fatto, sperava che trovasse, suo figlio trovasse qualcuno insomma di buon cuore e quindi lei si è sentita [unclear]. Questo fatto mi ha raccontato mia madre che mi è rimasto, mi è rimasto in mente. [pause] Altro fatto è l’arrivo appunto degli alleati che provenivano dal reggiano e lungo, avevano preso la strada verso Parma e la gente era accorsa con, e agitavano, molti agitavano delle fronde di biancospino come saluto. Sembrava quasi il Gesù della Domenica delle Palme [laughs], fatto che mi è rimasto impresso, quello lo proprio, l’ho visto io insomma, ecco, non mi è stato raccontato. E c’era un’euforia, un’esaltazione, naturalmente. Poi ricordo la fuga, la fuga sì in un certo senso, l’abbandono degli alberghi da parte dei tedeschi. Nel frattempo prima dell’arrivo degli alleati erano arrivati alcuni partigiani. I partigiani avevano cominciato a scendere, a scendere dalle montagne, e niente l’ultima, così, l’ultimo tedesco mi ricordo, questo mi ricordo benissimo perché questa volta invece eravamo andati in cantina, non eravamo scappati fuori, ma eravamo giù in cantina perché si sapeva che le cose stavano precipitando e a un certo, un gran silenzio e a un certo momento si sente uno sparo. Era un partigiano che aveva sparato e allora un tedesco motociclista è ritornato indietro, strombazzando con la sua moto, facendo vedere che non aveva assolutamente paura, ha fatto il giro della piazza del paese e poi se ne andato. Questo poi mi ha raccontato mio padre, io poi ho sentito il rumore della moto ma naturalmente è mio padre che me l’ha detto, guardava fuori dalla cantina dal finestrino che era il tedesco in motocicletta, con grande sollievo perché la paura era che bruciassero, facessero, come hanno fatto in altri posti, uccidessero, che invece qui per fortuna. Ecco un’altra cosa invece che ricordo, però naturalmente io non, per sentito dire, è la fucilazione di quattro partigiani condannati a morte da un tribunale della Repubblica Sociale a Parma e li hanno fucilati nel cimitero di Monticelli. Basta, altre cose non, non le ricordo.
SB: E quindi ad un certo punto si è tornati a una sorta di normalità, oppure no?
MG: Sì, una normalità in cui però erano forti, forte le contrapposizioni tra i comunisti e i, insomma tra le forze, quelle che poi diventeranno forze democristiane e i vecchi fascisti da un lato, e le forze social-comuniste dall’altro immediatamente. Mi ricordo la grande euforia per il referendum e soprattutto la grande euforia per la vittoria della Repubblica contro la monarchia. Ah poi ecco, sempre invece durante, nel ’43, ecco nel ’43, forse io ho detto che sono arrivati i tedeschi ma li non, negli alberghi subito dopo l’8 di settembre ma questo è un errore perché, tra, negli gli alberghi tra il gennaio e il, mi pare il marzo, insomma i primi mesi del ’44. Faccio, ritorno indietro un attimo. I tedeschi sono, certo che hanno preso il potere ma lì in quel paese i tedeschi si sono installati qualche mese dopo l’8 di settembre e prima dei tedeschi nel, in uno degli alberghi avevano deportato donne e bambini ebrei, in attesa di essere trasferiti a Fossoli. E io mi ricordo, mi ricordo benissimo, anche perché mi ricordo, vabbe’ a parte il fatto che a casa se ne parlava e poi nel, ero nel negozio della mamma e è venuta una signora ebrea per farsi lavare i capelli perché permettevano a uscire, a parte il fatto che questa signora aveva dei bambini quindi. Io non so se questa signora o era la moglie del rabbino di Parma o era la cognata ecco, comunque appartenevano a, be’ adesso le famiglie non mi ricordo più il cognome come si chiamavano. Io mi ricordo benissimo perché così con questa signora e lei mi aveva detto che c’aveva dei bambini, però quando lei mi ha detto che i suoi bambini erano più grandi di me, insomma la cosa non mi ha interessato più di tanto perché insomma ecco. Questo, questo è un altro dei fatti che io ricordo. Mi ricordo che quando li hanno portati via nel marzo del ’44, per portarli a Fossoli ma lì non si sapeva dove, e allora la gente si, questo mi ricordo proprio nel, si chiedeva che fine avrebbero fatto e mi ricordo che qualcuno ha detto: ‘eh, sì, figurati, li porteranno in Germania, chissà mai cosa gli faranno’, ecco. E basta, poi. Poi dopo sono arrivati i tedeschi, negli stessi edifici.
SB: E senta, quindi in questo periodo in cui ci sono stati questi ebrei in questo, questo edificio. Intanto loro avevano l'obbligo di residenza lì?
MG: No, erano, sono italiani.
SB: Erano sorvegliati.
MG: sorvegliati.
SB: [unclear]
MG: Sorvegliati, però sorvegliati non da tedeschi ma da italiani.
SB: Da italiani. Ed è capitato che ci fosse, suonasse l’allarme durante il periodo in cui loro erano li’? Non se lo ricorda, se qualcuno nel paese
MG: Ma credo che
SB: Si chiedeva cosa facessero questi ebrei, se potessero uscire dal palazzo, se potessero andare a nascondersi da qualche parte oppure no?
MG: No, questo non lo so.
SB: Non se lo ricorda.
MG: No. Ma non mi pare che, perché quel che, l’idea che ho io e che lì i mitragliamenti e i bombardamenti, nei dintorni insomma, a cominciare da Parma, siano avvenuti qualche mese dopo. Cioè proprio primavera-estate del ’44.
SB: Ho capito. E senta, ultima domanda. Qualcuno ha mai, si è fermato mai a ragionare su queste persone che mitragliavano, che bombardavano, qualcuno ha mai, si è mai lasciato sfuggire un commento in famiglia oppure, sia durante che dopo? Cioè come si parlava di queste persone che bombardavano, che mitragliavano?
MG: Si riteneva, si riteneva che fosse necessario. Era lo scotto che noi dovevamo pagare per esser liberati. Poi vabbe’, quando, noi in molti casi naturalmente l’abbiamo saputo dopo. Molti dei bombardamenti tendevano a terrorizzare più che colpire obiettivi militari, su questo non c’è dubbio, perché quando hanno bombardato Piazza della Scala e il duomo eccetera qui a Milano, e così in tantissime altre città, era proprio cioè il tentativo di demoralizzare la popolazione, ma sicuramente cioè quella popolazione non c’era bisogno di bombardarla, era sicuramente demoralizzata, all’infuori dei fascisti che erano legati alla Repubblica di Salò insomma. Io però non mi ricordo, sì che in casa, in casa appunto l’idea che così, l’impressione che mi è rimasta, è proprio quella del, è lo scotto che dobbiam pagare perché i nemici vengano, i nemici che abbiamo in casa vengano cacciati insomma, per esser liberati, ecco. Quindi, chiaro che chi ha avuto la casa, io non episodi di questo ma, in città chi ha avuto la casa bombardata o chi ha avuto dei congiunti che sono rimasti sotto le bombe, sicuramente hanno avuto un atteggiamento diverso insomma.
SB: Senta quindi da quello che mi dice, lei comunque ha approfondito l’argomento dopo la fine della guerra. Ha avuto un percorso professionale o,
MG: Sì.
SB: Si è trovato appunto a studiare, a riprendere queste esperienze che ha vissuto da un punto di vista storico, da un punto di vista di approfondimento.
MG: Le mie personali?
SB: Sì, nel senso lei ha delle conoscenze che appunto non potevano scaturire dalla sua esperienza ma che
MG: Sì, sicuramente.
SB: Sono venute dopo. Ha approfondito queste tematiche.
MG: Sì, sì. Soprattutto non so, l’attività partigiana, perché molte cose per sentito dire, non in casa. Ripeto in casa mia, io non, casa mia tutte le cose che accadevano, vita, morte e miracoli, non hanno, non mi hanno mai nascosto nulla. Qualsiasi cosa accadeva, ne parlavano in modo naturale, non c’era ‘ah è piccolo, non dobbiamo spaventarlo’, no no, tutte le cose venivano dette, commentate, naturalmente sempre con molta attenzione. Poi ripeto sia durante l’occupazione che dopo l’occupazione, anche per ragioni politiche su certe cose insomma così era meglio. Perché probabilmente in città la cosa era diversa dove, ma lì nei piccoli centri dove tutti si conoscevano quindi bisognava muoversi, io sto parlando dei grandi naturalmente.
SB: Certo.
MG: Ma anche noi bambini comunque eravamo schierati, eh, io mi ricordo. I comunisti e gli altri. Mi ricordo benissimo. Io ero tra gli altri [laughs]. Non appartenevo a una famiglia comunista, anche se il nonno, sì, era stato comunista e aveva preso l’olio di ricino ma insomma ormai a quell’età lì non se ne occupava più ma gli altri membri della famiglia non erano comunisti.
SB: Va bene, allora io la ringrazio, se non ha null’altro da aggiungere.
MG: È stato un piacere.
SB: E interrompo.
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 Maurizio Ghiretti
Subject
The topic of the resource
World War (1939-1945)
Bombing, Aerial
Description
An account of the resource
Maurizio Ghiretti describes his early life at Monticelli Terme, a small town near Parma. He remembers various episodes of wartime hardships: food shortages, a tree taken down at night for firewood, men hiding in concealed rooms to avoid roundups, and how his father and other men escaped capture because they were forewarned by a German soldier. Describes how they ran for shelter in a nearby ditch covered by bushes, and how they passed the time there. Explains the perception of bombings among civilians, stressing how they were generally seen as the price to pay for being liberated. Mentions the effects of different operations on various cities in the Po river valley and describes bright target indicators descending on nearby bridges. Recounts hearing a siren which, in his uncle’s words, sounded like a donkey braying. Recounts of Jewish women and children being guarded in a hotel before being sent to the Fossoli concentration camp. Remembers various anecdotes of Allied prisoners of war, some working as farmhands, others building the first sewage system. Stresses how his parents never kept him in the dark about the war situation and he was always abreast of what was going on, to the point that even the children took political sides. Describes the fall of the fascist regime mentioning propaganda murals being desecrated with faeces. Recounts the end of the war when cheering crowds welcomed the Allies by waving hawthorn brushes at them, which reminded him of Palm Sunday. Mentions briefly the post-war political situation.
Creator
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Sara Buda
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Lapsus. Laboratorio di analisi storica del mondo contemporaneo
Date
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2017-05-07
Contributor
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Peter Schulze
Format
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00:38:57 audio recording
Language
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ita
Spatial Coverage
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Italy--Po River Valley
Italy--Parma
Italy
Temporal Coverage
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1945-04-25
1943-07
1943-09-08
Identifier
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AGhirettiM170507
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
Coverage
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Civilian
bombing
childhood in wartime
civil defence
Holocaust
home front
perception of bombing war
Resistance
round-up
strafing
target indicator
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/20/89/Memoro 15131.2.mp3
06d0d0560505520a5591244376cbaf4f
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
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MB: La guerra lì abbiamo patito, non proprio cinghia cinghia ma tanta, abbastanza fame, si mangiava polenta. Al mattino si andava a scuola, c’era una volta quelle stufe con la piastra sopra di legno, si faceva abbrustolire una fetta di polenta, per colazione, e [cries] due fichi.
[part missing in the original file]
MB: Si andava a scuola e c’erano i caccia, la stazione del paese che c’era, che passavano da Vicenza andavano nel Brennero i treni, proprio.
Other: Una linea importante.
MB: Importante molto, e quando c’era qualche treno fermo, allora c’erano i caccia che arrivavano e mitragliavano. E noi quando c’era i caccia ci dovevano, dove eravamo fermi perché quelli che vedevano mitragliavano eh.
Other: La scuola era molto vicina alla stazione?
MB: In paese proprio, due chilometri, ed era mica tanto distante.
Other: Due chilometri. Dov’è che vi mettevate al riparo, dove?
MB: Perché io mi ricordo come ho detto prima, un giorno si ritornava a casa da scuola e si costeggiava questo fosso di acqua, e per non, che mi vedessero siamo andati.
Other: dentro il fosso stesso, a bagno?
MB: Si, si.
Other: E che bambini, eravate bambini?
MB: Avevamo dieci anni.
Other: Dieci anni.
[part missing in the original file]
MB: Però dopo finito le mitragliatrici che facevano gli aerei noi si andava nei campi a raccogliere i bossoli di ottone da 20 centimetri e poi si vendevano.
Other: Si vendevano.
MB: Si vendevano.
Other: Si vendevano.
MB: E no era soldi che si teneva noi eh.
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 Matteo Basso
Description
An account of the resource
Matteo Basso (b. 1934) recalls his diet during the war: at school for breakfast, he used to eat a slice of polenta and two figs. He also talks about his experience in being caught out in the open when a formation of aircraft dropped bombs close to the school, and how he had to take shelter in a ditch. Matteo also remembers how, after the attack, he went to a field to pick up copper shell cases to sell.
Format
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00:02:26 audio recording
Identifier
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Memoro#15131
Language
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ita
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Spatial Coverage
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Italy
Contributor
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Francesca Campani
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Memoro. La banca della memoria
Type
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Sound
License
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Royalty-free permission to publish
bombing
childhood in wartime
home front
strafing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/532/8767/AStuartM150509.2.mp3
1263c6038661d544975b918330f7d561
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
Stuart, Mary
M Stuart
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Stuart, M
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Mary Stuart. She was born in Malta and witnessed the bombing of the island.
The collection has been licenced to the IBCC Digital Archive by Mary Stuart and 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
MS: My name is Mary Stuart, nee Atkins, and I've got this pleasure today to say a little bit of my story. Thanks to [pause] recording for me, this is from the International Bomber Command Centre. What's the date?
Mick Jeffery: The date is the ninth.
MS: Ninth of, er
MJ: Hang on [inaudible] . Now.
MS: I am at the moment living in Grimsby, Grimsby Town. [background noise]. As a little girl in Malta, I remember it very, very, as if I'm thinking of it today, I've got such lovely memories. Little girls think the war was like a party sometimes, so when the air raid used to start, as a little girl, I used to run on the roof, and I lived next door to the church in Luqa, Luqa village, where obviously all the planes land, and it's very, very interesting. So the air shelter was just outside our doorway, and the bells used to go like mad from the church, [chuckles] as we're living next door to it, and of course I used to run to the top of the roof, lay down, and every, every Spitfire going over my head, I could nearly touch 'em, one after the other, and it was such a pleasure, I used to love it, and to me it was just a holiday really. And it was at times that I went down after the air raids, and I was covered in oil, some kind of spray off maybe one of the planes, a Spitfire, that maybe showered a little bit of oil over me, but that was a pleasure, and there's such a lot of little stories I could tell. My sister also lived in across the harbour, and that was Rickarsley, it was an army barracks. [background noise] and well she, she was married and she was living in quarters there, and their shelters in Rickarsley was also-, at the top of the shelter was the searchlights, so of course me being so into planes and everything, I just wanted to see the planes with the searchlight, I used to sneak up and have a look. But going across to my sister was a little dicer, they're called a dicer, a little tiny boat, and as we got in the middle of the harbour we could see this big German bomber coming in, and of course, as you maybe heard before, that they couldn't fire it, at it, because they used to come low over the harbour, and by doing so they would have been damaging our, their own place. And all I could hear was such a ‘flop, flop, flop’ all the bullets going around this little boat [chuckles] and I can't, I can't imagine how we got away with it. There was hundreds of bullets, all you could hear was ‘flop, flop, flop’, you know, and the water coming up. We was soaking wet. Anyway we made it through, we got to Rickarsley. And was on the way, you had to go back home, getting dark and everything, we was terrified in case there was another German bomber, but as there was a lot of planes coming in, back in from where they'd been, and we used to be terrified to get over and done with and get over the other side. So, that's one, isn't it? [background noise]. Now then, back home to Luqa, I'm just looking at the picture now, actually, where I said we lived, near the church. All the back of the church was a long street, it was a garden, and it was all our garden. My mother was lucky because she had about forty orange trees alone, and potatoes galore, because as she took one out she put another one in, so we was alright, and on one occasion there used to be some soldiers walking round and sat on doorsteps, and me mum was making chips and calling me to go and give them some chips, in a, you know, and they was so shocked when I gave them a paper full of chips, and then she said [inaudible] how many more is there, and she was frying these chips all the time [chuckles], and then there was me running in and out, in and out with chips, bag of chips down this little street where we lived, so that was another one. But on one occasion in Luqa, this is another story which terrified me as well, but I'm so happy doing this because it's taking me back, looking at my planes again, which I love, and it was one occasion I followed my brother, he went to a lady called Mananee and she used to make these cheesecakes, and dried tomatoes outside on a hut, and of course my brother used to go and she used to give us some, and half way getting there, there was a little bird watching place where they was watching birds, and this big German bomber came down, and I remember the name of the fellow that called us in quickly to get in that hut and his name was Patacco, from Luqa, and he took us in and he said 'what you doing here, your father will go mental?', you see, so he took us in and by then the bomber came right over us, bullets hitting this little hut, which was made of stone, and luckily we got away with it. But then, he told us to get home, and when we got home that bomber has bombed in front of our house, which was a club, and the house was upstairs, they used to have a gun, they had some gunnery going on there, and of course it got bombed, and killing a family of nine, one of them that used to be on our house all the time, Giovanna, twelve years old, was one of nine children, and even a little baby. The father died with them as well, and he was to be, he was a policeman with my dad in the police there, at that square, as well, and of course it was very, very hurtful, and it was devastating, losing friends like that, but oh, when we got from that er, as we got in the square from what had just happened to us [background microphone noise] which wasn't far [inaudible] it was, I could see the gunnery, a soldier, jumped off the roof, left the gun and what he was shooting, he just jumped off, I could just see him falling over, and down into the square, and this was behind the Maltese club there, you know, St Andrew's Club called, and it was dead opposite the church, that was. The bomb had gone down, and it, it hit a well, and the shelter got full of water, and they’ve all drowned, the whole nine of them in the family, they was all drowned, even the baby. That was terrible. That's another story. But you do m-, I was only young myself, but she was twelve years old, that one, she was a friend of my sister, of course I'm youngest of nine of us, and it's, it's very, very, you know, confusing, but, back to my house again, I still used to go on the roof many times, but my dad found out, 'Where is she, where is she?' and should have been down the shelter and couldn't find me, and he got to know that I was laying on the roof waiting for the Spitfires coming in [chuckles], and anyway, he, he nailed the door, to the roof, he nailed it so hard I couldn't get out on to the roof any more [laughs] so, anyway, the, our roof, when the Spitfire used to come through they used to go sideways to get, to get out to the other side, so what they have done they have put our house, down, by about fifteen foot. Easy fifteen foot, I should say, and you can see it in this picture, if you ever see it sometime, they, about thirty foot wide, and they took, and then they used to come in straight across, instead of going, you know, instead of going sideways, they used to come straight [emphasised] over, ‘vroom’. One after the other, and the feeling, it was so -
MJ: And so what was the reason for them taking the wall away?
MS: Yeah. That was the reason our wall came down, just for the Spitfires to come down, and as I speak I feel such a thrill because I love it, I loved every minute of it [laughs], war or no war [chuckles]. And er, shall we stop for a bit? [microphone noises] Right, still living in the house near the church, but not for long, I'm afraid, because my father thought, 'it's time to move, it's getting a bit dangerous', you know, with all the planes coming right over us, so near the house. He said it'd be time, 'it's time to move, we'll just go somewhere, not very far'. So we went to live in another street, Valletta Street, er there, a narrow street, but we managed it, and there was a lady in front of us there, she had a shelter, just in her house, in the cellar. She had all these enforcements to hold this roof up, all big [chuckling] wooden, everywhere, but we managed down there in the war, and my other friend, Wizz, was who I went to, we used to wash for the RAF. RAF uniforms used to come in, and the socks still standing up [chuckles], and she used to give me a little pinny, and Auntie, Agniesa, Agniesa, her name was, and my Nanny, the one, she used to do all the washing. There used to be bags and bags of washing arriving in Rovers, and there she used to say 'come and help me', she used to be doing something, and then I'd be, she gives me the socks to do, so I was scrubbing these socks with her, and that was very interesting, she was very nice lady, she kept me happy with some whatever she got, and every time she'd say, 'can I come tomorrow and do some more washing?'. 'Yes you can, there'll be another load coming', another RAF uniforms coming in. So there you are, that's the RAF, how many socks I'd washed, maybe could have been one of yours. [laughs] That would be very nice if you had the name on, you know, in them. But life is so, so short, and yet there’s so many things you do in your life, and that was something I enjoyed. So, now we've moved in this other house and it wasn't the same because I missed it, I missed me other one, but there you are. So, we didn't stay there too long [clock chimes in background] and we moved to [slight pause] we went to Hamrun. We moved away from Hamrun, and my sister just met a soldier, she married a soldier, and he was at Lackrewood, and there they had, they had a big family as well, and she couldn't stand, this comes afterwards, though, this has come after the war [background voice]. Is it alright? Well just after the war she couldn't stand when I was with her in the quarters. They got St Andrew's quarters in Tas-Sleima, so I was with her there, and she had a little window and she could hear her husband shouting at these men, and she couldn't stand it, she said, 'what you doing, leave them alone, what are you shouting at them for?', but you see [chuckles] they had, it's er, you've got to learn them, don't you, young soldiers, it's for safety reasons, innit, that he was shouting telling them what not to do and what to do right, because it could cost them their lives if you don't, if they don't listen to them, and of course we, she couldn't see that, my sister could not, couldn't stand it, she couldn't, he was an RSM you see, and of course, being an RSM he's got to do his safety jobs to do, and his order was to train these soldiers the right way, but she will not have it. She would open that window, of the quarters, in a square [interviewer chuckling in background], and these poor soldiers, lined up, and was 'grrrr' shouting, and she said, 'I don't like him any more mum, I don't like my husband any more, he's so cruel, you should hear him shouting at these poor soldiers'. She said, 'I'm not having it', she said, 'when he comes home there's no tea for him, he can make his own tea. That is it', she said, ' I'm not having it'. And she went for days and days not speaking to him. Anyway, he had to move her out. He moved her somewhere else, got another place, he got another place, down Msida, [inaudible] Msida, and that one was alright, and er, this is, I was growing up then, I was nearly fifteen, when I'm talking about this. I was growing up then [chuckles], and of course there used to be these soldiers, I couldn't get out the door, as I got on my bike, and they were whistling at me. I had a few dates for dancing [chuckles], that was nice, but yes, she just, she wouldn't have it, shouting at him all the time, so, me mum used to tell her, 'but they've got to do it', 'no, he can't, no, he's not got to do it, he's not having, I'm not having that'. [Laughs] We [inaudible] stop here a bit. Oh, this time we was at Hamrun, 203 Victoria Avenue, and erm, I remember this one night my, my father was having a bath, and me mum shouted at me, she heard this siren going, and she said to me, 'go downstairs and go to the shelter with next door, get next door, go to the shelter now!', and she said, er, 'and I'll see you down there', because you only had to cross the street and there was the shelter there, you see, and I didn't. I stayed downstairs waiting for my mum to come down, so [chuckles] I was there waiting for her near the door, she came down and she said, 'my goodness me', she said, 'there's your dad upstairs don't want to go to the shelter because he's not ready', she said, 'come on', she said, 'we'll, I'll take you down, come down with me quick'. We got open the door to get out, we looked up, and there was the bomber, big bomber, German bomber, and she said, 'oh look', she said, 'he's let the bombs-', when you see the lights, the lights under the ship it means-
MJ: Yeah, under the plane [interrupts]
MS: and there was these big bombs, two of them, chained together, clinging together, make a noise, I could hear the chains, you know, like a [inaudible] coming down, and it was just on top of our heads, so what me mum did, she said, 'we can't go now', she threw me down on the floor between the two doors, and she jumped on me, and I don't know how that bomb didn't come direct, straight down. It must have gone like that, because half of the street was bombed, leaving our half alright. But there was still wires everywhere, and dust, and glass, they was taking glass out my hair, because it still got in. And she said, 'I told you to go down, why didn't you go down with them?' I said, 'no, I wanted to wait for you'. But when I, we, looked up, the light when they opened the doors, I said' ooh, he's letting the bombs out', and you could hear the chains, you know, ‘clink, clink’, chained to them, making a noise, coming down, but I couldn't believe it, it was just like looking at the chandelier there, look, that blooming thing, and it's direct, down on top of you, so what I can't understand is why did it go, sort of, that way? Because from that distance, most probably it wasn't straight on top of you, but I always thought, 'how did I, we get away with that?' It was direct on top of us, and yet the other half of the street was hit.
MJ: What happened to the shelter?
MS: Well, there's, you see, and then me mum got me out, she said, 'come on lets, lets go upstairs and see Dad is alright’ and everything. My sister, she was there, she was a nurse, my sister was a nurse in Mtarfa, English nursing place, and of course she was at home at that time, she came home to see all the, every, people hurt. She was, they was fetching doors to her, just ordinary doors from the bombing, putting bodies on it and fetching them on a house, anybody's houses, taking them in to see to them while they, you know, while they took them away. Yeah, she done a good job, Amy. Erm, she was a good nurse. And of course that was one thing, a near miss, that was another near miss, because I, I keep talking about it, don't I? But when you look up, and you think something on the top of your head, you think you've had it. You don't expect [slight pause] to just swish down, you know what I mean, it was like, like a rock and roll skirt that goes over and over somewhere else, you know what I mean? I can't believe it. Just see that big light on top of you, she said, 'come here', pushed me down on that floor and threw herself on top of me, and ooh, you get all the noise, and whistling, and everything. Terrible, it was terrible that night. But half of the street, there was Aldo, Aldo his name, he was on, he had his, a lot of [pause] cuts on him. He was all bleeding, yep. And then another time, this was another little story, this one, we used to go to school, and you used to get a German bomber, and on a hot day in Malta the sun is so bright, and the shadow of the plane is so big [chuckles], you get the shadow because it's so bright, so he used to come over, low, and wave to us, used to wave, and carry on. Right? So one day he comes over, everybody, all the children rushes out, coming from school, looking up, looking for this pilot to give him a wave, and he started firing, machine gunning, machine gunning. This was in our street, the school street, and he's fired the machine gun, well everybody opened their doors, all the houses, opened the doors so the children could go in, you know, so we managed to get in somebody's door. She says, 'I told you not to, don't wave to him any more'. Because obviously it must have been a different pilot, but we thought it was that same nice one, which it wasn't. [laughs]. And er, I've seen a mess in the street, [inaudible] never leaves you alone now, er, it stays with you, you know, and, er, it was horrible, some friends and er-. Another day, this is another story, my father was a police sergeant. In the police. He followed his father's footsteps 'cause my grandfather went to Malta with the Irish Rifles, he was in the Irish Rifles. I'll mention him now, I'm glad to mention my grandad, and he went to Malta, and of course he met my, my grandma there, and he said to-, he was with Lord Baden Powell, they, they joined up together, Lord Baden Powell and him, knew that, in London, my grandfather was a Londoner, born in Middlesex, of course his best mate was Lord Baden Powell. And he said to Lord Baden Powell after they'd been there a few months, he says, 'oo’, he says', 'I, er, I don't want to leave Margaret, I don't want to leave Margarita’, he says, 'well all we can do if you want to stop here', he said, 'make a transfer with the police'. So there and then, within days, he was a policeman [laughs]. So he went to see his platoon, the rest of them, they was still in Gozo at that time, Gozo's a little island from Malta, and they was all laughing at him because he had a policeman's uniform on, they was all making fun of him. And of course then he stayed in Malta, and they went off somewhere. But he stayed in Malta, married my grandma, had two boys, and they got to the age of seven and eight, the platoon came back. Well he couldn't wait to go and see them, he missed them, he was missing them. So Lord Baden Powell, he said, ' we've missed you as well', he said. 'But I want to get back, please. I want to get back with you. Wherever you're going next time'. I think they was going to Zulu war, wasn't it, the Zulu war, Boer War, Boer War. And he said,'I want to get back,' he said, ' Margarita'll be alright, she'll follow me wherever we stop', and everything. So within days, Lord Baden Powell, it's good to be somebody, isn't it, in this world [chuckles], and, changed over again, transferred, [interviewer interrupts, inaudible ] 'cause it's still under the Queen, you see, that's what it is.
MJ: So your mother and your father stayed on Malta?
MS: Yes. And of course, you see, he went back with them, to the Zulu war, but they was, they got ambushed. They was ambushed. I've got his story there, there's a story I've got there. He’s in the library book about Sergeant George James Atkins that was killed there, with the others, of course. But he-, that was it. I remember my grandma, she was telling me that er-, 'I just, I pray to God', because they're Catholics out there, you know, in Malta, 'and I pray to all the saints and Virgin Mary and everybody, to look after him for me', she said, 'and they didn't!'. And she didn't want to know, she had the pictures, and she, she just knifed them all, she just knifed them all, you know, and the people saying, 'oh, you mustn't', she said, 'but I’ve told them to look after him, and they haven't. I don't know, I'm not a believer any more'. She went a bit funny, you know. Anyway, one of the boys, might have been my dad, he was, um, he inherited the place, and it's called the [inaudible] Bettina, [inaudible] Bettina is like a palace. It's like that one street, the whole street, but in the middle of it is big doors, gates, steps going up. It's just like the palace in London, the Queen's palace, right? He inherited that, but because he was only young they gave it to somebody, her name was Bettina, and she was engaged. And they gave it, let her stay in it, while he grew up. But because this happening, my grandma was a bit, she went a bit, she didn't want to know, she let it go, she didn't fight for it, and it's still, should really by right belong to my dad. And she lived, Bettina, it's called Bettina, in Malta, because that girl's name was Bettina. She just, she just, as soon as he got killed, she got the answer, as soon as he got killed, she went dilly, she couldn't live without him. Yeah. And that's how me father grew up. And then Lord Baden-Powell went out there, with his belongings, he took everything himself, to her, to my grandma, and she gave everything to the er, to the St Andrew's Club in Luqa. She gave them the flags, I don't know what, all the whole thing, regiment things, everything, and medals and everything they've got there. And of course it's, she just couldn't get over that, but-. Lord Baden-Powell, he said to the two boys, he said, 'I'm coming back to Malta', he said, 'and I'm going to put, start a Scouts here. I'm going to come here', he said, 'and I promised your father if ever anything happened to me, I gave him my wish to keep for me', he says, 'so therefore, I'm keeping his wishes that I come back to Malta, and see that you join the scouts'. But they didn't, they did not join the scouts, the two boys, they went in the police [laughs]. [Interviewer interrupts in background]. They wanted to be in the police. Yeah. And that's er, it's a funny old world isn't it? Really, how things go, it's very interesting, very, very interesting, and of course my father grew up, and he met my mum, he met my mum, and I would go with-, they’ve had nine children, I was the youngest of nine. The eldest one was Kitty, that's the one that married the RSM [chuckles], my brother was in the RAF.
MJ: What did he do?
MS: My brother was in the RAF, and before they joined the RAF, he was a painter, he does all the sculptures in the churches in Malta, he's done a big Virgin Mary statue, he just chisels everything, you know, from a big stone, [aside] didn't he Gary? He made that big sculpture, didn't he?
Gary: Sculpture
MS: Yeah. He was very clever. And his friend, his friend, they used to come down in our, in our hall, downstairs, and they used to paint together, two of them. One day the police came for his friend. He was the spy on Malta. He lived at the back of our street, but he was a spy with the Italians.
MJ: What was his name?
MS: He used to erm, Bassani was his name, Joseph Bassani. That was the name. And of course his sister, Maria, I knew very well. We knew them, very well, the mother. But when my brother got to know that he was a spy, he got his painting, because it was still in our house, his painting what he did, [inaudible] he just damaged it, he was so mad with him [chuckles] because he was a spy, he didn't want to know about the picture, and he scrabbled on it, took his name, got the name off it, he was so furious, my brother. And then of course he went in the RAF, my brother, he was in the RAF. Yeah. He too went to Italy, but RAF is our top priority in my life. The RAF.
MJ: What, what was he in the RAF?
MS: He was in the RAF, yes.
MJ: What did he do?
MS: He was er, he was sent to Italy. He went different places like that. I don't know much, how much he did, but he was a sculpturist, and he did everything when he was, privately, at home. And the church used to come, 'can you do this for us? And do that?' Never used to charge anything, he just used to do it from his heart, you know. Like me, I'm doing things at the minute, all the time. And, erm, but that upset him because it was his best friend, you see, and to realise that he was a spy but he was, he was hung, wasn't he Gary? [aside], he was hung, they hanged him. He had a cry over it because he liked him, but he was so upset, he was annoyed with him, with him going, you know, sort of lighting torches here and there to let the Italian bombers where to bomb, know what I mean? Yeah, And there was a film, it's very strange because I went on holiday in Malta, and I met the actual fellow that did the Malta story. Jack Volks his name was. Jack Volks. And I spoke to him on the internet, but there's no answer much now, like he was about ninety-five. And he said to me, 'Mary', he said, 'I wish it was you in that film, making that film, instead of', the girl he took to be Maria, you know. 'Cause they made the film, the Malta film- have you seen it at all? - yeah, Malta film, and the girl Maria they picked up for the film, she said, we took her from London, she said, 'My God, my dear God', she said, every time, she said, 'cut, cut', she kept coming with this London accent [laughs]. She said, 'you should, they way you talk', she said, ' it would have been lovely'. She said, 'the trouble we've had with that girl'. She kept pulling out this [laughs] 'Parpa' and things like that, 'she said, ' we couldn't have this London accent'. But, I don't know what happened to him. I'd love to know, but-, yeah he's made it, he's actually filmed it. Yeah, Jack Volks, Gary, wasn't it, his name? Yeah. Of course, my brother, had other friends. One of them he used to come on our roof, to film, he used to take films of different, of planes coming over, and he was a lovely man. His name was Geoffrey Johnson, Johnsons, and I think he was from Yorkshire somewhere [unclear interruption from interviewer]. Geoffrey Johnson. Well my brother had some contact with him after the war. Yeah, he had a disabled boy, but I think he must have died now. But that would have been nice. But that was Geoffrey Johnson, yeah. That was my brother's nice friends as well, so he was alright with him. He used to always come in our house. Our house, being sort of more English, you see, I mean to have a name like Atkins, Tommy Atkins they used to call my grandad [chuckles] Tommy Atkins, you can't get a British name more than that, can you? [Laughs] Not mad dogs or anything, you see he's a Londoner, and er [slight pause] different thing. That’s another story I can tell as well, about being an English name. Do you want it now? [background noise] [Chuckles] Now then, this is what happened with my brother. When you're kind, sometimes, it's very cruel. Erm, I remember the Victory Kitchen came to Malta, and those hungry people, you know, queuing up and everything, and for days, one week, they didn't open for some reason, and there was all these starving people, you know, trying to get food from the gate, and being my father, a police sergeant, [chuckles] of all the police he was the sergeant, he should show respect, your sergeant should show respect and you shouldn't do anything out of order, but me and my brother, I used to go to help him, because it was down our street, high gates, as high as I couldn't get over them, anyway, so I had to stay on that side of the gate, and he used to get a catapult stick and go over with the catapult, this was my brother, and it’s a, it's a disgrace really, what he did to my father, because he was a policeman, you know what I mean? So anyway, he didn't care whether his father was police sergeant or what. He went over with his catapult, broke into the Victory Kitchen, Victory Kitchen it was called, and he was handing me these tins of corned beef, I was getting them from the side of the thing, the gate, I was handing them, and everybody running home with tins of this and the other, taking it all, and of course, they all knew my brother, and who his dad was. My, for some reason, my father got to know, and he said, 'right', he got hold of him, shaved his hair off, my father shaved his hair off. He said, you knew that he was particular about his wavy hair, and so he took his hair off, and what did he do? He went in me dad's wardrobe, got his best suit, he didn't think it was his best suit, he got a suit out, he cut the bottoms off, sewed it, stitched it as anything, and he had a hat, and he kept doing the same thing. He said, 'come on, Mary, come on, come down with me'. Get his big long stick, the gate must have been about eight foot, easy, six, eight foot, really high. I can't tell you because I was young, I knew that for me it would have looked big at that age, but there's only three years between me and my brother, so he was fourteen, probably I was ten, something like that, so anyway, he went over, more tins, you see they had food in there but they never opened. They never opened. And my brother said, 'well, sorry dad', he said, 'sorry dad', he said, 'you should go in there yourself and get that food out for these people, hungry babies, all these lovely people here, all starving'. Right? So he said, 'here you are, here you are, Mary. Come on, let's go'. So, the people knew, because as soon as they seen us two go in there, they used to follow us, [chuckles] the whole street used to follow us. So, so he did it again, and my father found out again, and he says, 'oh', me brother says to me, 'oh, there's a big one'. He couldn't lift it up, a big, giant corned beef one, there, you know. 'He said, 'here you are', and I remember he gave it to me and I couldn't lift it up, hardly [laughs]. So, anyway, he got to the [inaudible], and he said, 'right then', he said, 'I'm sorry, Mum, Rose', he said, 'I'm sorry’. He says, erm, 'I'll have to do something about this lad. This is not right for me, I'm a police sergeant', which is true, in a way. So he put him in a, in a place for bad boys, and of course [slight pause] the first week he was there, this big bomber passed our, our street, big bomber, and he said, 'oh my god, where's he going, where's he heading for? Where’s he heading for?'. And it hit the place where my brother, where my dad put my brother in. Well you should have heard, I've told you about my sister, about the SRM husband, me mum went even worse. 'It's your fault, you've put him in there, and now he's been killed'. So anyway, dad went down to see what's happened, it was all-, and he found him, carried him home, like, sort of, fetched him home. And she went, she went absolutely livid with him, 'What you done? You've put him there, it's your fault. Our boy will be dead now. It'll be your fault', she said, 'and you can just, I don't care what you are, sergeant or what', she said, 'but don't come home here any more. If my s-, if my boy's dead, please don't come here any more'. Right? That was a good one, because the whole street, as soon as they saw us going with a stick, the catapult, used to catapult over with, and me with him, the whole street used to come out there door, running after us. They knew we was going for food. So, so in a way, it was cruel for dad, you have to feel sorry for the dad, don't you, I mean, when you're a police sergeant you've got to show, he should have shown a bit of-, but he didn't care, because all my brother was thinking about was starving people, so he said, 'if you want to put me in prison, you can do. I'm doing it, not dad’. And he told another policeman, he says, 'don't blame my dad, my dad told me what not to do'. He said, 'I'm doing this, not my dad. I'm feeding these children out here'. And he loved it. He had such a good heart, yeah. That was, that was Lolly. Lolly was on the Navy, he was a Navy man. He joined the Navy, he was on HMS Delight, was on the Delight, wasn't he, Gary [aside]. And then he went to Australia and he died at fifty years old, yeah. But when you have a big family, here's always a story behind it, isn't there? There is [inaudible] one [chuckles]. And that was the young one, that was the young one. And then my brother Vince, he was erm, he was on the merchant ships, he was on the merchant ships. I remember him, Vincent, Vincent Atkins, he took me once to his, his tanker came in. The Can't Take It, it was called, Can't Take It, and he showed me all the machinery, 'cause I like things like that, I like anything to do with boats or planes, or anything, and all these big machines going sloosh, you know, oh fantastic, yeah. He went to America. So one went to Australia, one went to America. They all sort of-, the family just spreads doesn't it after the war. But he done a lot, he went in the boom defence, the boom defence. Boom defence is a, is a defence in the harbour, innit, and he-, the boom defence, it's a dockyard, it's a dockyard thing, you know. He repairs things, yeah? Is this on, by the way? Is it? Oh really? Yes, and which other story I would have thought the best? [Long pause and background noise]. This erm, in Malta, the Germans were up to Italy. It's not very far from Italy to Malta. They'd captured different places, and nearly, they were nearly in Malta to take over as well, but what happened there they was very short of oil for the planes [background clock chime], the oil stores [chuckle, inaudible ] anyway, for the fuel. Very short. They were short of food, mainly fuel for the planes, right? And this Ohio, there was about three ships trying to get in with food, food and the things for the planes, and they were so battered, outside the harbour, all the ships, with German bomber bombing them, that the Ohio, was an American one, came to deliver the stuff and she just only barely got in that two ships had to go and get her in, holding her up each side, holding her, because she was full of food and other things, and she was like that off the water, really low, and these other two ships was coming in with it, which that bloke was on, one of them, and it came into the harbour with the corn, bags of corn, it just managed to get on there, that's the harbour, just managed to fetch her in, and we was all down there, and the young lads when they emptied it, the big corns, the big sacks of corn for the bread and that, the young boys had a blade so they was going [makes a slicing sound]. I've seen that done, but I don't think anyone on the ship seen it it done, and he tore it, so all the girls lifting their skirts up putting all the corns in their, stuffing their skirts or whatever they had, you know, jumpers, filling up with corn, running somewhere, put it in, running back, fill it up again, and I wasn't doing it, but I was with them, 'cause my sister did it, and that brother of mine, he was there doing it, he was getting the corn and everything, and the planes filled up and there was only about ten to twelve hours for the Germans to come from Italy, so they all, they were filled up, and you should see all the planes going out at once to stop the Germans. They was winning, Italy and the Germans together, at that time. Mussolini, and of course all these planes was already in Luqa, ‘whoof’, they got the fuel, you see, and they was all flying over, out, went out, yeah, to stop them, and they got them. They got every German out there, and it was blooming good. And I always remember my mum, she used to stay up and me dad used to say, 'Rose, for God's sake get to bed. Get to bed'. She says, 'no,' she said, 'there was about, about nineteen went out, and there's five hasn't come back yet'. She'd be there, waiting. 'There's five haven't come back, George. George, just leave me alone, there's five more to come, and then I'll be able to sleep'. So she used to count all the planes, going out, and then count them back, as they were coming back. Count every one. 'Oh', he used to say, 'you are a silly woman. Get to bed'. She says, 'no, I'm not, I'm not'. But there was times some of them didn't come back, and she used to cry. She used to cry, she'd say, 'oh, it's terrible. The young, poor young-', and she used to say, ' I wonder what their mothers would say now, I wonder what happened to them?' But then sometimes they used to come late, three o' clock in the morning, she'd hear one, she'd get up. 'Is that coming in? Oh, another one coming in, George'. Keeping him up. 'Oh, there's another come late, and another one coming, and another one coming'. [Laughs] she used to be, she used to be, absolutely as if there were her own kids, you know, own children. I mean, alright, sometimes nowadays you say, I say to someone, some couples, you know, they've been in the services. Most probably the Navy, most probably the Navy ones, and I say say I'm from Malta. And they says, 'Oh, oh, from Malta are you?'. I said, 'yeah'. And he says, 'Oo, are you from Straight Street?' I says, 'Oh no. I was not allowed anywhere near Straight Street', I says, 'don't tell your missus here [chuckles] [inaudible] Straight Street'. But there some bad girls there, you know what I mean? I said, 'no way!', I said, 'I'm not from there. I said you don't know my dad. My dad used to be a sergeant in the police and he used to warn, tell all his friends, 'if ever you see any of my daughters', because he had four daughters, 'any of my daughters near any bad places, send them home'. [Laughs]
MJ: Were there lots of bad places?
MS: But I mean, that's everywhere, you know, that's everywhere. But it's a shame because even as I say, my mum used to give them cups of tea, and make them chips, and that, and they'd say, 'oh, was she like that, was she?' I said, 'no, my mum, we're decent people', I said, 'there's decent people everywhere, you know', you know what I mean? But no, they always take things the other way [chuckles]. And it's always somebody that’s been somewhere they shouldn't have been [Laughs] But that's life, isn't it?
MJ: Here's a battery change for Mary Stuart.
MS: That it? Hmm? [background noise] Yeah. Well, the rest of my story, I've got quite a few more to do, but I'll just pick the last one, because I've kept this gentleman here with me too long, but I'm going to tell you the VE day in Malta. My father, as a sergeant in the police, he was on duty on the corner of the theatrical house in Valetta, as you go in Valetta, when it was bombed. He was in it. Anyway, he survived that, and on VE day he was there again, on duty, in the corner, whilst my mother, and me and my brother went to give him some sandwiches, and see him alright for some food. Meantime, outside the bombed place, there was a VE day celebration going on, and my dad put me and my brother in the front of that celebration day, which I have here, a picture, and that's why I'd like to put that in because that was VE day in Malta. I enjoyed it, and so did he, watching us while we took the photos. And that was very interesting indeed. I hope you all enjoy my little stories. Mary Stuart.
MJ: Let me thank on behalf of the International Bomber Command Oral History Project, Mary Stuart for her recording on ninth of May twenty fifteen. Thank you very much.
MS: Will you put nee Atkins in that beside-
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Interview with Mary Stuart
Creator
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Mick Jeffery
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-05-09
Type
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Sound
Identifier
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AStuartM150509
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Language
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eng
Coverage
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Civilian
Royal Air Force
British Army
Format
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00:54:45 audio recording
Description
An account of the resource
Mary Stuart, nee Atkins, was the youngest of nine children who lived during the Second World War on the island of Malta. She tells of her love of aviation and how she spent time on the roof of her house when Spirfires flew over. Mary recollects wartime hardships, German strafing and bombings and their effects of civilians (including an incident when people drowned in a shelter), her encounters with soldiers on the island as well as doing washing for the Royal Air Force. Mary also tells of her father, who was in the Malta Police Force, her grandfather, in the Irish Rifles, and finally her brother, who served in the Royal Air Force. The interview includes anecdotes about Robert Baden-Powell.
Finally, she talks about Joseph Bassani, a family friend who was an Italian spy, the American supply ship Ohio, and the Victory in Europe celebrations that took place on Malta.
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Malta
Malta--Gozo Island
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1948-05-08
1948-05-09
bombing
childhood in wartime
love and romance
shelter
Spitfire
strafing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/77/743/ABianchiM170912.2.mp3
940260dfe1038700f8c517f3d4264697
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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Bianchi, Marisa
Marisa Bianchi
M Bianchi
Description
An account of the resource
One oral history interview with Marisa Bianchi who recollects her wartime experiences in Sesso and in the Reggio Emilia area.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Date
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2017-09-12
Publisher
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IBCC Digital Archive
Rights
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
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Bianchi, M
Transcribed audio recording
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Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
FC: Questa intervista è condotta per l’International Bomber Command Centre. L’intervistato è Marisa Bianchi. L’intervistatore è Francesca Campani. Siamo a Sesso, provincia di Reggio Emilia, è il 12 settembre 2017. Possiamo cominciare. Allora, la prima domanda che ti faccio è cosa ti ricordi di quando eri piccola, cioè.
MB: Avevo otto anni allora, ero piccola davvero.
FC: Cosa faceva la tua famiglia? Dove vivevi? Avevi fratelli?
MB: Vivevamo sempre a Sesso, fratelli non ne ho perché c’ho una sorella.
FC: Ecco.
MB: Eravamo, stavamo vendemmiando, arriva Pippo e noi giù, tutti nel fosso, gaemo un fosso. Ha cominciato a mitragliare, ha tagliato tutte le gambe degli scaletti. Per fortuna che c’era la bonifica che ha riparato le schegge. Se non morivam tutti quanti, da bom. Eh ohi. E poi abbiamo avuto anche che na volta han preso, ste Pippo, la bonifica, sai c’eravamo la bonifica in fondo ai nostri campi, l’avevamo presa per la stazione, per la ferrovia che era dietro la casa dell’altro contadino. Han mollè na bomba, guarda, non ti dico, ah, è successo la malora, tutti i vetri crollati.
FC: Della vostra casa.
MB: Tutti, anche quelli dell’altro contadino, davvero c’era venuto un buco che l’era enorme.
FC: E voi dove vi eravate nascosti?
MB: Noi eravamo nascosti in casa, dove che possiamo nascosti? Non c’avevamo mica il rifugio o cose del genere.
FC: Non ce n’erano lì?
MB: No, in campagna cosa vuoi che sia. Mamma mia, Gesù, e poi noi abbiamo avuto i tedeschi in, sai che, tu a Sesso non ci sei mai stata. E’ dove abitavamo prima, adesso è un casino che non si capisce più niente, ma avevamo un bosco.
FC: Ah.
MB: E la sera erano tutti messi coi carri armati, le camionette, tutti sotto lì. E avevamo i comandanti che allora vivevano nella villa e i soldati vivevano su nel fienile. [unclear] sta mattina doveva fare il pane. Davano la roba a loro, eh. La farina, portavano tutto facevano presto loro! Andavano a casa dei contadini, prendevano quello che volevano. E star matene e sai come fa il pane che c’era la, daghe l’amleri in poche parole. E io che, ero già, avevo già la lingua lunga allora, volete il pane? Giù alla mattina alle cinque a gramolare, [unclear] pan. [unclear] E il [unclear] c’aiutavo io ma loro s’arrangiavano sai. No eh guarda, noi li abbiamo avuti per quaranta giorni però son stati perfetti eh, a posto. Solo un giorno che due hanno cominciato a litigare e a sparè in elta e il comandante le [unclear] li ha spediti tutt via, li ha spediti in guerra, al fron in poche parole.
FC: Ah.
MB: Se no guarda, è solo che dopo, quando sono partie il 24 di aprile che sono poi morti tutti al Po, perché loro credendo di essere al Po, di essere già fuori ma è mort tutt al Po, eh. Marino ha preso via la scala del fienile, guai a chi va su. Sono venuti i carabinieri, hann raccolto due ceste così di bombe a mano, proiettili, sai, loro dormivano su nel fienile.
FC: E non c’erano più però. Erano scappati.
MB: No, no, erano già andati.
FC: Il 24.
MB: Il, loro sono andati via il 24. Pensando che, di arrivare al Po e di essere già fuori. Invece i mort nel Po. Han detto, eh, perché ovviamente, al Po non ci sono stata comunque l’han detto. Fat na brutta fine. Però erano maledetti. Nel senso che loro andavano nel confronto degli altri. E serviva la carne, andavano a prendere dal contadino un vitello senza pagarlo. Lo uccidevano nel nostro prato, ed era pena quel giorno, ma guarda un po’ che roba. Noi non abbiamo mai fatto la fame perché c’hann sempre dato tutto. Io ho fatto la cresima che quelle fotografie lì le deve avere ancora tua madre, che una volta la rileghi e ci porto vi l’album perché mi ha promesso che me le stampava e non me le ha ancora stampate.
FC: Va bene.
MB: Fatto la cresima. Sai quante scatole di cioccolata? Loro avevano la cioccolata in scatola i tedeschi.
FC: Eh. E te le hanno date?
MB: Orche!
FC: Perché sapevano che avevi fatto la cresima.
MB: Che ho fatto la cresima, la cresima.
FC: E quindi loro.
MB: No, no, guarda, son stati buoni, buoni, mai successo niente. Solo un giorno sti due cretini han litigato, uno ha sparato in alto.
FC: E ce n’erano di partigiani lì intorno? Ti ricordi qualcosa?
MB: Ma io ho ott’ann, cosa vuoi che mi ricordi?
FC: Ah non lo so, magari.
MB: Mi ricordo che dicevano che si erano nascosti nei campi e me sai, a otto anni che cavolo vuoi che sapessi. Io mi ricordo quelli lì i tedeschi perché avevo sempre avu per ca’ per quaranta giorni. Se no i partigiani sapevo che c’erano però a Sess non so mia se n’era, se c’erano a Sesso proprio, mah non lo so, quello non lo so.
FC: Ma, ehm, ti chiedo questa cosa qua. Ti ricordi quando è iniziata la guerra proprio? Cioè prima non c’era la guerra e dopo è iniziata.
MB: E dopo c’era la guerra.
FC: Ti ricordi quel momento lì? Cosa facevi? Andavi a scuola?
MB: Andavo a scuola, sì, sì.
FC: Dove andavi a scuola?
MB: Allora, avevano occupato la scuola. Allora mio padre e degli altri papà han preso su in soffitta in casa di un contadino, ci si portava la mattina con due pezzi di legno per uno per scaldarsi. E così che noi non abbiamo perso l’anno, hai capito? E quelli che non sono venuti hanno perso l’anno. Nella scuola con due pezzi di legno per uno, poi c’erano una di quelle stufette sai la Becchi come si chiamavano sì, la Becchi e noi li avevamo in casa la Becchi. C’erano nelle camere ve’. Era la villa padronale, c’era una nella camera della nonna, una, meno che nella mia e di tua madre. Alla mattina, se ti alzavi la notte a far la pipì, era ghiacciata, ve’. Era, perché noi avevamo proprio la camera a nord. Di andare a dormire col prete poi tiravi via, andavi sotto. Invece nella camera della nonna e quella della Iona c’era la Necchi, la Becchi, quelle stufette sai a piani.
FC: E a scuola parlavate della guerra?
MB: Oh, chi si ricorda.
FC: Non ti ricordi?
MB: Non mi ricordo.
FC: E se, non so.
MB: Mi ricordo solo che mi portava il papà con la bicicletta in canna, e che c’era sta borsa con due pezzi di legno da portare per scaldarci lassù perché eravamo su in soffitta. Però la guerra chi se la ricorda più. Sai, a parte che ero piccola, perché è finita la guerra che nel ’40?, ‘45, mi sono del ‘36, fa un po’ te i cunt, avevo nove anni.
Fc: Eh beh, però mi stai raccontando delle cose.
MB: Sì, ho capito, però certe cose non te le ricordi. Per esempio nella notte, la notte del 23-24, c’hann detto i tedeschi: ‘andate via, in mezzo alla campagna!’. Siamo andati a casa di un contadino, noi e tutta la famiglia intorno. Alla mattina il nonno voleva andare a vedere perché sai c’era le mucche da mungere così. Invece Nino, il figlio della Wilma, ha detto ci vado io perché vado più svelto a correre. L’hanno ucciso poco distante da casa.
FC: Chi l’ha ucciso?
MB: I tedeschi e i fascisti di Sesso.
Fc: Ah ecco.
MB: Sì, è il 24 aprile. E Il 25 ghe stè la liberazion, e lui avev disdott ann. Diciotto anni aveva. A fam, no zio ci vado io che corro corro più veloce, faccio prima ad andare a vedere cosa c’è. Loro erano già partiti, tutti quanti, le rivè a un poc distan da ca non so quanto. La casa più vicino l’hanno visto quando l’hanno ucciso. L’hann fatto mettere in ginocchio e [mimics shooting noise], gli hann sparè. E pensa che c’era uno di Sesso, che sua figlia abita sopra tua mamma, nell’attico. E una volta ha trovato la mamma di quella ragazza lì, lei è già morta perché aveva un tumore al seno, e ora ci siamo trovati lì giù, io c’ho chiesto delle sue figlie perché andavamo a scuola assieme con una cosa. La disi: ‘cosa vuoi che ti dica?’, la disi: ’è proprio vero’, la dis che le malefatte dei vecchi si sono rivoltate contro i figli. C’era morto già la figlia lì, morto il figlio con un tumore,
FC: Mamma mia.
MB: Sì, proprio mamma mia.
FC: Ehm, volevo provare a richiederti ancora se ti ricordi altre volte che è venuto Pippo, cioè cosa si diceva di Pippo?
MB: Quando arrivava Pippo tutti sparivano, sparivano tutti quanti.
FC: Veniva tutti i giorni?
MB: Tutti i giorni passeva su ma tanta [unclear] ciapè Pippo, ti dico. Sì, sì, guarda che una volta, non so della via, ha buttato delle bombe dove, e a noi ci sono crollati tutti i vetri un’altra volta. C’era la Lidia, la figlia della Ione, la sorella della Mirella, aveva avuto la difterite ed era già in convalescenza, lo spavento, la paura, l’è morta sul colpo. Aveva cinque anni, sì. Sai che solo la Mirella, ce n’erano già morti due, e tre con la Lidia ne g’avu quattre. Perché una era nata quando sono nata io, io sono nata la mattina e lei era nata al pomeriggio di sette mesi solo che in quei tempi lì! E sì, Pippo l’era maledetto eh. Non ti so dire se era inglese o se era americano, ste Pippo.
FC: E tu lo sapevi perché faceva così?
MB: Ma cosa pe de che, faceva, passava e mitragliava.
FC: Cosa pensavi di Pippo?
MB: Ciapa tante [unclear], ho pase tante di quelle paure a noi, sai c’avevamo il portico prima della stalla e c’eran le arcate. Le avevamo riempite tutte di paglia, le balle sai. L’ha fat na mitraglieta, per fortuna che non hanno preso fuoco. Aveva riempito le balle di proiettili. E quand [unclear] sai Marino le apriva poi dopo, poi si usavano, no, saltavano fora come i cosi.
FC: I proiettili.
MB: Sì. Che lur sa chissà cosa si credeva che fossero, c’era, sai nelle arcate tutte ste balle di paglia. Bel Pippo!
FC: E quindi cosa, cosa facevate quando arrivava Pippo?
MB: Eh, ci si nascondeva dove si poteva.
FC: E ti avevano spiegato cosa fare?
MB: Si andava in cantina, si scendeva nei posti più chiusi. Non c’era un rifugio, non c’era niente e non. E infatti i tedeschi avevano messo tutte le balle di, di paglia contro le finestre dentro per paura che Pippo passasse e mitragliasse. E la mess tutte le balle di paglia.
FC: E passava di giorno o di notte Pippo?
MB: Passava a qualunque orario, non c’era preoccuparsi, mattina, pomeriggio, notte.
FC: Tutti i momenti.
MB: E la notte, caro mio, si metteva la luce si metteva sopra perchè sta su un po’ unita perché le vedeva lui quelle luci accese di notte. C’era così, la vita là di quei tempi lì.
FC: E quando stavate nascosti, no?
Mb: Eh.
FC: Cosa facevate? Come passavate il tempo?
MB: A parlare.
FC: Parlare. Anche te.
MB: Sì eh.
FC: E c’erano altri bimbi?
MB: Sì, c’era altri bimbi, quelli di quella signora che abitava nel nostro cortile, ma sì ma si univa tutti eh. Mamma mia.
FC: E facevate dei giochi per distrarvi?
MB: No, no, no, stavem tut là, a tremare dalla paura perché.
FC: Avevate paura?
MB: Ah Madonna, se avevamo paura. Perché aveva fatto, buttato ste bombe nel prato di quell’altra famiglia che aveva preso la ferrovia per la bonifica. [unclear] un buso enorme. E sai, se ti buttano una così sulla casa, [makes a whistling sound]. Ma quella volta lì, quella mitragliata degli scaletti, tut dentro al foss.
FC: Eravate tutti a vendemmiare.
MB: Tutti a vendemmiare eravamo.
FC: E come avete fatto a capire che era.
MB: Allora, sintu arriver e allora giù, tutti nel fosso.
FC: Tutti nel fosso.
MB: E lui ha cominciato a mitragliare, a tagliare tutte le gambe degli scaletti. E per fortuna che poi dopo le schegge si sono fermate contro il coso della bonifica perché noi eravamo più bassi e la bonifica era più alta. Si fermedi tutti là, se no. E per fortuna che nel fosso non c’era acqua, perché sai era uno di quei fossi che si riempivano d’acqua, eravamo in settembre. L’acqua non c’era più, ma che usavano a annaffiare tutti i campi, tutti i cosi. Guarda che l’altro giorno venivo da casa da Reggio con Rico e [unclear], Rico, ti ricordi te, ma le e fa Rico, hai ancora in mente? Oh, se l’ho ancora in mente, porca miseria, altroché. La paura!
FC: Quella storia qua.
MB: Sì, quella storia lì della vendemmia e degli scaletti. E dopo [unclear] fer tutti i gambe nuve di scalette eh. Quelle cose lì, se, adesso non lo so ma se le ricordava anche tua mamma, tua nonna, la Laura.
FC: E tu te lo ricordi cosa faceva la Laura? Cosa, te la ricordi la Laura a quei tempi lì?
MB: La Laura aveva dodici anni più di me sicché lei aveva già più di vent’anni.
FC: E anche lei si nascondeva dove andavi tu?
MB: Anche lei. Sì, no, quando arrivava Pippo erano tutti unì, nelle cantine, nei posti, chissà, forse si pensava che fossero più sicuri, mah. Meno che nelle stalle perché le stalle sai eh, sono tutte esterne e ci si andava nelle cantine perché erano in mezzo alla casa, insomma, erano più. Beh sì, i tedeschi hanno proprio così.
FC: E i fascisti invece, cioè, ce ne giravano un po’? Li hai conosciuti,
MB: I fascisti erano schifosi.
FC: Te li ricordi?
MB: Sì che me li ricordo. Noi avevamo il cortile che guardava dritto alla cooperativa di Sesso. Noi sentivamo gli urli di quelli che torturavano, i fascisti.
FC: E cosa facevate, niente?
MB: Te fa [unclear]? Te scoltè o ti tappavi le orecchie. C’è uno che c’hann levato proprio tutte le unghie, tutti gli urli e poi l’hann stirato.
FC: Col ferro.
MB: Sì, col ferro. In cooperativa a Sesso.
FC: Tu sapevi, ti, tu cosa pensavi quando eri piccola di queste cose qua? Cioè, cosa.
MB: Che erano schifose.
FC: Sapevi che era, capivi perché c’era questa guerra, come funzionava la guerra?
MB: Capivi, capivi che c’era la guerra e basta.
FC: Nessuno ti aveva spiegato?
MB: No, neanche a scuola.
FC: Neanche a scuola. Non se ne parlava.
MBV: Eh, sì, sì! Noi sì, sentivamo urlare, gli urli, sai te tira via le unghie. Poi l’hann stirato bene poverino. Poi dopo sono andati nel prato, di quelli che ghe hann buttea la bomba. Ne hanno ucciso diciotto.
FC: Nello stesso posto dove era caduta la bomba?
MB: Sì, pochino più spostati ma i hann mazzè tutt.
FC: Perché?
MB: Erano partigiani proprio.
FC: Erano partigiani.
Mb: Tutti Manfredi, Miselli, tutti.
FC: E questo aereo che ha sganciato questa bomba, no?
MB: Era Pippo.
FC: Era Pippo, ma ne ha sganciate delle altre di bombe?
MB: Ne ha sganciate, non so dove, più in un altro posto ma sa sgancià solo quella lè.
FC: Solo una.
MB: Solo una. Mitragliet, quante mitragliet non so quante ne ha fatte, però una bomba l’ha butta sol quella lè. Finì la guerra dopo sono andati a riempire il buco, sai, tutti i contadini si sono uniti con cariole, con badili per riempire ste bus chel so mia quant temp e g’hann mess. Sì, n’è bella storia l’è quella li va’. Davvero eh. Noi al 25 aprile eravamo tutti nella curva di Sesso, sai, quando c’è la curva lì e g’era la co, la come si chiama, la bilancia quel che ci davano i carri a pesare, e riveva i american, venivano tutti da Cadelbosco. Insomma per noi venivano da Cadelbosco, poi non so da dove venissero. Comunque, mamma mia.
FC: E cosa successe il 25 Aprile?
MB: Niente, tutti a batterci le mani, contenti, perché eran sparì i tedeschi e ghe iera i americani.
FC: E gli americani cosa facevano?
MB: Niente, andavano, sono andati tutti a Reggio.
FC: Ah, sono solo passati.
MB: Sono solo passati.
FC: Non si sono fermati?
MB: No, no, no, no. Sono solo passati. Gli americani sono solo passati poi si sono fermati a Reggio. Si sono fermati a Reggio ma un giorno o due, poi sono proseguiti per Modena, Bologna, tutt.
FC: E quindi dopo che sono andati via i tedeschi dalla casa,
MB: Sì, sì.
FC: Voi siete rimasti lì?
MB: Sì, sì, noi siamo rimasti lì.
Fc: E cosa, come è funzionato il dopo? Cioè.
Mb: Eh, dopo ha ripreso la vita di prima di, che scoppiasse la guerra. Noi siamo rimasti nella villa perché eravamo nella casa vecchia. La padrona, lei è andà da stè a res, e noi avevamo preso la villa. C’era quattro camere da letto. Eran me, tua mamma e la Mirella, che dormivamo nella camera più fredda. E poi c’era la nonna e Marino in un’altra e l’altra l’aveva affittata a due sposini che erano poi i figli di quelli poi che erano venuti ad abitare nella casa vecchia. Poi anche lì si è ripreso la vita di prima.
FC: Tu hai ripreso ad andare a scuola?
MB: Eh sì, dopo a scuole s’è liberede. Allora ti voglio chiedere se sei fidanzata?
FC: No. [laughs] No, vedi che non è qua.
MB: Ah non, ah avevo sbagliato dito.
FC: Sì, sì, sì. Bene, allora, c’è qualcos’altro che ti viene in mente della guerra, qualcosa che mi vuoi raccontare?
MB: No, non mi
FC: Qualche emozione? Qualche, non so, qualche episodio legato, non so, a degli amici?
MB: No, sai com’è, eravamo.
FC: A cosa trovavate da mangiare?
MB: Ah noi, noi non abbiamo mai fatto la fame, no. Sai, i contadini non hanno mai fatto la fame. I contadini c’avevano tutto, i polli, conigli, c’avevamo tutte le uova. Fatto la fame erano quelli che. Guarda che hanno ucciso un ragazzo, ecco, quello, un ragazzo che andava a lavorare alla Reggiane allora. Era un fratello di una mia amica. Aveva sotto il braccio, aveva una mela e un cono, un pezzo di pane, era il suo pranzo. L’han sparè perché [unclear] gli una bomba sotto la braccio.
FC: E dove gli hanno sparato?
MB: A Sesso.
FC: Chi?
MB: I tedeschi.
FC: Così?
MB: Era il suo, il suo pranzo era, una mela e un pezzo di pane.
FC: Andava verso le Reggiane.
MB: Andava verso le Reggiane.
FC: Prima che le bombardassero quindi.
MB: [unclear]
FC: Quindi tu i bombardamenti che ci sono stati a Reggio di grossi non te li ricordi?
MB: No, non me li ricordo quelli lì, no.
FC: Non ne hai neanche sentito parlare, all’epoca?
MB: No, proprio no.
FC: Era proprio distante.
MB: Noi abitavamo a Sesso, sapevi quello che succedeva a Sesso. Fuori.
FC: Ah, beh, sì.
MB: So che hanno bombardato Reggio però non. Insomma, noi eravamo troppo lontani da Reggio. Hanno ucciso altre persone sull’argine del Crostolo, che andavano a lavorare anche loro a Reggio e facevano l’argine del Crostolo perché eran fuori nella via principale che [unclear] e li han ammassè sull’argine del Crostolo.
FC: Sempre i tedeschi.
MB: Sì. I fascisti hanno ucciso quegli altri quattro lungo la nostra strada. Facevi la curva e li hanno uccisi lì [unclear] la mateina.
FC: C’era la nonna che mi ricordo che mi diceva che a un certo punto c’era un morto. Avevano trovato un morto. Tu non te la ricordi questa cosa qua? Che in un fosso, in un angolo, da qualche parte, a Sesso hanno trovato sto morto, questa cosa non te la ricordi.
MB: Non me lo ricordo. Mi ricordo Nino, figlio della Wilma, il fratello di Enrico, che l’hann trovato in un fosso, in mezzo alla campagna, che l’hann massè lì. Disdott ann.
FC: Sarà quello lì.
Mb: Però altri non mi ricordo. Sai poi sono passati tanti anni che poi le cose.
FC: No, no, ma va bene. A noi, a me interessa sapere cosa ti ricordi. Cioè, non.
MB: Sì, no, ho capito ma certe cose poi dopo ti passano dalla mente, non te le ricordi più.
FC: Sì, sì, lo so.
MB: E’ passè per la miseria, sessantacinq’ann, ottant’ann, eh.
FC: Eh!
MB: Ti ricordi quello che hai vissuto in casa tua, avevi vissuto intorno, hai capito?
FC: Eh, quello, quello, quello a me interessa. Sì.
MB: Mamma mia.
FC: E tua mamma? Non ne hai parlato di lei? Come,
MB: Chi?
FC: La mamma.
MB: Ah, mia mamma? Ah, mia mamma era addetta al forno lei. Faceva.
FC: Era addetta al forno.
MB: Al forno, [unclear] pan per i tedeschi.
FC: E anche prima quindi lei faceva il pane spesso.
MB: Sì, noi l’abbiamo sempre fatto in casa il pane. Mi e me sorell [unclear] la mattena, una [unclear] gramler, eh sai,
Fc: Cosa vuol dire esattamente gramlere?
MB: Allora, c’è un’affare lungo così. C’è un’asta che lì ci va, ci va, perché alla sera lo mettono nella malia, poi lo mettono con il coso, mamma mia come si chiama, aiutami te,
FC: Il lievito.
MB: Il lievito. La farina, lo impastano, poi lo lasciano lì tutta la notte, poi la mattina lo prendono, poi lo mettono sotto a ste aste. Poi ce n’era, andava su poi giù veniva un bastone c’erano due maniglie e lì lo gramolavi. Ciameva gramlera.
Fc: Lo schiacciavi.
MB: Schiacciavi e mia madre era lì che lo girava, lo rigirava.
FC: Ah, lo rimpastava e dopo.
MB: Sì, sì, lo rimpastava tutto.
FC: Ah.
MB: Poi dopo c’era da fare il pane. Poi dopo che aveva finito di fare, di aver cotto il pane, facevamo il gnocco.
FC: Ah.
MB: Col bastone, bei [unclear] di rame.
FC: Ah. Col lardo?
MB: Col lardo, eh. E veniva buono, eh.
FC: [laughs]
MB: Quello me lo ricordo.
FC: Quello sì, eh.
MB: Sì.
FC: Eh. Ma non c’era, visto che voi stavate bene, insomma, che avevate da mangiare, non c’era gente che veniva lì e vi chiedeva da mangiare? Non c’era qualche sfollato?
MB: Ma noi. Eh, ce li avevamo gli sfollati.
FC: Ah, raccontami un po’ degli sfollati.
MB: Eh, gli sfollati non hanno mai patì fame perché casa dei Bianchi, non era problema. Avevamo la.
FC: Da dove venivano questi sfollati?
MB: Da Reggio.
FC: Da Reggio. E cosa dicevano loro?
MB: Che cosa vuoi che dicessero?
FC: Come erano? Chi erano? Grandi? Vecchi? Piccoli?
MB: No, no, non avevano, no, non erano vecchi perché c’era un signore che aveva un bambino piccolo, quel ga avu du, tre anni. Era coi parenti, ve’! Non eran, parenti della nonna. Stavano, dormivano nel garage.
FC: Dormivano nel garage. Quindi erano solo due?
MB: Marito e moglie con due bambini.
FC: Ah. E quanto tempo sono stati lì?
MB: Ah, fino alla fine della guerra.
Fc: Da quando, te lo ricordi?
MB: Ah, non me lo ricordo. Sono venuti a chiedere se c’era ospitalità, allora li hann messi lì.
FC: E quindi il bimbo piccolo più o meno aveva la tua età, o era più piccolo?
MB: No, era più piccolo di me.
FC: Era piccolino, piccolino. Ah, ok, ok.
MB: Sì, aveva due o tre anni, era piccolino. Invece la figlia, la figlia era più grande, forse la figlia avrà avuto qualche anno in meno di me. Comunque, ste [unclear] fin la fin de la guerra.
FC: Non ti ricordi se facevate dei giochi insieme, quali tipi di giochi facevi?
MB: Facevano la settimana, nascondino, tutte quelle cose lì. Perché poi sai non c’era tanto da giocare ve’, perché abbiamo avuto tanto tempo i tedeschi in cortile.
FC: I tedeschi non vi facevano giocare?
MB: Noi ci stavamo alla larga intanto. Perché per quanto non fossero gentili e carini, ie fem paura. E poi, ghe sempre Pippo sopra la testa.
FC: E quindi andavate a nascondervi.
MB: [unclear], mamma mia Pippo! Se avesse preso metà deigli accidenti [unclear]. Ma non so se era inglese o se era americano quel Pippo lì!
FC: Però sapevi che era uno buono o era uno cattivo? Cioè,
MB: Chi? Pippo?
FC: Pippo.
MB: L’era cattiv!
FC: Era cattivo.
MB: Perché dove si trovava buttava giù, mitragliava, la malora!
FC: Eh, però lo sai che gli inglesi e gli americani in teoria erano quelli buoni.
MB: In teoria non te lo so dire.
FC: No?
MB: Non te lo so dire.
FC: Erano i tedeschi quelli cattivi.
MB: Non so dire se era tedesco o se era inglese o americano. So che’l mitraglieva, butteva le bombe. Quando è crollato i vetri, che è morto pure la Lidia non so se è stato verso Verona, o più in qua di Verona, crolle, e ha bombardato proprio. [unclear] buttà zò una bomba un bel po’. E’ crollà tutti i vetri, lei dalla paura che ha avuto è ndeda. Era già in convalescenza. E ha avuto la difterite. [unclear] adesso eh. Aspetta che vado ad aprire un po’ il coso anche perché c’abbiamo ste zanzariere. E non passa l’aria.
FC: Va bene, io, intanto guarda, finiamo l’intervista perché secondo me se non ti, ormai non ti ricordi più niente.
MB: Ormai non ricordo più niente. No va bene, sai, caro mio.
FC: Va bene così.
MB: Ero piccola io.
FC: Hai detto delle cose interessanti comunque. Va bene. Va bene. Grazie mille allora.
MB: Niente. Grazie di che cosa? Sono cose di quelle cose che a rivangarli ti vengono in mente ancora, capisci?
FC: E certo, è per quello infatti che, funziona così l’intervista. Quindi questa cosa, ti ricordi ancora quelle sensazioni lì?
MB: Sì.
FC. Te li ricordi come se.
MB: Sì, sì, come se fosse successo oggi, o ieri. Mi ricordo poi quelle degli scaletti. Ti dico che l’altro giorno venivo a casa da Reggio con Rico. Allora gli dico, Rico ti ricordi quando eravamo a vendemmiare a dis, fa lo te lo ricordi ancora? La miseria, se me lo ricordo ancora. Sì, sì altro ché se me lo ricordo. E l’episodio che mi è rimasto più in mente capisci, che e quello lì di avere i tedeschi per quaranta giorni nel cortile. E nonostante che non fossero gentili, guarda che venivano, uccidevano il bestiame, ci portavano sempre la carne in casa, ve’. E che pena. Si guarda che un contadino lavora tutto l’anno poi van là e prendon su vitelli, prendon su una mucca, per mangiare loro non chiedevano il permesso, sai! E gnanca pagheve il [unclear].
FC: Però ne davano un po’ anche a voi.
MB: Sì, sì, sempre.
FC: E sai perché?
MB: Non so, si vede siamo loro ospiti e insomma. C’era poi, avevano il calzolaio, il sarto. Il calzolaio soleva scarpi a tutt, anche a noi.
FC: Tra i tedeschi? C’erano il calzolaio, il sarto.
MB: Il sarto, sì, sì.
FC: E faceva.
MB: Eh sì, ci solava le scarpe a tutti [laughs], sì, sì.
FC: Ah. Vedi. E c’erano altre figure tipo quelle.
MB: No, non mi ricordo, c’era, faceva da mangiare
FC: Eh, c’era un cuoco?
MB: C’era un cuoco.
FC: Quindi cucinavano loro per, loro?
MB: Sì, sì, cucinavano loro.
FC: Voi facevate solo il pane.
MB: Noi facevamo solo il pane. La prima, mi ricordo sempre che la prima volta che abbiam tirato fuori il pane, sai, il pane caldo, il profumo, venivano davanti ai vetri, mammi, mammi, chiamavano mammi. E allora dopo loro l’han chiesto, i capi l’han chiesto e me go det: ‘sì, ma vi alzate voi alla mattina a venire a gramler’, perché [unclear] assieme, lui si faceva il pane ogni otto giorni.
FC: Avevate il lievito, quello che.
MB: Ah, non te lo so dire che lievito che c’era.
FC: Quello che si teneva lì e poi lo rimescolavi con la farina e poi lo tenevi da parte.
MB: Sì, sì, sì, da parte, prendevi una madia , se c’era una madia che dentro era vuota, c’era quello che si faceva il pane, si impastava il pane.
FC: Ma che pane era? Era bianco o era scuro?
MB: No, era bianco, era buono. Altro che il pane d’adesso. E avevamo imparato anche a fare il pane, ve’. Con le manine. Adesso non sarei neanche più capace perché ciò questo e questo che sono dita a scatto.
FC: Ah, eh vabbè.
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 Marisa Bianchi
Subject
The topic of the resource
World War (1939-1945)
Bombing, Aerial
Description
An account of the resource
Marisa Bianchi remembers her wartime years at Sesso, a rural hamlet in the Reggio Emilia province. Stresses the abundance of locally farmed food and emphasises how billeted German troops were friendly and supportive, even if she and her family had to work for them. Recalls "Pippo" coming over every day at the same time. Curses it for the fear it caused and describes two episodes connected with its menacing presence: being machine-gunned while working and the sight of her house under attack, an incident in which a relative died as the consequence of emotional shock. Explains her revulsion of Fascists, feared for their brutality and recollects the killing of her cousin on the last day of war. Describes wartime episodes: Fascists executing four partisans and torturing suspects; Germans shooting people on the Crostolo bank; a young worker being shot by mistake for carrying a bundle mistaken for a bomb. Recalls providing accommodation to evacuees from Reggio Emilia and the widespread enthusiasm at the end of the war.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-09-12
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Francesca Campani
Language
A language of the resource
ita
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
ABianchiM170912
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Italy
Italy--Po River Valley
Italy--Reggio Emilia
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
00:33:09 audio recording
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.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Sound
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Peter Schulze
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
childhood in wartime
evacuation
fear
home front
Pippo
Resistance
strafing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/21/73/Memoro 4243.2.mp3
567dca1b364de2a5bacc4b0dce0fc037
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
Memoro. Die Bank der Erinnerungen
Description
An account of the resource
18 items. The collection consists of interviews with German bombing survivors originally videotaped by Memoro, an international non-profit project and open archive of audio or video interviews of people born before 1950. The IBCC Digital Archive would like to express its gratitude to Nikolai Schulz (Memoro - Die Bank der Erinnerungen e.V) for granting permission to reproduce and transcribe the testimonies. To see them in their original video form please visit www.memoro.org/de-de/.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC staff
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Memoro. Die Bank der Erinnerungen
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
MD: Ein Eindruck noch der mir auch unvergesslich ist, ist das eines Tages, hat meine Mutter mich Brot holen geschickt nach [unclear] in das Dorf oben auf’m Berg [pauses] und ich war [clears her throat] noch auf der ebenen Strecke, rechts in einiger Entfernung war Wald und es kamen Tiefflieger, ganz viele und der Wald fing an zu brennen und ich kriechte eine panische Angst, ich habe mich in diesen Graben geschmissen obwohl der sumpfig war oder feucht damit man mich nicht sieht, weil es ganz ungeschützt alles war, offener Weg und ich gehört hatte dass die Tiefflieger auch auf einzelne Menschen schiessen, die sich da in der Gegend rumbewegen. Und ich lag dann da in dem Graben und hörte also dann immer zu den Tiefflieger und hab gebetet, dass das bald vorbei ist und ich bald aufstehen und nach Hause rennen kann, aber es hatt sehr lange gedauert. Und dann habe ich gesehen wie Soldaten flohen. Die kamen aus dem Wald. Und [clears throat] als ich dann endlich zurück konnte, also so’ne Pause mal kam mit den Tieffliegern, da sah ich wie diese auf der Hauptstrasse, auf der Dorfstrasse so durch rannten und liefen.
Unknown interviewer: Deutsche Soldaten.
MD: Deutsche Soldaten, die völlig abgerissen waren, schmutzig, kaputte Uniform, hungrig, aber auf der Flucht. Die Dorfbewohner haben, wollten schon denen irgendwie was zu essen geben, obwohl niemand viel hatte aber sie haben sich also auch gar nicht lange aufhalten koennen. Und tatsachlich, nicht lange danach, vielleicht ein Paar Stunden danach, kamen die Amerikaner durch’s Dorf gerollt auf Panzern. Da hab ich zum ersten Mal Schwarze gesehen, auch alle in Uniform, chic, gut rasiert, frisch gekämmt, als ob sie jetzt grade einen Ausflug machen würden. So sahen alle aus und alle waren auch alle ganz nett und freundlich, und schmissen so ‘n bisschen Schockolade in die Kindermenge. Die Dorfbewohner standen am Rand und guckten mit offenen Mündern. [pauses] [clears throat] Zunächst hatten wir Angst, aber als wir sahen dass die uns dann gar nix taten sondern einfach nur durchfahren wollten, wohin auch immer, warscheinlich hinter den Deutschen Soldaten her, da wurden wir dann etwas mutiger und einige sachten sogar: ‘Please give me chocolate’ und die kriechten dann auch was.”
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 Maria Domanovszky
Description
An account of the resource
Maria Domanovszky (b. 1937) recounts how she threw herself into a swampy ditch when under fire and how she lay down praying and hoping to get back home safely. Describes German soldiers with torn and dirty uniforms escaping from a burning forest. Tells memories of the first encounter with black American soldiers: they were friendly, looked well-dressed and threw chocolate to a crowd of village children. When the adults standing nearby realised that the soldiers were no cause of alarm, they asked for chocolate as well.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Memoro. Die Bank der Erinnerungen
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2010-08-04
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Peter Schulze
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
00:03:00 audio recording
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Memoro#4243
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content has been originally published on Memoro – Die Bank der Erinnerungen, which has kindly granted the International Bomber Command Centre Digital Archive a royalty-free permission to publish it as an audio track. To see it in its original video form and read the terms and conditions of use, please visit www.memoro.org and then click on the link to the German section. Please note that it was recorded by a third-party organisation which used technical specifications and operational protocols that may differ from those used by International Bomber Command Centre Digital Archive. It has been published here ‘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.
Language
A language of the resource
deu
Subject
The topic of the resource
World War (1939-1945)
Bombing, Aerial
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1945
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Sound
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
License
A legal document giving official permission to do something with the resource.
Royalty-free permission to publish
African heritage
childhood in wartime
faith
home front
strafing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/21/69/Memoro 4898.1.mp3
afdd3d84544e3c939509e606c40a0a42
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
Memoro. Die Bank der Erinnerungen
Description
An account of the resource
18 items. The collection consists of interviews with German bombing survivors originally videotaped by Memoro, an international non-profit project and open archive of audio or video interviews of people born before 1950. The IBCC Digital Archive would like to express its gratitude to Nikolai Schulz (Memoro - Die Bank der Erinnerungen e.V) for granting permission to reproduce and transcribe the testimonies. To see them in their original video form please visit www.memoro.org/de-de/.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC staff
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Memoro. Die Bank der Erinnerungen
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
MM: „Das ist, am 13. Februar ist meine Mutter, das Haus ist völlig verbrannt, der ganze Block brannte, und meine Mutter, die war grade von der Arbeit gekommen, Spätschicht, und hatte sich nur hingelegt und hatt den ersten Alarm, „alle in den Luftschutzkellern, grosse Angriffe auf Dresden stehen bevor“, haben die durch’s Radio gesagt und da hat sie gedacht, ach ich blieb liegen. Plötzlich war ihr [unclear] als da fällt eine Puppe runter [unclear] bei mir und da wurde sie aufgeschreckt und da ging auch schon das Licht aus und da hat sie die Tasche und den Koffer genommen und ist in den Keller und hat vorher noch mein Konfirmationskleid vom Bügel gerissen wie sie dachte es war aber eine Kunststoffschürze, die hatt sie noch in den Koffer gesteckt und dann in den Luftschutzkeller gegangen und dann, der erste Angriff der hat das Haus nicht beschädicht und da ist meine Mutter noch raufgerannt, hat überall noch die Gardinen abgerissen weil natürlich sämtliche Fenster kaputt waren und die wehten raus zum Fenster, die währen ja auch sofort, wie sie dachten, Brandherde gewesen aber am zweiten, bezeihungsweise am Mitternachtsangriff, um neun war der erste, viertel neun, ist das Haus auch ausgebrannt, da ist vom Hof her auch Phosphor gekommen. Da ist sie raus und an den Elbwiesen entlang zu ihren Elternhaus und ist auch heil angekommen. Allerdings die Stiefel die sie hatte, die hatten Brandlöcher und die eine Tasche, die hat sie weggeworfen. Ja, [background noise] ich war zu der Zeit bei meinen Grosseltern und wie jetzt der Angriff began, man sah den Himmel blutrot, da ist meine Tante, ihre jüngere Schwester, mit mir in die Stadt gegangen, wir sind also rein in die Stadt, und kamen kaum vorwärts, da kamen schon die ersten Flüchtlinge und Ausgebombten, und da war so ein Gedränge das wir einen Umweg gemacht haben und sind dann merkwürdigerweise an einer Schule vorbeigekommen und da sagte jemand: “ihr Haus brennt, aber die Mutti lebt”, die wohnte da in der Nähe. Und dann sind wir da ungekehrt und sind zu den Grosseltern in das Haus gekommen. Und meine Mutter war dann schon da und meine Cousine, sieben Jahre jünger, ich war ja vierzehn, da kam mir entgegen und rief:” [unclear] ist alles verbrannt”, Ja, ist alles verbrannt, “der Puppenwagen auch?” Das war das schlimmste [unclear]“
Memoro DE: „[unclear] Erzählungen was, wie soll ich sagen, was fehlt ist einfach warscheinlich der Geruch auch dieser Brände, die Schreie, warscheinlich viele Tausende Menschen verletzt, verbranntes Fleisch…“
MM: „Furchtbar. Das habe ich alles nicht so mitgekriegt, weil wir am Elbufer gegangen sind und der ganze Feuersturm ist in die Stadt reingezogen, weil ja der Sauerstoff verbraucht war durch die Hitze und da zog das alles in die Stadt rein. Ausserhalb auf den Elbwiesen war es nur rauchig und natürlich hab ich dann um Mittag die Tiefflieger gesehen. Da hab ich mich mit meiner Tante auf die Eisschollen gelegt, war ja Februar, und haben Körper eingezogen und gesehen wie die Tiefflieger über die Elbe geflogen sind und ich, obwohl es alles geleugnet wird, meine doch, das die geschossen haben, es war ein Lärm, und mit Maschinengewehren, warum ja auch nicht, wurden auch Bomben geworfen. Und Jedenfalls sah man auf den anderen Elbufer sah man die Leute die sich hinwarfen. Ob sie nun getroffen waren [?] oder bloss sich auch hinwarfen, jedenfalls die Tiefflieger die hat man ja gesehen.
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 Margarete Meyer
Description
An account of the resource
Margarete Meyer (b. 1936) describes the 13 February 1945 Dresden bombing and recounts how her mother reacted to the alarm. She rushed to the shelter and took some belongings, including what she thought was her confirmation dress. Explains how her mother managed to leave the house after the second attack and escaped to the open fields along the river Elbe. Describes how she managed to reunite with her at her grandparent’s house after fleeing along streets, overcrowded with refugees and injured people. Describes how she didn’t experience the firestorm because she was on the Elbe riverbank, where she saw aircraft bombing civilians and people taking cover by throwing themselves onto the ground.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2015-02-15
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
00:04:15 audio recording
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Memoro#4898
Spatial Coverage
Spatial characteristics of the resource.
Germany--Dresden
Germany
Europe--Elbe River
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Memoro. Die Bank der Erinnerungen
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Peter Schulze
Temporal Coverage
Temporal characteristics of the resource.
1945-02-13
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content has been originally published on Memoro – Die Bank der Erinnerungen, which has kindly granted the International Bomber Command Centre Digital Archive a royalty-free permission to publish it as an audio track. To see it in its original video form and read the terms and conditions of use, please visit www.memoro.org and then click on the link to the German section. Please note that it was recorded by a third-party organisation which used technical specifications and operational protocols that may differ from those used by International Bomber Command Centre Digital Archive. It has been published here ‘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.
Language
A language of the resource
deu
Subject
The topic of the resource
World War (1939-1945)
Bombing, Aerial
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Civilian
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
Sound
License
A legal document giving official permission to do something with the resource.
Royalty-free permission to publish
bombing
bombing of Dresden (13 - 15 February 1945)
childhood in wartime
civil defence
displaced person
home front
shelter
strafing
-
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/872/11112/PHodginM1701.2.jpg
1dfe5826fceaee1994844ce580f081c0
https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/files/original/872/11112/AHodginM170810.1.mp3
12a01fdddf3f968172ae5cc483a6d41b
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
Hodgin, Margaret
M Hodgin
Description
An account of the resource
An oral history interview with Margaret Hodgin (b.1932). She lived near RAF Fiskerton during the war.
The collection was catalogued by IBCC Digital Archive staff.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
IBCC Digital Archive
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2017-08-10
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Hodgin, M
Transcribed audio recording
A resource consisting primarily of recorded human voice.
Transcription
Text transcribed from audio recording or document
SB: This is Suzanne Bellhouse interviewing Mrs Margaret Hodgin. We’re at Margaret’s house in Fiskerton, Lincolnshire. Margaret lived very, very closely to RAF Fiskerton during the war years and she’s going to tell us all her about her experiences and, and what she saw.
MH: Right. The first memory of me, of my, of the war time was my father digging a shelter in the garden and we used to be carried down because I was only seven and my brother was four. And we used to be carried down when the air raids came. But they were, we were quite fortunate where I lived for, being bombed. And, and then later on as the time went on they would, when we went to school we, at Reepham School which was the next village we had to go and walk or cycle about two miles and you always had to take your gas mask with you. If you didn’t, you got halfway there and remembered it, ran back home and my mum coming up the road with it. And, you know, and it’s so vivid what I can remember of all these things. And, and then when we were at school if the, if the siren went we would take, we’d no shelters there. We were taken to houses in the village. Everybody, you know my, me and my brother was taken to a house and all the other children and they used to put us under the, cupboard under the stairs and, and that was at school. And well then going on to the war days, you know to the aerodrome being built I can remember that being done. Now, because we was only two small fields away from the, the ‘drome you could hear the Lancasters revving up to be taken off, you see. Take off. And I used to hear them and run upstairs and open my bedroom window because if the wind was, whichever the wind was as it came our way it, they used to be parallel by my bedroom window, and I could see the crew, the pilot with all his gear on and the one next to him. And I used to write down because it was AE. The number of the ‘drome there was AE1 or, and so on and I used to write. I had a book and I used to write them all down. I mean I was about eleven by then when the, when the ‘drome was, was on. And then I used to try and keep awake at home at night to hear how many came back. And they got to know. Some of them used to actually wave to me. The pilot, because they knew because I used to open the window and really look out and wave and all the rest of it. But the thing is it’s so vivid in my mind that, all that. Well, one Sunday afternoon, and in those days you hadn’t, you had to make your own entertainment. Well, I used to read a lot and I was curled up in a chair reading a book and I heard an aeroplane revving and flew upstairs, opened my window and what was it? A German plane. And I was terrified because, you know it had got the sticker on the thing. And I went down, I said to my mum and dad, ‘It’s a German plane gone past.’ My dad wouldn’t believe me. He said, ‘It never was.’ I said, ‘It was.’ And because it had apparently, this is what we were told later it had got into the, into the rear, near ours to take photographs of the aerodrome and it had come down low to do it and it was just taking away again. But as far as we were told it was shot down over Lincoln. Past Lincoln. So, that was the end of it. To see a German plane going past. I mean to a child it was terrifying and that was a frightening experience to me. Anyway, yeah I used to do it all through the war. Listening for these planes. And I tell you I wrote a book. I put a book with it but I think my mum must have lost it because I haven’t got it now. I wish I had but I haven’t. And I, and I used to really be upset when there was any missing when they came back. And that was my experiences with the Lancasters, you know. But to see them right near your house was amazing really. Yeah. Yeah. It was good. Anyway, I think I’d better stop a minute now.
SB: That was brilliant.
[recording paused]
MH: The war to me was as I said at the beginning that my father built a shelter in the garden and down in the ground and all that. But when the ‘drome was built it was, it was compulsory to have an, I think it was called Anderson but I’m not sure if ours wasn’t called something else. And you had to have them in your house, these shelters and they were absolutely made of steel and oh quite big. I can’t imagine. From that doorway to about there’s big. And there were shiny tops of steel and then there were latts all underneath and my mum put beds in for us and they used to, but it was nearly, I mean I was only in a small house. It nearly filled your room but you had to have them.
SB: Yeah.
MH: Because we lived so near the ‘drome. Yeah. You couldn’t say no. Yeah. And then another experience I can remember so vivid was about the evacuees coming. Now, we didn’t have many because [pause] no this was before the ‘drome was built, these evacuees. And there was quite a big house near me, near us and this lady must have been a bit, I don’t know what you’d call her but she wouldn’t. She refused to have anybody and so they brought a girl to us from Leeds or Liverpool. I can’t remember which, which town it was. I know it was from Yorkshire. And she came to stay at our house. And my mum would bake. Had got some plums all washed ready for making jam because you did everything for yourself in the war and she’d never seen a plum or eaten a plum before and she was so excited with these plums. She was, she was ever such a nice girl. But we weren’t, we wasn’t forced to have anybody because there was, we’d three bedrooms and a boy and a girl, you see. So we weren’t. But they came and asked my mum if she’d have this girl because this lady refused but she was made to have her in the end. And she wrote to us for, oh and then when the aerodrome was built they had to go home wherever they were sent to because of the, it was just as dangerous here as where they came from they thought. But anyway she did write to us quite a bit after. Yeah. I remember that. And there was quite a few evacuees about and they all seemed to settle well. And, and that was that experience you know. And I can still see her in my mind. But with these plums, she was so excited about plums. What else was I going to tell you? Oh yeah. About the air raid. The shelter. Yeah. And my mum used to put us down. We used to sleep in there. And one day, oh and my mum used to help in the village hall. They used to do whist drives and dances and it’s only a small village hall. It, well it’s a church hall at Cherry Willingham and we, I used to go with her because she used to light fires, two fires in the, ready for the whist drive. And you used to, used to go and put some more coal on it. It was black you know. Everywhere. There were no lights anywhere. And it used to be so, because you know so dark and I can still remember that. And if you had a cycle you had a lamp on the front but it was all blacked out by about the size of a shilling in those days. I don’t know how they saw. But anyway. So, funny things. Oh, and on a Saturday morning us children used to collect the salvage as we called it from all the houses and put them in a shed and then it was sorted out. I don’t know what, what they did with it but anyway that was our Saturday jobs with wheelbarrows fetching all this salvage and taking it to this shed. And the grown-ups used to sort that out. My dad wasn’t sent for the war because he worked at the forge and it was, they did work for the war you see. I don’t know what they did. I can’t remember. And, and so we were lucky to have my dad at home when everything went and I used to be saying, ‘Don’t let, just tell dad to come in,’ if there was a raid, ‘Don’t let him — ’ and he would stand out listening. The men did. About watching the, you know all the hearing them more likely. The air raids were on, he’d say, ‘Oh, they’re bombing Coventry,’ and all that sort of talk. Yeah. But it’s so you know I think when you’re, it’s your young day you do remember but I think it was more vivid with it being the war that you do remember things so well. And what else is there to tell you? Stop it a minute.
[recording paused]
MH: And one day my dad had been around the Cherry Willingham village. Well, there was only about [pause] I wouldn’t know how many houses. Say two hundred houses in there then. Now, it’s like a small town Cherry Willingham is. And he was, he’d been somewhere. They had a [pause] a place up in the village where the, when the [pause] what do church wardens and all them went to sort the people out. We had a man lived next door to us. He was called Twiddy Espin and he was only a very small man. My dad always said the whistle, he used to blow the whistle all around the village when it, so you knew, or if you were showing any light with your, and my dad always said that the whistle was bigger than he was. And he did look after us though. He used to come all around the village looking if you showed any light. You know, because you had to have blackouts of course. And he was very good really. He was. Nice man. And then my dad was gone up to this place whatever it was. I don’t know what it was about. They used to meet up there. Some of the men in the village. And one day he was coming down the village and he got shot at by a German plane. And one of the, there was a barn from the farm that was in the village and it happened to have the door open and he went in there and so they missed him. Yeah. And that was frightening to think they’d been shot at. Yeah. Because you didn’t know if there were some German planes about. I mean we used to go out playing. And, and I never went out of Cherry Willingham all through the war. Only to school. Because my mum used to go to Lincoln to get your clothes and she would never take us in case there was a, a, you know the sirens went. And so I never went out the village and I always remember being nervous going out for a meal after because I’d never been used to it. And nervous of such a lot of things because you were so [pause] And we used to be playing out sometimes when it was snowing. Behind the church we used to have a slide down there. Sirens would go. Fly home quick. But we were very fortunate around here as regards being bombed. And I remember one day my mum, she used, she was doing her hair, I was in curled up in one chair, my brother in the other. My dad was at work. And we were going up to see about this whist drive place so she was getting herself ready for going. And all of a sudden, we didn’t know if it was a bomb or a plane had crashed. Blew the back, the door in, in the house and the windows really rattled and I think that was before the, the ‘drome though because my mum pushed us under the ordinary table. And when she looked she’d only got her head under about, you know that was hanging out of it. But they are so protective of their children aren’t they? Mothers. Most of them anyway. And, yeah that was very vivid to remember. I can hear it now. The window really rattling and doing. Yeah. It was [pause] That was another thing that we did. What else was there? That. And that’s about it I think.
[recording paused]
MH: Now, on the crescent was the WAAF quarters. All the huts where the, where the WAAFs lived on here. And, and then just further down the road some of the, they weren’t the crew people, they were the ground staff. They had their quarter down there and where later on in life I got married and they brought a knitwear factory into this village and it was the old recreation place for the, for the crews where we, where it was. And it just finished about four years ago. Maybe more, wasn’t it? And it’s still there. You know. But they’re going to pull it down and it seems very sad to me that they’re pulling it down now. But they’re going to build houses so that’s it. And that’s another thing that we did. Yeah. Yeah, it was there and I was there forty six years. Because my first husband died when I was forty eight. You was only twenty something, weren’t you? And I was called Canner then and now I’m Mrs Hodgin. I married my second husband in 19 — what was it? ’92. Twenty ninety two. Yeah. That’s another thing. That’s not nothing to do with the war though.
SB: Yeah.
[recording paused]
MH: On the ‘drome. And we never knew about to be quite honest that there was such a thing as dark people. And one day we, as I say, mum as I said used to help with the whist drives and dances. Well, a lot of the RAF used to come up to the dances and brought this dark lad with them. He was only eighteen and they made such a fuss of him and he was such a nice person. And I, and that was the first black person I’d ever seen. Well, all of us had really. But they were so kind to him you know. Really looked after him. I can remember that vivid. Yeah. And he was nice. What else did you say?
[recording paused]
MH: And we had some Americans. I think they were based at Cranwell. Was it? Cranwell aerodrome. And they used to come around in to the town. By then this was a bit after the war though, Shirley. Wasn’t it? And they used to, used to go into town and they used to give us chewing gum and all sorts. Sweets and things. So we were always pleased to see them around. Yeah. Yeah. They were good. Yeah. That was another thing in my life. Yeah.
[recording paused]
MH: School it would be. I was fourteen and the rationing was still on and I worked in the Cherry Willingham Post Office come shop and still rationed we were. And, oh another thing. In the war we were allowed four of us two pound of sugar a week, half a pound of butter and then it was your flour and whatever you had. And the margarine was awful. I couldn’t stand it. But my dad used to, didn’t like wasting food whatsoever and he used to say I’ve got to eat this margarine on my bread. I said, ‘I’d sooner not have anything on my bread.’ But my mum used to put her butter on my bread and [laughs] but we only had two ounces each a week and that was in the war, well it was right after the war as well quite. Until nineteen fifty something it finished. Yeah. And a lot of the people had quite big families in those days and they couldn’t afford all what they got so they used to give up some of theirs and then other people who were better off used to buy that you see. What was spare. And we never had any tinned fruit. There wasn’t such a thing then in the war. You couldn’t have bananas over three years old. Yes. And I remember when the war finished and the man who, the shop was nearly opposite where, where we lived and I can remember him bringing the first lot of bananas. Well, bananas for us. And mum did us some banana and custard and I always remember that. It was wonderful. They were the first bananas we’d had, yeah. As I can remember. Yeah. And then the sweets came off ration. You didn’t get many sweets in the war. Then they came off ration. The first thing I bought was a Mars bar. Yeah. Funny things. Yeah. So better switch if off.
[recording paused]
SB: On the buses.
MH: We used to have with them. So many RAF people in the buses used to come from Lincoln to pick us up to take us back to Lincoln. My mum more than me because I was a child. And you had a job to get on the buses because they were full of the RAF people. And there used to be conductress in those days and the bus used to be packed and they used to stand from the end of the bus right to the door and the conductress used to be hanging on like this. And the RAF if you was a child went on the bus at all they would always have you on their knees. It used to be absolutely packed. The buses. But now they’re not allowed to you see. But yeah, and that was, my mum often went out for a bus and couldn’t get on it. Yeah. It was strange that was. Yeah. It was packed up with there. The WAAFs. Yeah. I can remember. But this, as I was saying where I live now was the WAAF’s quarters and they used to be their recreation village hall, hall there. Well, then when it all finished they left. That was our village hall. It was a wonderful place and we used to have dances and all sorts in it. A nice big dance place it was. And then, then of course it’s gone now because this has been built but the shop. Yeah. It used to be just there where those houses were. That was. I can remember that. Yeah. But I used to like the WAAF’s uniform. And when I went to this Woodhall Spa.
SB: 40’s.
MH: 40s, was it? Yeah. I says, ‘I hope somebody’s dressed as a WAAF.’ So anyway this lady came up and I said, ‘Oh, do you mind me talking to you?’ I said, ‘I’ve always admired their uniform.’ And, oh she was a lady that organised parties for the whatever. I don’t know what. She’d got seventeen. Not them but all different uniforms and she says, ‘The only thing with the, with the — ’ which I didn’t know, ‘With the tunics is that they all fastened men’s side because they were all done for men. But then they had, the WAAFs came and they used those,’ she says, ‘And they were all fastened the wrong way,’ she said. Oh dear. I said, ‘Well, I’m still learning.’ Yeah. And she invited us to get but we didn’t get did we? So we’re going to go hopefully next year to it again. And, oh I did have a wonderful day there though. Everybody dressed and their hair done up how they used to have it in the war. Yeah. And the stockings with the line. You know. The seams up. That they got on. Yeah. I can remember wearing some of those and make sure your seam was straight. Oh dear. Yeah. Oh God. You’d better switch it off now.
[recording paused]
MH: In the villages you had to have what you called the Army. Things for the Home Guard. And my dad was in the Home Guard and they used to sort of do all, what do you call it on a Sunday morning? All get marching and doing. And I always remember, which is another funny thing is he couldn’t fasten his top hook and eye and I used to stand on a stool to fasten his button. And, yeah there was the Home Guard in the war. Yeah. That was good. Yeah. It was. There was all the men, elderly men who didn’t go to the forces or anything. And there was quite a lot of them used to go marching around on a Sunday morning. And they were there to protect us if the Germans had come, you see. So that was, and that’s all. That’s all I’ve got there. You’d can switch it off.
[recording paused]
MH: I always remember with it being so dark and when it was like November time we always had thick fog. And all of a, then they decided on the ‘drome to give a light for the planes to come in to and it lit all your village up. And I was terrified because of this fog light. Yeah. That was a strange thing. Yeah. That sort of thing. Yeah. That’s —
[recording paused]
MH: And I can remember also a couple living in Cherry Willingham and they had a car which was rare. For the war. People who weren’t, you know had nothing much to do with the war but he was connected with the war and they went through Scampton where Guy Gibson was and his dog. It had a name. I forget its name.
SB: N*****.
MH: And, and they were going past the entrance of the aerodrome on there and this dog ran out in front of them and they killed it. But they did stop and sort it out. But there’s been a film made of the, of Guy Gibson and on it it shows that, it says they didn’t stop. They were very upset because they did stop because, you know. But it was the dog’s fault. It wasn’t their fault. And they were a long time getting over the, of doing it never mind about being on the film that they didn’t stop. And, yeah and that was a sad thing. But, yeah.
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Title
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Interview with Margaret Hodgin
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Suzanne Bellhouse
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IBCC Digital Archive
Date
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2017-08-10
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This content is available under a CC BY-NC 4.0 International license (Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0). It has been published ‘as is’ and may contain inaccuracies or culturally inappropriate references that do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the University of Lincoln or the International Bomber Command Centre. For more information, visit https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ and https://ibccdigitalarchive.lincoln.ac.uk/omeka/legal.
Type
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Sound
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AHodginM170810, PHodginM1701
Format
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00:27:10 audio recording
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eng
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Civilian
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Great Britain
England--Lincolnshire
Description
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Margaret’s family lived in Fiskerton and her first memory of war time, when she was seven and her brother four, was of her father digging a shelter in the garden. The children would walk or cycle to Reepham school.
Margaret was about eleven when an aerodrome was built a couple of fields away. When she heard the Lancasters take off she would run upstairs to watch from the open window and wave to the crew. She would write the aircraft number in a book and lie awake at night listening for them to return. She remembered a German aircraft flying low to take pictures of the station and then being shot down over Lincoln. Margaret’s parents took in an evacuee before the RAF Fiskerton was built. On a Saturday morning the village children would collect salvage in wheelbarrows and take it to a shed where it would be sorted by the adults. She recalled the time when there was an explosion which blew the house door in. When Margaret was fourteen she worked in Cherry Willingham Post Office and shop. Margaret’s father worked at the forge doing war work and was also in the Home Guard. She remembered he had once been shot at by a German plane but wasn’t injured as he dived into a barn. Margaret’s mother helped with the whist drives and dances in the village hall.
Contributor
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Sue Smith
Julie Williams
Conforms To
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Pending revision of OH transcription
childhood in wartime
civil defence
evacuation
home front
Home Guard
RAF Fiskerton
shelter
shot down
strafing