Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II

[Danny42C]

ricardian (#10001),

I was an ATC at Linton early 1962 to autumn 1964. Do the dates tally ? But in any case, the names ring no bell - Sorry.

Roll on 11,000 Posts (doubt I'll be here to see it !)

Danny.

[MPN11]

On Facebook Edna Hilditch said ...Would that be "Ted" Hilditch? I never knew her first name!

[fleigle]

From another thread;
http://www.pprune.org/pacific-general-aviation-questions/597219-iced-up-vengeance.html#post9834667
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[Brian 48nav]

I think you've had a 'senior moment'! You've just cracked the 11,000 mark - must be the muggy weather!

[Chugalug2]

sidevalve:-
here's George Duffee's story in his own words about 22nd June 1943, the day that changed his life.

What an amazing and well written story! On the same day that he bids farewell to his mother having just completed his training on the Halifax, he travels by crowded and typically late running wartime train from London, reports to his new squadron, meets his new Flight Commander, and is detailed as "second dickie" on an operation that very night! Having successfully bombed the target, they are hit themselves, the aircraft goes into the most violent of death-throes that pins him to the floor (was he standing throughout this flight anyway? Where would a "second dickie" sit in a fully manned Halifax?). Somehow he bails out, lands in Germany, and starts his evasion; via Holland, Belgium, France, and Spain to Gibraltar and a return to Ops.

Highly reccomended reading, for there in one inexperienced 19 year old pilot's account is the 5 star feedback satisfied customer's recommendation of the Comet Line, and the varied and multi-national volunteers that manned it!

Thank you sidevalve, I cannot think of a better way of introduction to this inspiring lifeline than via your link. :ok:

http://www.conscript-heroes.com/escapelines/EEIE-Articles/Art-27-George-Duffee.htm

[PPRuNeUser0139]

If for any reason, you're unable to access the link to George Duffee's epic WWII evasion story via the Comet Line, here it is in George's own words:

Chapter 1 - Arrival on Squadron - 22 June 1943

I remember well the day - one always does when it is the day of return from leave. I had travelled standing in the corridor of an overcrowded train puffing its way from Kings Cross, London, to York and arriving an hour late. How glorious a week's leave really is and how despondent a soul can be when it is ended. But, this was going to be different, for instead of returning to a Training Unit, I was joining an Operational Bomber Squadron - 78 Squadron based at Breighton in Yorkshire.

After doing the many things one does on arrival at a new station, I approached the Flight Commanders office. To me, the new arrival, the Flight Commander was all I imagined an operational pilot to be - merry, wide-awake looking, brown eyes that spoke of friendliness - a rather roguish-looking moustache above a pair of half-smiling lips. He wore a greasy looking battledress decorated with the ribbons of the D.S.O. and the D.F.C. His dilapidated hat, which I espied thrown in the corner of the office, would have disgraced any parade.

''Well young man!'' he said, ''You will get the opportunity of seeing your first German target tonight!'' I stammered my thanks and retreated to my untidy Nissen hut, there to subdue my excitement and write a letter to my mother, assuring her that I had survived the journey north. Tonight I would see my first enemy target! Visions of bomb scarred London crowded into my mind - visions of my own damaged home, and in my boyish heart, a vehement savagery was born. ''They'' would come to know the suffering that ''They'' had inflicted upon London, Coventry, Rotterdam and Warsaw.

Many things were happening about the aerodrome - huge petrol bowsers were racing out to the aircraft dispersal points, followed by the slow moving tractors pulling miniature train loads of bombs. Air gunners were busily engaged cleaning their beloved guns and wiping the specks of oil from the perspex of their turrets. Armourers stood by supervising the loading of the bombs, while ground crews checked the engines, fuselage and undercarriage of their aircraft, their Halifax bomber. As I hurried to the Briefing Room, the sun was already setting in a cloudless sky.

The Briefing Room was a large Nissen hut in which there were many map covered tables and a huge map of Europe showing the enemy defences, his fighter zones and his searchlight belts occupied half of one of the walls. Soon the air-crews began to drift in - some happy - some gloomy, some visibly nervous and others outwardly calm. They separated themselves into crews and awaited the arrival of the Briefing Officers. Quickly they settled down and the room became full of cigarette smoke and snatches of conversation drifted to my ears - ''The one last night - she was a real popsy'' – etc.

I was to fly as second pilot to a Flight Lieutenant Knight who had completed I think sixteen operational trips. The dreary matter-of-fact voice of the Meteorological Officer came to me '' - very little cloud, slight industrial haze over the target area, moon rises soon after midnight''. The Tactics Officer ''You can expect fighter interception here, heavy flak here, and balloon barrage here'', and the Navigation Officer calling out the speeds and heights at which we were to fly followed by the Wing Commander's final ''Good luck chaps''. I stood by the table occupied by the crew with whom I was to fly and listened to their final preparations. All I was conscious of was the thin red line on the Navigators chart leading to Mulheim in the heart of the strongly defended Ruhr Valley.

In the locker room it was the same - I kept wondering what it was really going to be like - trying to anticipate everything. ''Dash it!'' I had forgotten to unpack my flying helmet. There was very little time to spare so I borrowed the first bicycle I could lay my hands on and peddled furiously back to my Nissen hut, returning just in tine to board the crew bus. In the locker room there had been much teasing, a little bickering and I confess a little swearing, but now everyone sat fairly quietly on the bus, swathed in their heavy flying suits and bedecked with many-coloured scarves. On our way out to the aircraft we waved a solemn mocking farewell to the Waafs on their way to their mess for supper.

Thirty tons of Halifax and bomb load raced along the runway and was carried gently upwards into the clear sky of a June night.

[PPRuNeUser0139]

More of George's story..

Chapter 2 - Shot Down

And so we winged our way eastwards - eastwards to destroy the enemy's war potential, his marshalling yards and his oil refineries. In the gathering darkness I could make out the silhouettes of many other bombers forming a long stream, with their twinkling navigation lights and their dimly lit cockpits.

The first stars began to show in the northern sky as we crossed the east coast. Soon, one by one, those secure friendly navigation lights began to vanish as they were switched off and it seemed as though we were now alone in the night sky with the lights of England fading fast behind us. One did not feel the impulse to speak in an outbound bomber except for the odd perfunctory word. If one was possessed of any imagination foolish thoughts began to enter one's mind. Thoughts turned to the fast receding friendly coast, whilst eyes peered forth into the darkness of the North Sea, where beyond lay the enemy held coast.

Little was said, only the occasional comments of the navigator and the bomb-aimer discussing the accuracy of a radar fix and the cheery voice of the skipper enquiring after the comfort of the rear gunner. Apart from these few words all was silent. How very much alone a man felt at night above the North Sea. The darkness seemed all embracing and one had the feeling of being suspended in mid-air; for there was no sensation of speed.

I peeped across at the skipper, only his eyes were visible under his helmet and above his oxygen mask. He glanced alternately ahead and down to his many instruments. I began peering ahead again anxious and a little excited to see the first signs of the enemy reception. I saw nothing except the multitude of stars like bright jewels glittering in the dark sky - I felt at all times a sense of utter seclusion, imagining rather than feeling the other aircraft flying either side of us.

Occasionally we felt the comforting ''bump'' as another aircraft passed ahead of us; always a good sign. ''What was the time?" - ''What was the date?'' I uncovered my luminous watch and saw that it was 11.15 p.m. and of course the day of my return from leave the 22nd June 1943. ''Was it only this morning that I had kissed my mother - farewell?'' It must have been so - but how strange it was to be 14,000 feet over the North Sea so soon. That was a shocking journey I had had - standing in a smoke-filled corridor for several hours. Still there was a war on, someone had said. Yes there was a war on and we were roaring eastwards to add our small contribution to the Allied victory.

Nothing ahead, only darkness. Darkness and one's own thoughts are cold comfort, another hour passed, an hour that seemed like ten hours. ''Fifty miles to the coast'' - the navigator's voice came coolly over the intercom. I peered ahead again to see strong beams of light brightening the dark sky and small bursts of light showed momentarily below and above them. ''They'' are ready for us, I mused. Nearer and nearer to those searching fingers of light. Brighter and brighter the night sky became, until the whole sky was a panorama of different coloured bursts of light flak and the piercing white beams of the searchlights. There was no sense of seclusion now! - only the exhilarating thrill of being the hunted. Unhurriedly it seemed, those thin fingers of light waved below for ever searching. ''There will be a little activity as you cross the coast'' - I remembered the Wing Commander saying. ''But after that it will be fairly quiet.'"

There was no sense of impending danger as we twisted and weaved inland. As suddenly as we had entered the defended zone we found ourselves in the quiet sky above central Holland. Zero hour over the target was 1 a.m. - it was now 12.15 a.m.

The enemy had been well warned of our arrival and had put his fighters in the air between the coast and the target. This was evident from the many bursts of air to air tracer and an aircraft exploding way off to our port. There was little time to think of the fate of the poor devils, for at that moment we ourselves were subjected to an accurate burst of flak, delivered no doubt from a mobile battery – at least one we had not been forewarned about.

I had lost a little of my excitement and sat there rather in the nature of a pupil, trying to learn everything from the one experience. All was quiet again as we flew further inland. ''Hope some of those fellows managed to get out'' I thought to myself - my God - what an end, just to be snuffed out like that. It was then that it all impressed me as a huge game. I was young enough to believe that. A huge grim game with death to the vanquished! This was what I had enlisted for - just to have a crack at the Hun. Soon I would be over my first German target, dropping real bombs on real factories and real marshalling yards. That I may kill some civilians left me unmoved, for I was young and not squeamish. Whether it was morally right or wrong will always be the subject of controversy but speeding towards the target there was little time to think of it. What would it be like? The old excitement gripped me again for anticipation had got the better of me.

Another uneventful half-hour slipped by. There was a tenseness now in the crew made evident by the clipped speech of the navigator giving corrections to the course and the rather dramatic voice of the rear gunner.

And then at last I saw it. It was ahead of the aircraft about 20 miles away I estimated - the conflagration of the burning town casting a red glow seen from many miles away. That and the multitude of weaving searchlights combined to make it as bright as day. I could see the many bursts of flak forming a barrage over the target. Fighter flares added their brilliance to the scene and still it seemed like a game. ''They'' must try to keep you away and you must try to get there and of course back again. Nearer and nearer we flew and I began to pick out other aircraft converging on the target.

The Skipper thought it prudent to commence a slight weave for we were entering the outer defences. ''Everyone keep a good look out'' he said. The air was becoming turbulent with the slipstream of countless aircraft as we flew through the spent clouds of smoke left by the exploding shells. Nearer and nearer we flew until it seemed we were hovering over the target. Then we were in the thick of it. There was no excitement now - just the tenseness of determination and purpose. The air became rough with bursting shells and weaving aircraft. I could hear the quiet ''crup! crup!'' as the shells burst close. It was more brilliant than day and I could see the enemy fighters flying above ready to pounce on the unwary bomber.

Then dead ahead of us a bomber sustained a direct hit and exploded, showering our aircraft with fragments. Nearer and nearer we crawled to the bright green target indicators, burning 18,000 feet below us. Several large fires had taken hold in the industrial part of the town. It was an inferno of burning shells bursts in the sky, weaving aircraft and searchlight beams jerkily moving above a target already badly mauled. ''All set'' came the bomb-aimers voice from the nose of the aircraft. ''Right'' snapped back the skipper - ''soon be there''.

So this was it. Sitting up there, hardly seeming to move and looking out at the angry bursts of flak with their dirty red centres and the white beams of light trying to hold us to be shot at by the hovering squadrons of fighters, I became conscious of a feeling of fear which I angrily dismissed.

''Bomb doors open'' - the bomb-aimer's voice was friendly and comforting, imparting confidence in the crew. ''Bomb doors open'' repeated the pilot. ''The devils'' I thought - ''they know the direction of our approach and have plastered the whole area with a seemingly impenetrable barrage of bursting shells''. The aircraft rocked violently. ''Steady'' came the cool voice. ''Keep a good look out above'' - said the pilot. ''Left - left - left'' directed the bomb-aimer, followed by the drawn out ''s-t-e-a-d-y''. It was now too bright to look outside the aircraft. ''Blast those searchlights - why couldn't there have been a little cloud'' I said to myself! ''Steady'' came that voice again. ''Almost there''. Another minute that seemed to last an hour and then the relief of hearing ''Bombs gone - bomb doors closed''.

''They'' seemed determined that we shouldn't get away so easily and the barrage intensified. The aircraft rocked violently as we twisted and turned through the searchlights. The flak became more spasmodic and the searchlights fewer as we approached the boundary of the defences. Half the job was over - I thought as we turned for home. Little did I know - as we flew westwards with the friendly darkness embracing us. I hadn't noticed before but now I could see the full moon rising high in the night sky.

Ten minutes later it happened! The time was about 1.20 a.m. Suddenly - as suddenly as when an electric light is switched on in a room, three searchlights clamped their illuminating beams on to us. The pilot immediately executed a violent weaving manoeuvre, trying to shake off these menacing fingers - but they clung tenaciously to us, while we waited for the accompanying burst of flak. None came. No matter how swiftly we turned, those beams held us – but still no flak. Our chance came as they lost us momentarily and we did a violent turn into the apex of the beam, and were through in an instant into the darker sky. "Nice work skipper" congratulated the rear gunner.

Nothing more was said for at that instant a long burst of cannon and machine gun fire raked the starboard wing engines causing them to burst into flames. The position looked grim. The fire could not be subdued and we were spiraling earthwards. "Abandon aircraft" came the now tense voice of the pilot and we all hastened to obey. The aircraft seemed to plunge into a steeper dive and I was thrown violently into the nose. With clawing hands I managed to clip my parachute to my harness, but when I tried to get up I found I couldn't do it, for the force of gravity was pinning me to the floor of the aircraft, which was now plunging at a sickening speed earthwards. Down, down - I couldn't move - I tried but it was quite impossible. I looked up to the cockpit. The pilot was there with his parachute already clipped to his harness and vainly trying to control the sickening dive.

It was no use, I resigned myself to my fate and in an instant my mind was filled with thoughts of home, my mother, my childhood and of my old headmaster. In those fleeting moments I seemed to re-live my whole life - and then what after? Soon I would know. The roar had increased to a high pitched shriek as the whole aircraft vibrated and suddenly it shuddered terribly. Momentarily I had lost my senses and thought we had hit the ground and that I was still alive.

But no - I tried again to get up but couldn't. I waited - then thought - "Why should I wait to die - when I had only just begun to live?" "Why should I just sit there in resignation?" "Try man" - an inner voice said. "Try; try!" I puffed and strained and struggled to get my knees over the escape hatch and felt the cool blast of air blowing in from the outside. This must have revived me a little and I gathered all my strength and leaned and pushed forwards and downwards. Suddenly all was silent and I was tumbling earthwards ...

[Danny42C]

Fleigle (#11004) from California,

What a find ! ("another thread" ?) For a few glorious moments I thought that we might've found another real live Vultee Vengeance 'operational' pilot for me to natter to. But your link took me to:

Centaurus (Thread Starter, #1, PPRuNe Forums > PPRuNe Worldwide > The Pacific: General Aviation & Questions ) from Australia,

"Iced up with a Vengeance" (I take it this is the "another Thread" ?) from which I found a Wikipedia entry I never knew existed: "Vultee Vengeance in Australian Service". Much of this I would take issue with, but:
..."Vengeances were also used in trials of poison gas conducted by the 1st Australian Field Experimental Station, Royal Australian Engineers, near Proserpine, Queensland, during 1944.[55]"...
This had me sitting up bolt upright - for it is right up my street, for I was in the same business in India 1945-6. Followed up [55], a comprehensive official report on the unit and its work. It closely parallels our experience in Cannanore, but I know of no comparable British official publication. One would be very helpful, but I do not know where to look.

Centaurus continues with:
..."Here is the story as relayed to the editor of Aviation Safety Digest, who entitled it 'From one of our readers – a valid message from the past' "...
Is this "reader" still alive ? (he'd be my age) If so, is it possible to contact him ? Googled "Aviation Safety Digest - Australia", plenty about the mag, but no contact details for it. Could "Centaurus" (or anyone else "downunder") follow this up for me, please ?

As for the story itself (well worth a read, and I'll comment on it later), the chap was lucky ! I flew in three monsoons, and was chucked about a bit, but never met ice. So I didn't ever have to bother about the pitot head heater. I must admit, when first reading the AF447 story, I wondered ... but no, it's impossible !

Or is it ? ISTR that, in the case of the Air Florida (?) that ploughed into the Potomac river bridge (Washington) in 1982, the engine intakes temp sensor heater was checked as "off" on the pre take-off check list - well, you wouldn't need it often in Florida, would you ?), although everthing else was deep in snow. 78 died [Wiki].

Danny.

[Danny42C]

Brian 48nav,

Yes - never thought I'd live to see 11,000 ! - Roll on 12,000: hope Cliff (RIP) is watching his Thread going strong.

Danny.

[ancientaviator62]

sidevalve,
the Observer whose log book I have a copy of was on 78 Sqn at Middleton St George that time ! He was not on that raid. He and his crew were on the way back from Pocklington having diverted there after a trip to Emden. The a/c are recorded as Halifax Mk 2.

[ancientaviator62]

I have just reread sidevale's account and Brieghton is mentioned as 78's home base. It usually was but at the top of the relevant page of the log book it distinctly says Middleton St George. Perhaps it was a very temporary detachment and the log book may not have been updated . The other entries just say 'base'.
An extraordinary story about being shot down on your first trip. I once met a Lancaster F/E who was 'shot down' on his first trip. They were bombed from above by another Lanc. Capricious fate in action.

[PPRuNeUser0139]

Chapter 3 - First Contact
Tumbling - downwards! The silence! - fumbling for the rip-cord. Only the silence - no sensation - rip-cord - rip-cord. Then the slight jerk arresting my downward travel - smoothness; a feeling of floating, gently swaying; a feeling of relief. I breathed my thankfulness to God. The white canopy above me, the unknown below me. Was it all a bad dream? What was I doing hanging suspended in the air gently swaying? Still the silence, - then a ringing in my ears, and as if to break my dream, the violent explosion as the aircraft hit the ground not three miles away. My left glove slipped from my hand and fluttered down into the darkness. Then I consciously discarded the other one as being of no further use. It was all a bad dream and I would wake up in the comfort of my bed. Was it though? I insisted it was - I passionately wanted to believe it was - but with the first glimpse of the bluish moon bathed ground I knew that it wasn't a dream. Nearer and nearer, lower and lower - gently sinking. What was I to do when I hit? - ah yes – the quick release box.

I hit the ground heavily and crumpled, the white canopy settled about me. There I lay and again the feeling of being in a dream came to me. This was the soil of England and I was safe. I must do nothing, just lie awhile and think. Noise of aircraft flying high above. Aircraft? - yes that was it - I had been shot down and had baled out - but - it wasn't me, - I was secure in my bed - this was just a flight of my all too vivid imagination. The soil was real! and I could feel the hard lumps of potatoes. Real, real soil and real potatoes and a real parachute now stretched out startlingly white against the dark ground. Real! - ''understand man'' this was no dream, this was happening. What was I to do? "Where was I? What time was it? My watch - where was my watch - I clawed up earth covered potatoes but no watch. Thirty-eight dollars I had paid for it during my training in America. I must find my watch. I became obsessed with the idea - more potatoes but no watch; I must think - I must get away - The strong impulse to get up and run came to me. Slowly normality returned and I began to think more clearly. I heard the soft murmur of aircraft flying high above. I had the feeling that if I stood up, someone would shoot me. Slowly I began to pull on the silk cords of the parachute, bunching it up about me. Still no sudden ringing shot, that would end my life. I thought that I must bury the parachute so I began scooping out a hollow in the soft moist earth and pushed it down into the hole. I lay down again listening - nothing except the faint hum of the aircraft flying away in the distance.

Slowly, inch by inch I began crawling to the comparative safety of the shadowy hedge at the side of the field. It seemed as if many eyes were watching my every move - eyes that were laughing at my futile efforts to escape - eyes that were waiting to sight along a rifle. Reaching the comforting shadows I stood up and looked around me. My parachute and harness had effectively been buried. The dark blue reefer I was wearing I had put over my battledress - effecting a disguise. I felt for my emergency food box and felt the smooth surface of the celluloid casing in my pocket. Now I must walk to put as much distance between myself and the scene of the crash for in the morning I knew that a thorough search would be made covering a radius of ten to fifteen miles. I wondered which way to go and decided to walk westwards for a while and then north-westwards. According to my rough calculation, I was very close to the Dutch-German border, on the Dutch side, I couldn't be sure, hence my decision to strike out westwards.

The bright light of morning found me resting behind the hedge bordering a cornfield. I must have dropped off to sleep for a while, for the sun was fairly high in the sky. The happenings of the previous night came to me in startling clarity. The line of tracer and cannon fire, the aircraft burning and my fight to get out and then falling through space. I remembered the loss of my watch and the potatoes, how I had half-walked and half-run along the narrow dirt paths and across moon bathed fields incurring the displeasure of a farm dog as I skirted round a farm house. I continued to rest there with the bright blue sky above, the rich golden corn on one side and the thick green hedge on the other. ''Life could be much worse'' I mused. I wondered what happened to the rest of the crew - I had seen nothing of them.
All day I stayed there, watching the birds, the swaying corn, the timid field mice and the many ants drawing along pieces of straw. I thought of home and what my family were doing now and did they already know what happened to me. I thought of my friends on the squadron and whether they had missed me yet. I decided to eat nothing that first day and just recline in the sun, storing up my energy for further walking in the night.

I dozed and thought about the happy days I had spent in America during my training and wondered if it would all be wasted and I would soon be thrown into a prison camp. There was no point in thinking torturing thoughts so I just relaxed and waited for darkness. Darkness came and with it an urge to move further westwards. Silently and cautiously I made my way to the road. All was clear so I strode westwards, my flying boots making little noise on the loose earth. I passed sleepy isolated farmhouses through dark menacing woods, over trickling rivulets and across short turfed fields, always with the idea of putting as much distance between myself and any subsequent search party. Every so often I would stop and listen. It was impossible to estimate distance for I changed direction many times. A burning curiosity possessed me but I resisted the temptation to look through the crack of a heavily curtained window of a farmhouse.

Light was already beginning to show in the eastern sky and soon the sun would rise heralding another day. Before I went into hiding again I had to find water. I found a stream and dipped my rubber water bag into it. The water was dirty and stinking. I put in a double dose of purifying tablets and with this dripping treasure I sought my second hiding place. Why not another cornfield I thought - and searched for half an hour before I found a convenient spot between a high hedge and the tall corn. The sun rose, warming the earth and the early morning mist swirled around me as I sat down and thought that they would know at home now, there would have been the cold unemotional telegram ... and much crying. I was exhausted, aching in every limb, too tired to eat, so I sipped from my water bag - nauseated by the smell. Then I dropped off to sleep.

More to follow..

[PPRuNeUser0139]

George on the ground in Holland:
I slept soundly and peacefully, undisturbed by dreams and awoke to an unusual sound I could not recognize. Sitting up I peeped through the tiniest part of the hedge and saw two cyclists coming along the road. I was attracted firstly by the fact that both cycles were without tyres - hence the unusual sound and secondly they wore wooden shoes.

Wooden shoes and windmills - that was about all I knew of Holland. That they were Dutch farm labourers I had no doubt and the fact that I was in Holland was extremely pleasant. Another gorgeous summer's day - I was quite enjoying it I decided. Feeling in my emergency food pack I extracted a few horlicks tablets and began to suck them, one at a time. They were very sustaining. Then another drink of the stinking water, followed by the 'sweet' of the meal, a bar of full milk chocolate. It was delicious after the many plain bars of chocolate I had eaten in the past. I then began to chew thoughtfully on a piece of gum. Lying back hands behind my head I began picking out the morning noises. Far away I could hear a train racing along the rails; a lorry changing gear; the mooing of a cow and the faint rush of the wind blowing through the corn. The mist cleared, morning gave way to the warmer noon, noon gave way to the cooler evening and 'ere long the sun glowed red in the west.

And the night came, and with it I must travel further westwards into central Holland. More isolated farmhouses, more barking dogs. Skirting villages and keeping to the shadows. Hiding like a common fugitive and always listening, walking and listening, walking and listening all night long. The bright stars above, the cold light of the moon lighting my way along the narrow footpaths, across the fields and parallel to the main road. The feeling of being followed obsessed me as I pushed on faster. Only the melancholy hoot of an owl and then silence. Hour followed hour, always walking. Exhaustion sent me in search of another hiding place and I found one in the form of a dried up ditch floored with weeds. I slept away the hour before daybreak.

In an instant I was fully awake, heart pounding as a rifle shot still echoed in the woods behind me. I lay very still hardly daring to breathe, my heart still pounding like a hammer. The search party had followed me and were even then searching the wood. behind where I lay, the more nervous one shooting at the least thing believing me to be armed. I peeped cautiously above the level of the road and there not twenty yards away was a German soldier armed with a rifle guarding a camouflaged lorry. One of the invincible ‘Master Race'. He didn't look it. Old, forty I would say; greying hair beneath his cap; gaunt face, a thin neck set upon round shoulders. I must wait quietly until they tired of the search. His comrades, there were five of them, continued their search of the wood and the surrounding countryside. There was another shot. I could hear the soft crunch of their boots as they strolled about. They shouted across to each other as all the time I lay there hardly daring to draw breath. I lay there so still and quiet that a field mouse ran on to my chest, stayed awhile looking at me and then ran down my leg and vanished into the ditch. It was towards six o'clock I estimated before the six of them gathered round the lorry. They had all passed the prime of their years and were not particularly happy looking. There was much nodding of heads and before long they boarded the lorry and made off westwards. I relaxed, my heartbeat returned to normal. I waited yet again for the night.

The first stars began appearing before I left that unforgettable ditch and walked stealthily parallel to the road and westwards. The walking, the lack of adequate food and the excitement of the day made me decide to seek help from one of the numerous farmhouses I passed. Approaching one without the inevitable barking dog I peeped behind the curtain. There in a sparsely furnished room sat a woman sewing and a man eating. No-one else. I would go in and announce my identify. Presuming it more polite if I knocked - I did so, I knocked three short and one long tap on the door. I tried to anticipate their startled look across at each other. Were they expecting visitors? The door was opened by the man. He said something I did not understand so I walked in closing the door behind me.

"I am a British pilot'' I said, remembering the phrase from my phrase card. Instantly he was nervous, suspicious. Raising my blue reefer I showed him my flying badge. He slowly uttered the letters R-A-F. He understood, went to his wife and said something. They continued to stare at me nervously. With much difficulty and by using my phrase card again I made known to them that I wanted civilian clothes and shoes, offering my battle dress and flying boots in return.

Rummaging in an outer room, the wife produced a pair of old brown trousers, a tattered coat and well worn wooden shoes. She placed these before me. Nothing was said. With no show of embarrassment I changed out of my uniform and boots which they accepted. Dressed once more in their old clothes and wooden shoes I uttered my warmest thanks, shook the man by the hand and as quickly as I had entered, departed leaving them to their surprise, their incredulity and their nervousness.

I decided to put a few miles between myself and that friendly farm-house before resting for the remainder of the night. I saw no-one and thought that a haystack would be as good a place to hide as any and there were plenty around. Finding one with a roof over the top, I climbed up, lay down and slept.

[Danny42C]

sidevalve,

What a gripping tale - and how well told ! You were lucky that it was in high summer though - in a freezing Continental January it would've been another story altogether.
Looking forward to the next chapter. But space them out a bit to allow for comment and questions to come in from the readership (whatever did happen to your watch btw ? - must've been ripped off your wrist when you baled out).

$38 for a watch in US in 194? You bloated plutocrat ! I got quite a decent one for $5 (and a pair of Ray-Bans for the same money). The Ray-Bans ploughed the bridge off my nose later, during an unsceduled "arrival". The watch flew with me on all my ops, but got nicked on Quetta railway station. Its replacement (Rs150 then, a Longines, say £600 now), still ticks, but loses time badly in spite of a recent servicing. Current quartz job (£5 new) is a perfect timekeeper.

You can interpret my callsign: Danny42C (Arnold Scheme).

[Chugalug2]

Danny, sidevalve is quoting from George Duffee's account of his bail out and journey to Gibraltar via the Comet Line. He originally posted the link to George's website, and I agree with you that the style is excellent. I told him by pm that some may have problems with links, so he is copying the story into this thread.

As you say though, little is more, so slowly does it indeed!

[ICM]

AA62: I offer a possible explanation of the Breighton/Middleton St George question regarding 78 Sqn. 10 Sqn, then also a 4 Gp Halifax unit, moved from Leeming to its own base at Melbourne, east of York, in August 1942. However, until runways capable of taking war loads were completed, crews were ferrying aircraft to Topcliffe and/or Pocklington for Ops until the first could be flown from Melbourne on 23 October that year. Might something similar have been happening at Breighton?

[MPN11]

Superb narration by George ... I feel I'm there alongside him, pulse racing and every nerve tingling.

What the guys of that generation had to go through is beyond our modern imagination, unless told clearly and in detail [as Danny42C also does].

[Danny42C]

George - sorry, thought you and sdevalve were one. Mea Culpa ! (wiil go and stand in corner with Dunce's hat on !

Danny.

[MPN11]

George - sorry, thought you and sdevalve were one. Mea Culpa ! (wiil go and stand in corner with Dunce's hat on !

Danny.Pop the kettle on as you're passing, eh? :cool:

[PPRuNeUser0139]

George - sorry, thought you and sdevalve were one. Mea Culpa ! (wiil go and stand in corner with Dunce's hat on !

Danny.

Don't worry about it Danny.. I've re-formatted the posts in question to make the distinction clearer between my words and George's.

[Chugalug2]

Don't bother with standing around in corners, Danny, we need you here. Though if you are putting on the kettle anyway for MPN11, mine's a tea, NATO standard? Thanks! :ok:

[ancientaviator62]

ICM,
your explanation fits the bill ! In those hectic days I think the log books (and squadron F540) would not be 100 % accurate. Even my log books written in peacetime contain one or two entries that do not quite seem correct !

[Brian 48nav]

Jeff Jefford's book 'RAF Squadrons' shows the following dates for the squadron and it's bases.

Mar 42 ( at Croft ) changed from Whitley Vs to Halifax MK2, which it kept until Jan 44.

10 Jun 42 to Middleton St George

16 Sep 42 to Linton-On-Ouse

16 Jun 43 to Breighton , where it remained until the end of the war.

It commenced re-equipping as a Transport squadron with Dakotas from Jun 45.

[ancientaviator62]

Brian,
thanks for that. The likely answer is that the Middleton bit was never changed after they moved back to Breighton. As I mentioned 'base' is the default entry. But he would have been on 78 at the same time as the chap in sidevalve's wonderful story. The difference being that he was never shot down. The log book makes no mention of being shot at ! And he did survive to become OC 10 Sqn with the Halifax and then out to India with the Dakota. I have always thought that a tadge unfair that those in 4 Group who survived ops over the continent should then have been sent out to India. But then 4 Group with the Halifax was perhaps a bit of a 'Cinderella' group.

[Danny42C]

First, TTN has lightened my darkness (very subtle - must've been after my [more innocent] time). And I've recovered from the mental aberration (Senior Moment) which led me to confuse the subject with the narrator.

À propos nothing at all, we had the one and only OMQ at Breighton from late 1962 to 1964 (as nobody else wanted it). Stationed at Linton, it was a 25 mi commute via York, I bought an old "Isetta " for £75 from a Nav for the job, and had a lot of fun with it. There was no flying on the airfield: it was a "Bloodhound" site then.
Plenty of rabbits !

Chugalug and MPN11 - how many sugars ? - and the honesty pot wants cash up front - IOUs NOT ACCEPTED !

Re the Australian "Aviation Safety Digest" story from Fleigel [#11004], here is my two cent's worth (I've told a somewhat similar tale here on p.156, #3101 ("Danny and the Day that the Rains Came"):
...including a spell in a dive bomber squadron...
Almost certainly 12 RAAF Squadron. If only we could get hold of this chap (if he still lives) - or the ORB for those days. What tactical formation did they use ? (like us in Burma, there would be nothing to go on - they've had to work it all out for themselves) From what height (AGL) did they bomb. And pull-out ? What sort of accuracy did they achieve ? - the questions crowd in.
...I climbed to the planned cruising altitude of 8000 feet...
We did the same. In Australian midsummer, temperatures would've been much as dry-season India. 8,000 amsl would give a welcome drop of around 20 F.
...At 14,000 feet over Mansfield...
No provision for oxygen in our VVs. Did they have any in theirs ?
...Vengeance was a very stable and robust machine with wings built to withstand about 12g...
Didn't know that. As there was no power assistance, no one could pull more than 4-5G without "grey-out". But useful when stuck in a cu-nim. I can vouch for the "robust" bit, too.
...The airspeed was over 350 knots and the rate of descent was `off the clock' ...
About 420 mph, or 600 ft/sec if straight down. No wonder the climb/descent was off the clock ! With dive brakes out (which might have been a good idea), the terninal velocity was around 300 mph, or 400 ft/sec. Would've given him a bit more thinking time.
...Pressing on was the major sin...
"Get-home-at-all-costs-itis" has killed many. OTOH, turning round in an angry cu-nim is not to be recommended !
... I survived probably because of regular sessions on the ground in the Link Trainer...
Not sure about that. Procedural trainer it is. Simulator it ain't.
...But if you want to be an old pilot, it is better to treat the weather with the respect it deserves...
And so say all of us !

Danny.

[ICM]

AA62: Right, I now know your man - a relatively rare Bomber Command CO who wasn't a pilot. When he flew on Ops, it was normally as Air Bomber and when in India, as Second Pilot until a supply of two-winged ex-glider pilots was sent out to take over. He was still CO for the fateful detachment to Burma in March 1946 and I wonder if his logbook says anything at all about the 3 losses on 29 March 46 and the subsequent searches for survivors?

[ancientaviator62]

ICM,
yes he did well for a hostilities only non pilot. 4 Group had a reputation for promoting and appointing non pilots to such posts . I think an A/G called 'Lofty' Lowe became OC 77 at one time.
The last entry in the log book is Jan. 8th 1946 from Palam to Poona in 'Dak' KP 293 (difficult to read !) Co-Pilot. Interestingly once he became the squadron boss he does not bother with monthly summaries etc. No mention of any incidents.

[Danny42C]

ICM (#11027),
... the fateful detachment to Burma in March 1946 and I wonder if his logbook says anything at all about the 3 losses on 29 March...
Don't remember hearing about that (I was in India at the time). What happened ?

Danny42C.

[ICM]

Danny: 10 Sqn had been detached to Burma in mid-March 1946 to drop rice and salt to Kachin villages in the mountains. I understand that the villagers had agreed to destroy their rice stocks to deny these to the Japanese but, with the war at a end, this left them in a desperate situation in which there was a moral responsibility for the UK to help out. Flights were mounted from Meiktila and Myitkyina. On 29 March, 3 aircraft and crews went missing. Searches were begun and, on 3 April, a crew found itself facing a blind-end after a turn and got out with full power and a dose of good luck. However, in the midst of this, wreckage of 2 aircraft was spotted together with a figure waving madly. He was an Indian Sepoy, who had helped with loading, and he proved to be the sole survivor. Wreckage of the 3rd aircraft was seen the next day, and supplies were dropped. Aerial searching continued until 12 April but nothing more was found. The supply dropping task was completed in late April, some weeks earlier than anticipated, and the Squadron returned to Poona. It moved about a month later to Mauripur, its base until its return to the UK and disbandment in December 1947.

[ICM]

AA62: You should find a PM in your message box.

[Danny42C]

ICM,

Thank you. A sad story indeed. They were unlucky, I would not have expected full cloud cover of the Kachin hills as early as that before the monsoon.

RIP.

Danny.

[MPN11]

How bloody tragic. Although you could, I guess, say the same about many airframe/crew losses. It's just an extra "bu66er" when it happens doing 'nice' things.

[ricardian]

Slight change in topic - Biggin Hill chapel is still under threat. (https://you.38degrees.org.uk/petitions/protect-biggin-hill-st-george-s-raf-chapel-of-remembrance)

[Ddraig Goch]

Ricardian, your slight change of topic highlights a campaign that most on here would support.

[ancientaviator62]

ICM,
you have an e-mail reply.

[ancientaviator62]

Danny,
for the princely sum of £1 I have bought a mutilated copy of Jane's 1945/6 from our local charity bookshop. There is a picture of 'The Consolidated Vultee Vengeance Mk 4 Dive Bomber (Wright R-2600-13 engine)' on page 229.
It looks like it is taking off but I cannot see any markings at all other than a roundel.
According to the blurb some were supplied to Brazil.

[Danny42C]

ricardian (#11034),

Would willingly sign the petition, but stymied by Post Code question (no box for reply on form), tried "Contact" to ask them, but nothing happened.

Help ? Danny.

[Danny42C]

ancientaviator62 (#11037),

True, according to Peter c. Smith's "Vengeance!", which is the nearest thing to a bible on the "Vultee Vengeance". Some Mk IVs were also supplied to the Free French in Agadir, but they did not have much success with them [same source]. We had some in the UK as TTs.

I would think that, as I've said somewhere here, the trouble was that: "the Vengeance (Mks I-III) were 'one-trick ponies' - excellent dive-bombers, but useless for anything else" - except as target tugs. I never had anything to do with the IV, which I'd guess would be useless, period.

It would be marvellous to hear from a RAAF ex-operational VV driver like George Duffee (I'm alive, so no reason why there should not be others), as they got a lot of the Mk.IVs, and may have tried to dive some as well as converting them to TT.

I live in hope ! Danny.

[ricardian]

ricardian (#11034),

Would willingly sign the petition, but stymied by Post Code question (no box for reply on form), tried "Contact" to ask them, but nothing happened.

Help ? Danny.

Sorry Danny, unable to give any more info that what is on the web page. Try refreshing your browser and then loading the page again. Worked OK for me.

[ricardian]

A manual DF position in Germany, 1952

https://scontent-amt2-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/20228635_10214057244803922_2423962141348022726_n.jpg?oh=cbd6 85b9b2567a61e8aa4f4152055200&oe=5A008360

[Centaurus]

Centaurus continues with:


Quote:

..."Here is the story as relayed to the editor of Aviation Safety Digest, who entitled it 'From one of our readers – a valid message from the past' "...
Is this "reader" still alive ? (he'd be my age) If so, is it possible to contact him ? Googled "Aviation Safety Digest - Australia", plenty about the mag, but no contact details for it. Could "Centaurus" (or anyone else "downunder") follow this up for me, please ?


Centaurus here (in Australia). The Vengeance story was from a 1974 edition of the Australian Department of Civil Aviation flight safety magazine Aviation Safety Digest. That magazine was superseded by various other issues under a different name and is currently called Flight Safety Australia which is now digital. The format has changed significantly since 1974. Mainly gone flashier with graphics and to many of us oldies, not a patch on the former ASD. Editors have come and gone including McArthur Job who I think was the editor in 1974 and who died a couple of years ago.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Macarthur_Job

Mac would have been given the Vengeance story by its author who, if alive, would be in his mid-90's by now. Ppresumably this information would be in the current archives of the Australian Civil Aviation Safety Authority (CASA). PM me and I could try to find out but don't hold your breath.

[Danny42C]

ricardian,

Thanks - tried again on Google Chrome - success ! (No idea how to 'refresh a browser' - don't tell me, I am impervious to instruction, however well meant).

Danny.

PS: Thought at first you were in the same line of business as our esteemed contributor Geriaviator *, then did the sums and realised you would be 9 in 1951 ! (shows why PPRuNe should make it mandatory for people to state their true age on application to join).

Note *: if you have not already read it, and want a belly-laugh, look up Geriaviator's #3558 (Page 178 on this Thread).

[jonw66]

F5 key at the top of your keypad/touchscreen Danny best regards sir

[Danny42C]

Centaurus (#11042),

Thanks for the most generous offer, but as the trail is so cold (1974), I do not think that we are likely to turn up more than we already have in Fleigle's link in #11004, and I would not want you to do a lot of research on my behalf for (probably) nothing.

Now, if George Duffee yet lives, and we can get hold of him ............... that really would be something !

Danny.

[PPRuNeUser0139]

Danny - George Duffee was a Halifax pilot..!

I'll post another episode of George's evading saga..

[PPRuNeUser0139]

More from George:

I awoke in the morning to the sound of children's voices. The time I estimated to be about 8.50 a.m. From my position on top of the haystack I could see a small group of unaccompanied children, books in hand, making their way along a narrow road towards a small village a quarter of a mile away. Brushing the hay from my hair and clothes I decided to walk behind the children into the village, there to seek further help.

Children, I knew are instinctively inquisitive, but these were so busy chasing each other, they had no eyes for the shock-haired, unshaven, rather tired-looking individual following them. We passed a German soldier. I say we because in such a situation as this I hoped I would be presumed to be either the big brother seeing the children off to school, or else a casual farm-labourer on an errand to the village. The soldier took little notice and so we came into the village of Berlicum where the children disappeared into the school and I ... where? I decided to make a bold move and entered a cafe opposite the school.

Except for a middle aged woman the cafe was deserted. At first she took no notice of me, assuming I was just passing through – then ''What do you want?'' she said. I did not trust myself to speak, but instead made signs that I would like something to eat and drink. At this she was puzzled and suspicious but nevertheless extended a glass of water. She seemed kind and only a little frightened and having drunk the water I produced my phrase card (a useful thing this) and asked her if she spoke English. My pronunciation of Dutch was bad and I repeated it several times. No - she did not speak English but she would fetch the school teacher from the school who did. She left the shop and vanished into the school. Should I stay - I thought - would she bring back a school teacher or would she bring the police? She re-appeared accompanied by a scholarly looking young man (Martin der Kinderen).

"Good morning" he said in good English. His quiet manner, his friendly smile and his good English made me decide to tell him all of the story thus far. He listened patiently, without comment. "How am I to be certain that you are an English pilot?" he said. At this I produced the remnants of my escape-kit - maps, rubber water bag. A few horlicks tablets and a small compass. "No identity discs? No photographs? he asked. I said I had forgotten these in the hurry and excitement of returning from leave and mentally cursed myself for a stupid ass. I also produced chewing gum wrappers and chocolate paper which I had kept, purposely not throwing them away - thus leaving a trail. He spoke to the woman in rapid Dutch, looked across at me, smiled and said in English "Yes I believe you and shall help you".

I was overjoyed at gaining help so soon. He went on to say that I would be hidden on a nearby farm and would wait there until it was safe for me to proceed on my journey. Somehow even then I knew, that by some miraculous chance I had made contact with one of the many wonderful underground organizations in occupied Holland.

Martin den Kinderen told me (after I met him again after the war); that during my interrogation at pistol point, the general opinion was that I should be taken outside and shot. I was in civilian clothes with no identity discs, and could not immediately prove myself. Many of the escape organisations had been decimated by the infiltration of ‘bogus' pilots (or informers); and they would not take any chances. However the good news (for me) was that Martin found me a ‘safe house' while my identity was being checked. My interrogators had taken a vote on whether to take me outside and shoot me. I survived by one vote !

[PPRuNeUser0139]

Chapter 4 - Holland

Weeks passed. Weeks of waiting, weeks of tension. For one week I stayed and worked on the farm, sleeping at night in the barn and having my meals in the fields. I welcomed the work for it kept me from thinking too much. When I thought of home, the sorrow, the anxiety, I became depressed and impatient of waiting. After the week of fresh air and hard work I was moved to the confinement of a house in the village of Rosmalen (M. and Mme Volman).

Waiting there became an ordeal. Little exercise, no English literature, and a house full of children who must not know I was there. During the day wasn't too bad because the children were at school and I could move about the house but the evenings were torturous. The children would be downstairs and I would be lying on the bed in the spare room upstairs, keeping as quiet as humanly possible. All the time I was there the children only saw me once, when it was explained to them that I was a distant uncle who was a little 'wrong' in the head. Each night I would hear them say their prayers in the next room, before going to bed. Then I would breathe as quietly as I could and lie quite still until I thought they were asleep and then I would relax slightly. In those many hours of exasperating waiting I began making notes of the thoughts drifting through my mind. Weird, fantastic thoughts, some of them, I picked up the threads of religion, what I believed in and why. I even tried in my elementary way, to diagnose the cause of war, the rights and wrongs of bombing. Long weary hours they were and I began to indulge in day dreams of being whisked off the next night and flown back to England. I cut my own hair, for bringing a barber to the house would have aroused suspicion. The result was ghastly! Food was scarce.

The Germans had fleeced the country of most of its dairy produce and vegetables and most of the cattle, leaving the people in dire straights. The house I stayed in was occupied by a middle-aged couple who hated the Germans with a venom that astounded me. Afterwards I learned many things that to my mind justified such a venomous hate. That dear couple became afraid for the children's sake so I was moved to another house in the same village, where I stayed for a further ten days. Ten dreary monotonous days and nights - yes I was safe for the time being but would I ever get back to England? The monotony was broken occasionally by passing regiments of German soldiers – always singing their marching song ''We sail against England''. It was good - the singing, but right then I would have given anything for a good old ''Bless 'em all''!

Then one day a stranger called, announcing himself simply as a 'friend'. He provided me with a false identity card and a little money, then said I was to follow him. It was as simple as abrupt as that. Being glad to get away from the confinement of the house, I raised no objection and followed him. Following him on a borrowed bicycle fifty yards behind we rode into the town of Hertogenbosch. Leaving our bicycles in the bicycle shed we entered the railway station. My heart sank when I observed German Military Policemen at the ticket barrier checking travellers' identity cards. Our tickets fortunately had been purchased previously. After showing his identity card the guide vanished through the barrier.

Clutching my ticket I stepped up to the barrier offering my ticket to be clipped. The German policeman eyed me ''Identity card''; he said. I produced it and waited while he perused it. Would he notice any flaw? Would he pull out his pistol and arrest me? I did not know what to think, but just stood there transfixed. The seconds hung ominously. He gave me back the card and I passed through the barrier, quivering a little, but thankful that this first encounter has been successful. There was my guide waiting for me, and we took our seats in the train en route for Nijmegen in eastern Holland.

The train journey; the strange faces, the strange scenery; pretending to read a newspaper, pretending to be asleep, always avoiding conversation. The ticket barrier at the other end of the journey - the same tension, those same ominous moments and then the happy moment of passing through into the street. Then the ride in a tram with German soldiers on the platform. Many of those green and field grey uniforms. I was getting quite used to them and not feeling quite so nervous.

I was to stay in a room at the back of a chemists shop and wait there before continuing on my journey. It was there I met a young Dutch agricultural student, who because he did not want to go to Germany to work, was forced to go into hiding. He must have been about my own age, 19 years. We got along very well together and we talked of how little I knew about Holland and how little he knew about England.

I was sorry to leave there, but it was unwise to stay too long, for the Gestapo had a nasty habit of coming around periodically searching to see if a radio was installed in the house, and in this particular house there was. So I was moved to a monastery two miles into the country and about three miles from the German frontier. How ironic it was to think of all those many miles I walked at night - I was back again nearer to the German frontier, than I was before. But with a big difference, for now I had organized help.

More to follow.

[Warmtoast]

ricardian
Re your post #11041 above of a manual DF postion in Germany. Looks like it's possibly the inside of a mobile VHF/DF vehicle (RV105?). As a VHF/DF operator for eight years (1951 - 1959) it looks vaguly familiar.
If you haven't seen it have a look at my thread about VHF/DF here:
http://www.pprune.org/military-aviation/580986-raf-fighter-command-vhf-df-fixer-net-early-1950-s.html#post9425527


...and here's an RV105 that I operated at Gan in 1958:
http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/GAN/Image132_zps7b8deb2c.jpg

[Danny42C]

sidevalve (#11046),

There's no getting away from it: I am going ga-ga ! I must write out one hundred times:

"George Duffee is a Halifax pilot whose escape story is told by sidevalve".
"An unnamed reader of "Aviation Safety Digest" (1974) quoted by Fleigel and Centaurus was an operational Vultee Vengeance pilot in Australia".
"Warmtoast" is our manual D/F man, not Geriaviator".

Should keep me out of mischief for a while.

Reference nice pic on #11049: our younger readers may not know that the "Xs" on the cab windows are no part of an aerial array, but sticky tape stuck on the inside to limit injury from flying glass from a bomb blast. Householders were urged to do the same in 1939. Old uncle (ex-trenches WWI) caustically remarked: "It's not flying glass you need to worry about , but flying scrap iron !"

Danny.

[MPN11]

Warmtoast, Sir. On the premise that the mobile DF didn't double up on snow-clearance, what's the (unidirectional?) array over the driver's cab about?

[Lyneham Lad]

An excellent article on the BBC website:-
James 'Ginger' Lacey: Battle of Britain pilot remembered (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-leeds-40660077)

[Danny42C]

Warmtoast,

Followed your link, and got a whole feast of pics and information about the Rotor system, on the periphery of which I worked as Adj of an Auxiliary Fighter Control Unit for three early '50s years. So this was the "hole" (ours was at Seaton Snook) down which I was not permitted to go (needed a Special Clearance, you see: I'm not entitled because No Need To Know).

Our primary task was to train local girls as Radar Operators and Fighter Plotters, and our 70 trainees were every bit as glamourous as these (Note their "A"s). Thing to remember: the Plotter is more on display, but each girl's headset is linked to another's as she sits in front of a radar tube maybe fifty miles away, and she should not be forgotten as she is not protected down a hole, but at the radar towers and so liable to be (and was) often bombed.

As most people know, the system worked perfectly on the day, and was the human heart of the Fighter Command's ground control of the Battle of Britain. Now the survivors are grandmothers and great-grandmothers, I take my hat off to them.

All Warmtoast's info stirred an ancient memory: the Spitfires and (odd) Hurricane I flew in 1942 all had a circular "Remote Contactor" on the RH side of the cockpit. They were not used and we did not bother about them. On a whim I Googled <Remote Contactot aircraft WWII>

Result:
<SpitfireSpares.com - warbird Instruments> has them for sale.<Pip-squeak - Wikipedia> gives a full account. Now I know.

Danny.

[Geriaviator]

https://s20.postimg.org/b8mcwajsd/Poona_school_letter.jpg

Geriaviator apologises for his latest contribution, but he was only five when he wrote it. I've been following up Ricardian's wonderful find of the 1924 Poona map but I cannot locate the site of our bungalows, which of course are long gone but I expected the quarry alongside them to be still visible on satellite as it was big enough to have a narrow-gauge railway climbing up from its floor. The Wagholi quarries still operating are a long way from Kirkee which was the original British cantonment and still contains the graves of many Army officers and their family members in the Holkar Cemetery.

I found my letter from the past in a long-forgotten book dating us in Poona 1946-47. We must have left for RAF Drigh Road, Karachi soon after it was written in May as Partition came in August and we were homeward bound before then. This explains why I remember so little about Karachi compared to Poona.

[Warmtoast]

Danny 42 and MPN11
Danny
Reference nice pic on #11049: our younger readers may not know that the "Xs" on the cab windows are no part of an aerial array, but sticky tape stuck on the inside to limit injury from flying glass from a bomb blast. Householders were urged to do the same in 1939. Old uncle (ex-trenches WWI) caustically remarked: "It's not flying glass you need to worry about , but flying scrap iron!"After I'd painted it (with a 3-ins paintbrush!) it looked much better - and no XX's on the windows!




MPN11
Warmtoast, Sir. On the premise that the mobile DF didn't double up on snow-clearance, what's the (unidirectional?) array over the driver's cab about?Antenna array folds down into this when the RV105 is driven around. ricardan's oririnal post shows what looks like the box that holds the rotating antenna shaft with the clamp that holds it upright at the top.


PS. Photobucket's playing up - i'll be back.
WT

[Geriaviator]

Photobucket has crashed and burned, folks. Looking back on earlier posts I see that all our pix have been removed and replaced by a notice that membership must be upgraded to enable third party hosting such as pPrune. You won't be surprised to hear that 'upgrades' involve a 'subscription' of up to $400 per year.

This photo-ransom wheeze has not gone down well according to hundreds of posts out there. Given the plaster of ad popups etc I long ago quit Photobucket for Postimage ...

[MPN11]

"P-bucket" is, I suspect, a dirty word on various forums these days. I've been migrating some stuff to Imgur, but here I will just use the "Go Advanced/Link Images" feature from my desktop. There may be oddments that are actually worth preserving, if I ever encounter any! It's worse for me with numerous Trip Reports at http://www.flyertalk.com/forum/trip-reports-177/ ... I'm working back slowly, using Imgur.

For accuracy, P-bucket wants $399.99 per annum if you use it to link your own photos to 3rd Party websites such as this. I have not yet heard of any legal challenges, but then I guess they were doing it for free, and just getting advertising income. The danger signs were there months ago, as Geriaviator noted, when their website became smothered with overlay adverts.

[Chugalug2]

sidevalve:-
Martin den Kinderen told me (after I met him again after the war); that during my interrogation at pistol point, the general opinion was that I should be taken outside and shot. I was in civilian clothes with no identity discs, and could not immediately prove myself.

How ironic if that general opinion had been acted upon! Such are the hazards of war, where friends can be mistaken for the enemy, and vice versa. Certainly the enemy would not have hesitated in taking such action. George obviously possessed that vital attribute for survival in such a very dangerous environment, he was lucky!

The enormous risks that those who sheltered him and shepherded him across occupied Europe cannot be doubted. Real courage and devotion to duty! War brings out the best and the worst in mankind.

Please keep it coming sidevalve.

Geriaviator, you obviously had the journalistic skill at a tender age that blossomed into the amusing raconteur as witnessed by this thread. Hurrah indeed!

[PPRuNeUser0139]

More from George:
Life in the monastery was anything but dull. Ample exercise was to be had In the spacious grounds surrounding the monastery. Many of the monks spoke a little English and one of them played the violin beautifully. On a clear day it was possible to see the industrial haze hanging like a cloud over the Ruhr valley, and on a clear night one could the flak barrage, the searchlights and the glow of fires.

Soon the stranger came again and I left the monastery, following him on a bicycle as previously, back to the railway station at Nijmegen. Leaving our bicycles in a shed outside the station, we entered the station and went through the ordeal of showing our identity cards before being permitted to go through the barrier. There were a few minutes to wait before the arrival of the train, so rather than walk up and down the platform I stood well back from the line, in the shadows. A minute afterwards I was sorry. A German soldier approached me and asked politely, on which platform the 12.07 p.m. would arrive. From my meagre knowledge of Dutch acquired at the monastery I managed to answer ''Platform eight''. He walked away apparently satisfied, but then turned to look at me, but by then I had developed a very keen interest in my pro-German magazine. On the train the same magazine stood me in very good stead for at the sight of a pro-German magazine no-one wished to speak to me. After looking through the magazine, scanning each page as if I were actually reading it and sometimes allowing a smile to play about my lips, I pretended to sleep.

Stopping at an intermediate station I was obliged to offer my seat to a woman. Again I developed a very keen interest in the magazine, never allowing my eyes to leave its pages. And so we, the guide was in the next compartment, arrived at the town of Tilburg in south west Holland. I was to meet a Dutch policeman at the station and had already been furnished with a description of him. Seeing him I shook him by the hand and greeted him like a long-lost friend. The guide had quietly slipped away, giving me no opportunity to thank him. Then followed a long, rather hectic, motorcycle ride along broad highways, through quiet lanes and along narrow dirt paths, finally arriving at a wood three miles from the Dutch-Belgian border.

Leaving the motorcycle hidden in the fringe of the wood we followed a narrow path leading to the more dense part of the wood in which was hidden a small shelter made of pieces of tin, old coats, branches of trees and one or two old sacks. Hiding in the shelter were six people, a Jew and five Dutch students. The Jew had escaped from a nearby concentration camp, the students had resisted going to Germany to work in labour camps. In spite of their rather primitive surroundings and the apparent lack of facilities they looked healthy and clean-shaven. They crawled out from the shelter one by one and shook me by the hand saying they were glad to have me with them. The policeman waved farewell and soon we heard the sound of his motor cycle fading in the distance.

I was to stay there three days, before walking across the frontier. Many hours were spent talking of England, of Holland and of the Germans. They were bitter and their hatred reached almost to the point of fanaticism. Food consisted mainly of oats and fresh milk, bread and occasionally cucumber. My knowledge of the Dutch language increased enormously and soon I was able to carry on a reasonable conversation. At night we would all sit round in the warmth of the shelter talking or reading ourselves to sleep. We were seven people whom the war had thrown together in unusual surroundings, now lying huddled beneath old coats and blankets. By a coincidence one of the students knew the student I had stayed with in Nijmegen, so I was able to provide him with some useful information. The three days passed slowly and on the morning of the fourth day a young man came dressed in the green uniform of a forester (Franz). His arrival was preceded by the sound of his motorcycle. He was to show me to a lightly guarded part of the frontier and pass me across to a waiting Belgian who would accompany me to Brussels. Bidding our ''Goodbyes'' and ''Good Lucks'' to the Jew and the five students we rode off along the narrow dirt road bordering the wood. Well ahead of us was another guide acting as our observer, warning us of any danger. It was well that he was ahead of us for we came upon two German soldiers resting by the roadside. He engaged them in conversation and offered them cigarettes and we were able to pass nearer the frontier without being stopped. We rode to within a mile of the frontier, dismounted, then pushed the motorcycle through fields and behind hedges, arriving at last behind a hedge beside a road. A few minutes later several German guards marched past. We had timed it to a nicety. Hearing their footsteps fade in the distance we dashed quickly through the hedge and across the road, vanishing behind the hedge on the other side.

The forester turned to me and said ''You are now in Belgium''.

[PPRuNeUser0139]

George in Belgium:

Chapter 5 - Belgium

So in that hurried dash across the road I had crossed from Holland into Belgium. It had been easier than I had expected. In my imagination I had envisaged a frontier heavily guarded by soldiers who would shoot at the slightest provocation. But no - only a few unobservant Germans who had passed by, chatting amicably amongst themselves.

We, the guide and I, were to make our way to a house within a mile of the frontier and contact an agent (Karst Smit) who was to accompany me as far as Brussels. Pushing the motorcycle on to a quiet portion of the road we soon covered the distance to the house. The agent I found was a Dutchman who had done the journey from the house to Brussels more than fifty times, each time accompanying either an allied aviator or a Dutchman escaping to England to join forces with the Free Netherlands Army. He was confident and assured me that all would be well.

We set off confident of little interference from the Germans. The motorcycle took us to the small town of Turnhout and from there we were to go by electric tram to Antwerp. On the tram, which was a little less private than a train compartment, I could relax and watch the fields of rich golden corn go sailing past, and the occasional platoon of German infantry. Sitting there as I did, I might well have been on holiday. My clothes were reasonably tidy, I had fed reasonably well and my face was tanned by the recent exposure to the warm summer sun. About me sat old men and old women, young farm labourers and young lasses. One could see in their faces the tiredness, the look of silent passive resistance, born of the long occupation by the Hun. One could see the light of defiance shining in their eyes at the very mention of or sight of the hated Hun.

In my stay in Holland I had come to know that no one said ''Thank you'' to the Germans. I had seen with my own eyes adults and young children burning the tunics of the German soldiers with the butt end of cigarettes and obstructing them at every possible opportunity. I had come to know of the savage cruelty of the ''German Green Police'' in Holland, and of the acts of torture that were perpetrated in the crowded Jewish concentration camp near Hertogenbosch.

My fellow travellers talked openly of the coming ''Second Front'', of their faith in it's success and the final destruction of the Nazi war machine. These were the people of a nation that had twice in a quarter of a century been violated by a powerful, relentless enemy. Such thoughts came to me as we rattled along the rails to Antwerp.

At a small village the tram was boarded to crowded capacity by people - mostly housewives and young people, going into Antwerp. As we had decided to alight before the centre of the town, we relinquished our seats and took our stand on the platform. The tram left the village and proceeded on its journey.

Suddenly it jolted to a stop and several German Military Police boarded. "Probably going into Antwerp" I thought "for a little pleasure". Then I looked at them again and realized they were not riding as passengers but were even now checking identity cards. I also realized with horror that I had nothing with which to identify myself and, dressed as a civilian, I might possibly be charged as a spy.

I glanced across the platform at my companion (Kass Smit) who did not look comfortable either, for his identity card was not a particularly good forgery. "What were we to do"? The tram was already moving at a fast pace and the Germans would surely see us if we jumped off. "We can't stay here and be caught so easily - we must try something'' I thought.

Just for a moment the policemen were occupied with a crowd of animated housewives, loudly protesting at the inconvenience. One had said, with an expressive shrug of her shoulders ''British parachutist indeed!" We saw our opportunity and much to the surprise of our fellow platform travellers, leapt from the tram on to the roadway, just managing to keep our feet. ''Had we been observed?'' We waited without turning round, to hear the squeal of brakes, the gutteral voices and then perhaps a pistol shot. But none came.

We turned then and saw the tram was already half a mile away. We walked to the nearest cafe and celebrated our good fortune by drinking lemonade. The remainder of the journey to Brussels was without incident. We boarded another tram, alighted a little way from the centre of Antwerp, walked to the railway station and were soon seated on a train speeding towards Brussels. It was strange to find that whereas in Holland there was a German control at the railway station, there was no such control in northern Belgium.

During my time in Brussels I stayed in many different places. A fish shop (Maurice Speliaert) the apartment of a Professor (M et Mme Rene Pirart) the house of a Belgian Intelligence Officer, another apartment (Mme Ann Brusselman) and also the house of an old woman whose husband had been murdered by the Germans for distributing banned newspapers. They were all brave and kind people who made me as comfortable as they possibly could.

I was able to wander pretty well as I chose about Brussels seeing the Germans who were on leave drinking the best wine in the smartest cafe and making advances to the unresponsive Belgian girls. I saw the changing of the guard at Military Administrative buildings, the heel clicking, the damnable arrogance of the occupying forces. The German soldiers with cameras taking photographs of the Palace of Justice and the tomb of the 'Unknown Soldier'. German soldiers queuing outside a cinema to see German films. I was tempted to see one myself called ''Stuka!'' but did not.

Speaking with the people with whom I stayed I heard many lamentable stories of loved ones suffering in concentration camps and others who were beyond suffering. I heard of the wandering ''White Brigade'' bands committing acts of sabotage and killing Germans. Mr Churchill broadcast about great things which would happen when the leaves began to fall and I saw the young children going about the streets shaking the trees and making the leaves fall in mid-summer.

[Danny42C]

sidevalve (#11048),

What a gripping and fantastic adventure - and all so well written in a calm, matter-of-fact way! Reading George's Chapter 4, a line took my eye:
... So I was moved to a monastery two miles into the country and about three miles from the German frontier...
There is a bit of history to this: it seems that in the 19th century the religious orders in what was then Prussia had got up Bismarck's nose for some reason. He expelled them all; they moved over to the Netherlands, but kept close to the border with the intention of moving back when times were better.

What with one thing and another they were still there in George's time (1943) and in mine (1960). At RAF Geilenkirchen we had no RC padre, the gap was ably filled by Pater Gregor, a Bavarian Franciscan with perfect English. The RAF sent a car for him to his monastery at Watersleyde (a few miles over the border) every Sunday morning, we often had him to lunch before the car took him back.

I used to go over to Watersleyde one evening a week to improve my woeful spoken German.(Full story this Thread Page 246, #4912).

Cheers, Danny.

[PPRuNeUser0139]

Glad you're enjoying it Danny..! We're away for a short break in a few days - but I'll post some more before we go.

[ricardian]

Slight change in topic - Biggin Hill chapel is still under threat. (https://you.38degrees.org.uk/petitions/protect-biggin-hill-st-george-s-raf-chapel-of-remembrance)

Latest posted to Facebook today:

To All of You who care about this Iconic Chapel,
A reminder about the Bromley Full Council Meeting tomorrow night, Tuesday 25th July. I have just been told that I will now be allowed just THREE MINUTES to present our case to all 60 Councillors at the Full Councill Meeting. Your presence to back up my statement will be invaluable!!
Please come to the Civic Centre, Stockwell Close, Bromley BRI 3UH for a 6.30 rally before the 7.00pm Meeting. Both Bromley South And North British Rail Stations are close by and a large multi-storey car park is adjacent to the Civic Centre.
Despite our pleas, no national newspapers have picked up on our campaign,even though this is of such national and international importance, so you really are our last chance!! Please still keep spreading the word, just Google: Protect Biggin Hill RAF Chapel. (https://you.38degrees.org.uk/petitions/protect-biggin-hill-st-george-s-raf-chapel-of-remembrance)
Looking forward to seeing you!
Thank you all, Rita Radford
Rita Radford started this campaign on the 38 Degrees Campaigns by You website.

[Taphappy]

sidevalve.
What a wonderful story. These men and women who operated the escape route at great peril to their own wellbeing deserve this country's most grateful thanks. I am not sure that they did.
When I was at Topcliffe in 1946 I became friendly with a fellow Staff W.op WO Pete Jezzard who whilst on 622 Squadron was shot down on the way back from a raid on Stuttgart in March 44. He baled out over France and whilst he never went in to details of his escape I imagine it followed much the same pattern as George's since he was eventually repatriated from Gibralter.
He returned to 622 and finished his tour at the end 0s 1944 being awarded the DFM.

Sadly Pete was later killed in early 1948 when the Wellington he was flying in on a cross country nav exercise failed to return and is believed to have crashed in the north sea.

[PPRuNeUser0139]

Hi TapH,

Sgt Peter Jezzard, radio operator on Lancaster Mk 1 (piloted by Sgt D B Hyde, RCAF), LL828, GI-J, was shot down during the night of 15-16 March 1944 by night fighters south east of Rouen after a raid on Stuttgart. He evaded successfully via the "Bourgogne Evasion (http://museedelaresistanceenligne.org/media5425-Plaque-A#fiche-tab)" network organised by Georges Broussine. I don't have much info on the activities of that network. His evasion is labelled: "Journey arranged".(?)
His DFM award here (https://www.thegazette.co.uk/London/issue/36873/supplement/163/data.pdf).

I'll get to the post-war awards later on.. Whether or not you think they were adequately recognised is another story! Some were - many weren't.

Glad you're enjoying George's story..

[Shrikered]

This is a great thread, which I have used for several bits of research. Now I have a question about Flight Reference Cards/checklists. When did they come into use in the RAF?

They are hard to find online, but I have one from a 1963 Jet Provost T. I'm sure that is not the oldest one, it's just the oldest one I have found.

I would be eager for any information on how checklists (to use the American term) were written and used at different times. The reward, such as it is, is a footnote in my book.:O See other questions below.

Related question: Were cockpit drills during the war entirely from memory, or did crew ever carry written versions of them, in the cockpit? The Americans sometimes put them on placards, but I have not found pictures of RAF aircraft with them.

Thanks much! You can also email me at Rbohn at... UCSD ... edu

Here is what I have figured out so far:

American checklists I have traced back to 1935, and they were in wide use by 1939. But the RAF version during WW II seems to have been only very brief "drills".

I have found a very few one page "drill summaries" from 1945 - typically as an insert in the middle of Pilot's Notes. From the format, my guess is that they were meant to be torn out and kept in the cockpit. Does anyone know?

Then starting the late 1940s, the first few pages of Pilot's Notes contain much longer and more complete check lists, totaling more than 100 items and broken up in categories like "Checks after landing." It looks like these were not meant to be carried onboard.

[goofer3]

Regarding Peter Jezzard he was lost on the 5th April, 1948. The aircraft was Wellington X RP504, 1 ANS, and was on a navigation cross-country exercise. Also lost was Pilot John Owen Davies and Navigator George Thomas Lowe.

[Rossian]

......didn't there used to be such an organisation? I seem to remember a chap at St Mawgan who was involved in it. He used to pop over to France every now and again on various reunions.

The Ancient Mariner

[Fareastdriver]

Flight Reference cards started to appear when the Pilot's Notes and Aircrew Manuals became too big to put in ones flying overalls pockets. Up to then there were only the compact Pilot's Notes which were used to jog the memory.

As a guide here is a page from the Halifax III Pilot's Notes.

[Chugalug2]

Shrikered :-
Flight Reference Cards/checklists. When did they come into use in the RAF?


The 3rd Edition Pilots Notes (AL1 incorp. May 1960) for the Hastings C Mk1 (Hercules 216 engines) has a pocket in the rear cover for the FRCs, issue 1 of which was dated May 1962 and issued with AL3 incorp April 1963. So it would appear for that type FRCs were planned for in 1960 at least and issued for type in 1963. Mk1s fitted with 206 engines continued to use the old 2nd edition PNs, I suspect they were in the old format (green manila covers, no FRCs), but only a guess.

Similarly, Issue 1 FRCs for the Chipmunk T Mk10 were dated June 1963.

In contrast, PNs for the Varsity T1 were in the old familiar green soft covers and were still in that form for AL2 dated March 1962. No FRCs, and the Vital Action Check Lists on the rear cover (with a stuck on 1" paper amendment added by AL2). That format of course dated back to WWII at least, as per FED's Halifax III PNs. Hope that helps?

sidevalve, George continues to be lucky as he starts on down that long and winding road to Gibraltar and home. With his writing skills he should have written for a living, but I guess that Training Captains in BA earned "an elegant sufficiency" anyway!

[Taphappy]

sidevalve.

Thanks for information re loss of Pete's aircraft. I look forward to reading more of the escape line.

Goofer 3

Thanks for info regarding Wellington RP504. I flew in that aircraft on a number of occasions. I was also friendly with the pilot Johnny Davies and was a part of his crew on a few flights.

[PPRuNeUser0139]

......didn't there used to be such an organisation? I seem to remember a chap at St Mawgan who was involved in it. He used to pop over to France every now and again on various reunions.

The Ancient Mariner
THE RAF Escaping Society (http://www.rafinfo.org.uk/rafescape/) was wound up in 1995 I believe..
sv

[Rossian]

......I've just remembered the name of the chap. I wonder if he's still around.

The Ancient Mariner

[roving]

A couple or so years ago the question was raised as to why US entrants to the Number 1 BFTS school in Terrell, Texas, had already received some flying training prior to entry.

The answer is provided by Tom Killebrew in his book " The Royal Air Force in Texas: Training British Pilots in Terrell during World War II. " at page 106.

The US Army had been previously critical of the standard of some of those selected by the Royal Air Force for training at the BFTS Schools in the USA. At a very senior level in the US Army it was decided that now that the boot was on the other foot, especial care had to be taken to ensure that only suitable US entrants were selected for training on these courses and therefore those being considered for selection had to have prior flying experience. On number 16 Course, one US entrant was a qualified commercial pilot and a second, a qualified instructor.

[Warmtoast]

Further to my posts #11049 and #11055 above - "After I'd painted it (with a 3-ins paintbrush!) it looked much better - and no XX's on the windows!"

This is a listing with photos of where I used my VHF/DF skills in the RAF between 1951 and 1959.

5 FTS RAF Thornhill 1951 - 1953


http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/VHF%20DF%20Homers%20etc/111AAA%20Homers/ThornhillVHFDFHomerExterior.jpg
Thornhill VHF/DF Homer


http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/VHF%20DF%20Homers%20etc/111AAA%20Homers/ThornhillVHF-DF-After.jpg

After being hit by a Harvard that drifted on a night take-off. Aircraft survived with a dent in it's wing whilst the VHF/DF operator was shocked, but unhurt.


http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/VHF%20DF%20Homers%20etc/111AAA%20Homers/ThornhillVHF-DF-TemporaryHomer_zpsf89fe695.jpg

Temporary VHF/DF station flown down from Fayid in the Canal Zone

Silverstead Fixer near RAF Biggin Hill 1953 - 1956






http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/VHF%20DF%20Homers%20etc/Silverstead%20Fixer_zpsi4xvaxph_800x480_zpsvwuqeuqr.jpg
No free milk!


RAF Bovingdon 1956






http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/VHF%20DF%20Homers%20etc/RAF%20Bovingdon%20-%20RV105%20on%20Airfield_800x545_zps7h1nv52n.jpg
No photo of the RV105 that was used to provide cross-bearings to aircraft on approach to RAF North Weald, but it was on the airfield just visible where the arrow points to it.





http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/VHF%20DF%20Homers%20etc/RAFBovingdon-AutoVHF-DFMedium_zpsc1f1aa1a_800x482_zpsue419dwh.jpg
Bovindon ATC had a CR/DF just off the airfield with a repeater in the tower. This is in the CR/DF building.

RAF Negombo and RAF China Bay 1956 - 1957



http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/VHF%20DF%20Homers%20etc/Adams%20Peak%202_zpsvetgpg0q_707x600_zpso4pjgi1e.jpg


RAF Negombo




http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/VHF%20DF%20Homers%20etc/China%20Bay%20-%20Exercise%20JET%201957%20-%20Sunderland%20Departs%20on%20an%20Evening%20Patrol_zpset0f dcr0_800x455_zpspyuyacqj.jpg

RAF China Bay with Sunderland taking-off on patrol

RAF Gan 1958





http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/VHF%20DF%20Homers%20etc/Image132_zps7b8deb2c_800x555_zpsmitw3kyk.jpg

http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/VHF%20DF%20Homers%20etc/111AAA%20Homers/Image11a_zpsc644c832.jpg


http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/VHF%20DF%20Homers%20etc/111AAA%20Homers/RV105_zps03a97dfb.jpg

RAF Gan with RV105 before, during and after a bit of TLC!

RAF Abingdon 1959


http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/VHF%20DF%20Homers%20etc/111AAA%20Homers/Abingdon-BeverlyTake-off_1200x800.jpg


RAF Abingdon with RV105 which provided cross-bearings to aircraft on approach to RAF Benson.
This was my last posting as a RT VHF/DF operator as in late 1959 I remustered as an AQM (Loadmaster) and joined 99 Squadron at RAF Lyneham.

[seafury45]

Hope this works.

https://www.facebook.com/BBCSouthToday/videos/1197086587048596/

Mary Ellis, Master Pilot, from the BBC via Facebook. I have no idea how old this clip is but it should be seen.

oops, just noticed it is from Nov, 2016.

Leaving it up because it is an achievement that should be celebrated.

[Danny42C]

roving (#11074),

This is very interesting. The six BFTS were set up at the same time (mid-1941) as the all-USAAC "Arnold Scheme" Schools, to which I (and 7,884) other LACs were sent for training (up to 1943, but the BFTS continued to the end). We got 4,493 pilots back (the washout rate of 43% was horrendous).

We already knew (there is a lot on this Thread about this around Page 114 et seq) that the BFTS were required to take 10% USAAC Cadets in their intake (obviously for the purpose of comparison of the training syllabi). But the explanation of their "flying start" may be:

From my old "Arnold" File:

"This article has been taken from the "Air 41" History of BFTSs in USA held in the Public Records Office, Kew Gardens, London"....

..."The six BFTSs were, with opening dates:
1 BFTS Terrell, Texas 9 June 1941 *
2 BFTS Lancaster, California 9 June 1941 *
3 BFTS Miami. Oklahoma 16 June 1941 *
4 BFTS Mesa, Arizona 16 June 1941 *
5 BFTS Clewiston, Florida 17 July 1941 *
6 BFTS Ponca City, Oklahoma 23 August 1941
7 BFTS Sweetwater, Texas May 1942 but closed August 1942

* All but No. 6 started their training at other bases until their permanent bases were opened in July/August 1941" ....

Danny42C.

[Danny42C]

seafury45 (#11076),

Speaking as one who would not be seen dead on Facebook, and if it is not too long, and it is not too much trouble, could you please put it up here so we all can see it ?

Danny42C.

[seafury45]

Danny42C (#11078)

I don't know how to post it here. Perhaps someone else in the crew room could manage it.

The clip originally came from "BBC South Today" so you may find it on their site. The clip opens with a brief view of a Blenheim Mk I then goes on to interview Mary about her service in the ATA and the award of a Master Pilots Certificate to her.

[Geriaviator]

We are indebted to The Times for the obituary of David Mattingley, DFC, bomber pilot, who was born on June 14, 1922, and died in his sleep on June 2, 2017, aged 94.

On November 29, 1944, flying Lancaster D DOG from 625 Squadron, Flying Officer Mattingley took off from RAF Kelstern, near Louth in Lincolnshire, to bomb Dortmund in Germany. Seconds after dropping its payload the aircraft was hit by flak. “It blew out all the Perspex of the cockpits, blew up some of the instruments, holed a petrol tank, peppered the fuselage with holes, and me too,” Mattingley said in 2007.

Shrapnel entered his right leg and his right shoulder. The tendons and artery in his right hand were severed, his skull was fractured and he momentarily lost consciousness. His bloody hand was being bandaged by a crewmate when he was hit again in the right knee, thigh and shoulder. Refusing morphine because he feared that it would dull his reflexes, Mattingley pressed on and was hit again over the Rhine.

Because of Mattingley’s crippled right arm, Sgt Cyril Bailey, his flight engineer, operated the throttles as the Lancaster limped home. They made it to the Channel and then to Britain, where Mattingley asked each of his crew if they wanted to bale out rather than risk a crash landing. They stayed. As they neared Kelstern he called to advise that there were wounded aboard, but didn’t say that he was one of them. He landed his aircraft safely but the Dortmund raid was Mattingley’s 23rd and final mission. His wounds had rendered him unfit for active service. He was immediately awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross, the citation reading: “His indomitable spirit, superb captaincy and outstanding devotion to duty set an example of high order.” Bailey was awarded the DFM.

Cecil David Mattingley was born in Launceston, Tasmania, in 1922, the son of a dentist. Enlisting as a pilot with the Royal Australian Air Force at the age of 19, was posted to Britain and joined 625 Squadron. By the time Mattingley was released from hospital the war in Europe was ending. He was in and out of hospital for the remainder of his life and, despite attention from the finest of surgeons, the pianist and church organist never played again. He returned to his native Tasmania, where he met Christobel at the University of Tasmania’s dramatic society. They were married and moved to Adelaide, where they raised three children. When asked recently how he felt about Germany, Mattingley replied simply: “It was the Nazis, not the German people, who were the enemy.” Later he visited Germany many times, and he counted many German people among his best friends.

He taught English and modern European history at Prince Alfred College, Adelaide, for more than 30 years, where he was known as Dink. Being headmaster would deny him his love of teaching, so the school created the position of senior master for him. Most of the school had no idea about his wartime service, nor had many people in his community, and he would quietly shut down any questions about it. However, his story, Battle Order 204, was published by Christobel, an author of some repute, in the last decade of his life.

The Times article can be found at https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/david-mattingley-obituary-0v65860ld?shareToken=3a6e8eb4fc4cdab55f548fd10477b5f2

[Geriaviator]

For the Facebook film, try https://www.facebook.com/BBCSouthToday/videos/1197086587048596/
This does not imply that I have any connection with Facebook :O

[Danny42C]

seafury45,

Not to worry ! "Master Pilot" (WRAF ???) puzzled me. ATA - Respect !

Danny.

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator,

All my roads lead to Facebook, I'm afraid.

Danny.

[Lyneham Lad]

seafury45 (#11076),

Speaking as one who would not be seen dead on Facebook, and if it is not too long, and it is not too much trouble, could you please put it up here so we all can see it ?

Danny42C.

This might help...

Mary Ellis - Master Pilot (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-england-hampshire-38852991/ww2-spitfire-pilot-mary-ellis-from-isle-of-wight-turns-100)

[Danny42C]

Lyneham Lad,

Bingo ! And 100 not out, too. A very happy birthday wish to a gallant lady !

But where did you get that hat ? ISTR we didn't have bonedomes in our day ?

Thanks a lot, LL, Danny.

[goofer3]

Not the video but written earlier in the year to mark the 100th birthday of Spitfire Girl Mary Ellis.
https://www.family-tree.co.uk/news-and-views/news/the-aviation-achievements-of-spitfire-girl-mary-ellis

[PPRuNeUser0139]

George crosses into France:
It was in Brussels that I met Edward Bridge, a Canadian air gunner who had been shot down some weeks previously after a raid on Aachen.
http://www.cometeline.org/144.jpg
(Sgt Edward A Bridge, RCAF, 428 Sqn)
After the trying times and the confinement I was glad to be able to talk to another flyer. I was destined to travel with him all the way down through France, through Spain to Gibraltar. We passed many hours discussing the glorious time we would have when we finally arrived in London. ''When we arrive in London'' - Oh; beautiful thought.

Then there was petite Lily (Dumont, now Michou Ugeux), a small good looking girl who quite regularly walked through the streets of Brussels guiding British and American aviators. There were many such as she, unselfish, brave, risking their homes, their very lives to help people who to them were utter strangers. Such a spirit was not acquired. I felt it must have been bred in them.

At night as I lay awake I could hear the murmur of high flying bombers, and the guns of Brussels opening up on those who were a little off course. Those were strange nights and sometimes I would wake up not knowing where I was and trying to make out the familiar objects of my own bedroom at home.

Soon the time came for Edward and I to move on. We were furnished with false identity cards and were to be accompanied by a guide (Lily Dumont) from Brussels to Tournai and from there by local train to the small frontier town of Rumes. It was a bleak dismal morning as we walked to the railway station in Brussels. There was a drizzle of rain and crowds of workers going to and fro. Two young healthy looking men cringing beneath the shelter of an umbrella may normally attract attention and an occasional comment, but as we stood outside the station waiting for the guide to purchase the tickets we attracted little attention.

Edward and I travelled in the same compartment. To see his serious looking face buried in an open newspaper (German controlled) and to see his eyes wander from left to right of the page and back again was amusing, for he had confessed to me that he could make neither head nor tail of any of it. Along the way the war was much in evidence. Bomb-craters beside the rails, a derelict locomotive bullet scarred and the continual stopping and starting of the train due to fighter intrusion.

There we were sitting there as large as life jogging along towards Tournai and reading German sponsored newspapers as if we had been doing it every day.

There was an hour or so to wait at Tournai for the local train to Rumes So we left the station and in the cool shade of a cafe, slaked our thirst. The absence of German soldiers surprised us and afforded us some relaxation. There had been a few about the station but they had taken little notice of us. The journey from Tournai to Rumes, just two miles from the frontier, was uneventful.
What would it be like crossing from Belgium into France? Would it be as easy and as simple as from Holland into Belgium?

We walked along the quiet sunlit lanes less than a mile from the border. We met a few farm labourers and passed them with a polite ''Bonjour''. ''Surely they must know'' I thought, for what else would three strangers be doing so near to the frontier. Perhaps it was a usual occurrence, but I thought not, for travelling without a permit was a serious offence. They must have known, I decided and obviously they said nothing.

A French customs official (Maurice Bricout) strongly pro-British and passionately anti-Vichy was to meet us on the Belgian side and escort us to his house just over on the other side. We were a little late, but he was there waiting at the appointed place, perspiring somewhat in his dark blue uniform. He was very friendly and greeted us warmly.

"'Follow me, my friends'' he said and led us along paths and across fields until we came to a large green field. He turned to us and said ''Gentlemen, on the other side of that field is France and soon you will be eating your first meal in France, prepared by my wife (Rachel Bricout) he added. ''Come follow me'' he said and we strode quickly across the field and arrived at the house of our friend the customs official.

More to follow..

[kookabat]

What I'm really appreciating in this account, sidevalve, is how the ordinary helpers are named throughout, where known. In a small way that reminds us that they were real people!

[PPRuNeUser0139]

That's fairly unusual Kookabat.. Most helpers adopted a "nom-de-guerre" for security reasons. We'll come back to this later on in George's story, but he (like a few others) came back after the war to look up those people who'd helped him.

George mentions Lily Dumont, now 'Michou' Ugeux*, in his account. Aline Lily Dumont, alias “Michou,” was one the most important agents in the Comète line from 1943 onwards. Due to her knowledge of, and connections with, the intelligence services such as “Marc,” “Clarence” and “Bayard,” she was able to gather evaders from several services to Brussels and help them escape to Spain.
http://home.clara.net/clinchy/bull3.jpg
"Nadine" and "Michou" Dumont (taken before Nadine's arrest when they were ~15 & 17 respectively)

Between December 1943 and May 1944 she led ten people in two trips to the south of France, crossing the Pyrenees twice. On May 10, 1944 she was forced to suspend her activities and arrived in London on June 22. She had by then assisted no fewer than 150 pilots. M.I.9 asked her to enter the “Retriever” secret services. Known as “Mrs. Hawkins,” and with “Mrs. Robson” (Mrs. Hanotte, MBE) they were the only Belgian women, to receive special SOE-retriever training** in Great Britain. They both achieved excellent results in their training, especially with the use of coded messages.

At the end of their course the Allies had already reached Brussels and SOE decided not to drop them in Belgium. Nevertheless, she was one of our most courageous female agents of World War II. Lily was at first recommended for gazetting as a Member of the Order of the British Empire (MBE), but after reconsidering her file, the Directorate of Military Intelligence decided to propose her for the George Medal, a similar procedure as used for the award presented to Mme. De Greef (aka 'Tante Go'), who ran Comet South from start to finish.

Michou lives in Provence and I was honoured to meet her 3 years ago.

* Michou's husband Pierre Ugeux was the president of the Formula One's governing body, the CSI, before it became the FIA.

** Does anyone know what SOE-retriever training was?

[Danny42C]

sidevalve,

A wonderful and heartwarming story from start to finish ! I'm glad George and others went back to see their brave helpers again when it was all over, as did Eric Newby ("Love and War in the Appenines" - "A short walk in the Hindu Kush").

He took it one stage further by marrying Wanda, his guardian angel when he was 'on the run' in Italy.

Danny.

[PPRuNeUser0139]

There's more to come Danny!

You mentioned Eric Newby - while I enjoyed his "Love and war in the Apennines", to me, his best book was his first: "The Last Grain Race". In it, he describes the deep sea voyage he made at the age of 18 in "Moshulu", a Finnish 4 masted barque, out to Australia for grain and back via Cape Horn.. He was the only Brit on board and he grew up fast in the School of Hard Knocks.. I made the mistake of lending it to someone..
I can't recommend it highly enough.

[Danny42C]

sidevalve,

Yes, I have read it - and no, you didn't lend it to me !

Danny.

[PPRuNeUser0139]

George in France..

Chapter 6 - France

It had all seemed so simple, so easily accomplished that one was left wondering whether the enemy knew anything at all of the smooth working organisation of the underground, of the many underground movements, from those helping Allied personnel, to those actively resisting the enemy. They knew alright, through the efficiency of the Gestapo and very many innocent lives were taken in reprisal.

The customs official was talking ''You will go to Paris'' he said. ''And there at the station somebody will be waiting for you, you must go with him''. Paris! I was to go to Paris. I had never been there before but had always wanted to go and see the boulevard cafes, the Champs Elysee and the Bastille. Strange that I should now get my wish when France was overrun by the Germans.

Edward and I had our first taste of red wine and both agreed that it was bitter but thought it would be impolite to refuse it. Having suitably eaten we bade our 'adieus' to the customs official and his wife and left them at the gate smiling and waving to us. These wonderful people who were risking their lives for me. I would never know their names or address. I met them and left them but I knew in my heart that I would never forget them. (Strictly forbidden to write down names and addresses)

Our companion, an Englishman who had lived in France for many years had helped to organize this part of the route down to Spain. As we strolled along the lane beneath the trees we spoke quietly in English telling him of England during the war, the London shows, the feeling of the people and joined with him in silent prayer for the success of the coming ''Second Front''. We arrived in the village and awaited the arrival of the 'bus that was to take us to Lille where we were to catch a train for Paris.

Identity cards were given to us and I found myself the possessor of a flowery French name, though it was easily pronounceable fortunately, and the profession of an architect. Berets had also been given to us by the customs official and as we waited there for the bus, we looked, I hoped, passable Frenchmen. The bus arrived. It was crowded and we were obliged to stand all the way on the long journey to Lille. On the bus was a continual hubbub of rapid French, much too rapid for my elementary grasp of the language, but I felt neither uncomfortable nor strange for I felt I was among friends. My beret was cocked at the correct angle and in my pocket was evidence of my French nationality and a permit to travel to my relatives in Paris.

At Lille station we were obliged to show our identity cards and hand our permits to a German official before being allowed onto the platform. The railway station scene was much the same as an English one. There were the crowds of people, the children looking at the engine, the hiss of steam, the soldiers struggling with their kit, only in this case they wore either field grey or green uniforms and not the familiar khaki; the porter hurrying along closing the carriage doors and the guard looking at his watch and holding a green flag. We managed to find seats and Edward and I once more fell into the routine of reading, looking out of the window and sleeping.

Our companion sat in the next compartment. The compartment on the other side of us was reserved for German soldiers going to Paris to spend their leave. All was ready and soon we were speeding away from Lille towards Paris. Paris in the late summer of 1943 under the heel of the invader - what would it be like? How had the Parisiennes reacted to the occupation, would there still be the gaiety that had been the magnet for tourists?

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/f9/17/29/f917295a9c9422a3ffe2df7842546a38.jpg

No - I found it to be as if a cloak had settled over its streets, casting shadows, shadows over people's minds, blank expressions on their faces and dullness in their eyes. I found an extensive thriving Black Market, where one could, if one had the money, live as luxuriously as in pre-war days. I found cafes full and streets crowded with German soldiers, their advances towards the women meeting with little success. I found a people passionately longing to be free, to enjoy life, to see their children adequately fed; to see their dull shadowed eyes light again with laughter. But there was no laughter, only a dull apathy, a longing for the Second Front, confident of it's success, and then revenge. Vengeance was in their hearts, but they must wait; except for those who actively resisted the Germans, members of the Underground, proud fearless men and women, ready to die for their beloved France. Perplexed, yes they were, by the surrender, but willing to carry the fight underground. Such people were Robert and his wife Georgette.

Edward and I had been introduced to them soon after our arrival in Paris. Robert had accompanied us from the dark station to his home, one of the many flats in a poor quarter of Paris. They already had one guest, an American pilot who had been shot down in the vicinity of Paris. He was from Georgia, big and friendly and very much at home. We stayed in Paris for ten days. Ten days of eating food off the Black Market at an exorbitant price. Days of listening to Robert playing his accordion with a dreamy look on his face and a cigarette drooping from his lips. There was a radio and during the day and in the evenings we sat huddled round it straining our ears to hear the news in English.

More to come..

[topgas]

That brasserie hasn't changed much
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/4a/94/6f/4a946fa7bc145692a3de2b32093c58bc.jpg

[PPRuNeUser0139]

Well spotted!

[PPRuNeUser0139]

George in Paris - and then en route to the South West:

During some of the evenings Robert and I would walk the streets, saying nothing to each other, but conscious of the bond of friendship that had sprung between us. There were card games played and impromptu lessons in English and French. During the sixth day there was a daylight air raid. The sirens were sounded, people flocked to doors and windows, policemen ran about blowing whistles and soon American bombers appeared overhead, dodging the puffs of flak and beating off the fighter aircraft. People were ushered indoors, but that only increased the number of faces at the windows, and the volume of cheering when what was thought to be a German plane was shot down. Soon the sky was filled with noise, the confused pattern of vapour trails, the sound of cannon fire and the answering lighter note of machine-gun fire. Parachutes could be seen, and a crippled American bomber falling behind the main formation and being attacked by three Hun fighters.

It was soon over and people again flocked into the streets and collected in groups. The target, I found out later, was the aerodrome in the vicinity of Paris, factories and marshalling yards. Many Frenchmen had been killed and yet there we were sheltering beneath the roof of one of them, so that one day we could get back and help to fight.

When one is waiting, time always seems to pass at half its usual speed. Ten days seemed like ten weeks, Edward, Bob the American and I spent many hours talking over just what we were going to do when we did finally get back to England. We planned a celebration of our reunion in London and cut cards to see which one would pay for the food, the entertainment, the taxis and the incidentals! I was to pay for the food, Edward, the entertainment and Bob the taxis and incidentals.

I had travelled thus far with little trouble, but could it last? The people in the south of France we had heard, were less pro-British and more pro-Vichy - how would they treat us?

The next part of the journey can be described as luxurious. Edward and I were to travel with a middle-aged woman as our guide and were to catch the overnight train from Paris to Bordeaux, for which a special permit was necessary. Reservations on the train had already been made. During our stay in Paris we had memorized the details of our identity cards and business, just in case anything went wrong. We bade our farewells to Robert and his wife and Bob and said we would see them soon. We walked to the railway station in the gathering darkness.

Police were at the barrier and our identity cards were demanded for perusal. All was in order and we took our seats, which fortunately were corner seats. Our guide as usual was in the next compartment. The crowd in our compartment, rather like the English, sat in stolid silence. We tried to sleep but were afraid to, lest we talked in our sleep or on waking uttered something in English before our senses were fully alert. So we sat huddled in our corner seats, pretending to be asleep until the light of dawn showed in the sky. With the dawn came the conversation. An oldish fellow, red-faced and wearing a beret asked me if I had slept well. I said ''Oui, merci monsieur'' and then became very interested in the passing countryside.

http://nsm08.casimages.com/img/2013/01/21//1301211017555012510783921.jpg
Saint-Jean station, Bordeaux
At seven in the morning we arrived at Bordeaux. Another guide was waiting there for us. He had been described to us, but we were not to acknowledge recognition, but just follow him doing as he did. He was a young man* of about twenty-eight, bright eyed and alert looking and we found him waiting for us. He saw us and proceeded to change to another platform where a local train was waiting to take us further south to the small town of Dax, about twenty miles north of the Spanish frontier.

Smiling our goodbyes to our previous guide we followed the new one and soon we were seated in the train. All went very smoothly. The day was warm, the compartment crowded as we puffed slowly southwards through country-side little marked by war. We passed gangs of coloured P.O.Ws who were building a railway line and doing forestry work. The train stopped at many intermediate stations but no-one boarded or alighted from our compartment. Edward pretended to be asleep in the corner. The other occupants looked to me as though they might be farm labourers except for two young fellows in the other corner who seemed to eye me with some curiosity. There was something about them that made me decide that they were not Frenchmen, the tilt of their berets, their silence and their nervousness. Possibly Edward and I looked the same to them. I hadn't thought of that.

They left the train with us at Dax and waited about as we did, and walked outside the station as we did! They must be two more of the boys crossing into Spain and this guide was to accompany the four of us. From the bicycle shed outside the station we took bicycles that had been left there for us. We set off following the guide through the streets of Dax, the guide ahead then the other two and Edward and I bringing up the rear. The advent of five young strangers to the town brought few curious glances and soon we were cycling along the quiet country lanes, with golden corn in the fields either side.

We cycled for about an hour and a half with roughly a half mile distance between us and the other two and the guide a further half mile ahead. We came to a bridge by which stood a German sentry. He looked at the guide as he passed over the bridge, then looked at the other two. Surely he would stop us and we would be forced to use our elementary French. As we approached the bridge we kept our eyes on the road ahead, not daring to look at the sentry. As we passed him I could just see him out of the corner of my eye and though he looked surprised he did not stop us.

* This was Jean-François Nothomb, aka "Franco", a Belgian noble.

Away for a few days now - more to come when we return!

[Geriaviator]

As the Heathrow third runway debate enters yet another decade, I've been enjoying a virtual wander around Lincolnshire airfields. One of these was Ludford Magna, near my childhood home at Binbrook and the home of 101 Sqn. Admittedly they didn't have to worry about planning permission, land acquisition or the green gangs, but they didn't have dozers, diggers and telehandlers either. Yet the fields around Ludford Magna became a usable standard heavy bomber airfield with rudimentary if muddy Nissen accommodation in just 90 days.

[Chugalug2]

topgas, your "after" picture well illustrates how little Paris changed as a result of the war, thanks to having been an open city (though of course, Hitler had called for it to be laid waste as the liberating allied armies advanced towards it. An order that was defied by its resident Wehrmacht General). Contrast that with London and many other UK cities and towns, where the bombsites have long since given way to 50s infill, in stark contrast to the Victorian and Edwardian terraces or villas on either side. The same is true of course for German towns and cities. Indeed, it is more so for instance in West Berlin which now features much post war dreary architecture, in stark contrast to the more classical buildings still to be found in the east, where patch and mend was favoured if only on a purely economic basis.

Such reminders of the effect of war are salutary, and a constant reminder of its devastating effect. Younger generations need the memorials and other reminders of it to learn that simple lesson, be it a grand public monument or a simple house that just doesn't quite fit in with its neighbours.

[ricardian]

Feedback on the Biggin Hill chapel petition:

A big 'Thank you' to all of you who came to show support at the Council Meeting on 25th.
We understand there was a pre-meeting at which the attending Councillors were virtually 'whipped' into line to support the motion, so despite my three minute appeal, and courageous opposal from three Councillors, as expected the decision went against us.
Despite this we are committed to continuing the fight, and thanks to someone contacting the BBC, last Friday 28th we had a short spot on both BBC London and South East 6.30pm News, filmed at the Chapel. Since then the Petition figures have exceeded 9,000 and still rising, so please keep spreading the word, and use any contacts you may have and we could reach 10,000.
If you have a moment, please write to the national papers, as we have reached this point, moving towards 10,000, without a mention, which is remarkable in itself. With your help to get national coverage we will achieve a total that cannot be ignored!
Finally, I know that feelings surrounding this are running high, we are all passionate about the campaign, but please remember we need to maintain the dignity this matter demands.
Best wishes and thank you,
Rita

[ElectroVlasic]

Heads-up ! (only 4 yrs late !) Came across a BBC2 programme (Which I don't ever remember seeing before) by Griff Rhys Jones: "Burma, My Father, and The Forgotten Army", available on iPlayer and (maybe) on YouTube overseas. A very fair summary of "my" war. Well worth a tune-in, IMHO.

If you do see it, do not mind the odd pics of Us helmets supposed to be our troops. The Jap twins shown (brief glance) are "Bettys", I reckon. A thing the size of a Wellington, it was used as the Naval torpedo bomber which sank the P.O.W. and the Repulse off Malaya.

Danny (what did that little devil you write about do next ?)

Am reading the thread and am a few weeks behind, so I don't know if any one has posted this, but in any case, here's a copy of the same, via YouTube:

D_TJa0Dtgmg

Thanks for mentioning it, Danny. I've been watching it and it has brought back memories of many of the things you've shared with us on this Greatest Of All Threads.

[Geriaviator]

In late 1944, Major Hunter Reinburg led the Corsairs of 122 Squadron, US Marine Corps, onto the sweltering, jungle-covered South Pacific island of Peleliu, scene of the Marines' most bitter battle of WW2. The Japanese were deeply dug into the hills less than 1km from the airfield, so pilots did not bother to retract their gear before delivering their ordnance and continuing with a circuit to land again and reload.

The Marines took almost 10,000 casualties. So bitter was the fighting that a Japanese lieutenant with 26 soldiers and eight sailors held out in the caves until 1947, surrendering only after a Japanese admiral convinced them the war was over.

When the island was finally conquered Major Reinburg decided that the surviving troops sweltering in 40 deg temperatures deserved some home comforts. The Marine engineers produced two large tanks filled with reconstituted milk and mounted to the Corsair wing hard points, with a stirring shaft powered by a wind-driven propeller. A practice battle climb to 25,000 feet and -30 deg C would supply 100 servicemen with a helping of ice cream every day ... surely the world's most expensive ice-cream cart?

[Wander00]

Have to admire the ingenuity though, but then I love ice cream

[Geriaviator]

Danny and others with affectionate memories of India will enjoy this lovely story from the Daily Mail, A corner of Wiltshire where the Raj never died: Enchanting tale of the Countess and the Indian who has devoted his life to her family for 60 years.


Countess June Badeni is the widow of a Polish RAF pilot and Muthukanna Shamugam serves as her loyal Indian 'houseman' at her home in Norton, Wiltshire.
Countess's Indian 'houseman' devoted life to family | Daily Mail Online (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-4755172/Countess-s-Indian-houseman-devoted-life-family.html?ito=email_share_article-top)

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator (#11103),

A hearwarming tale indeed ! I was going to quote the precedent set by Queen Victoria, but see it is in the text of the DM article. It is a charming reminder of the ethics of the 200 year old Raj - British India - to which the passage of 70 years has lent an almost mythological aspect. I saw its dying days, and it was, IMHO, the best thing that ever happened to the subcontinent.

The PR take on this is, of course, a horror story of Oppressor and Oppressed, but that is a superficial view. The loyalty of the household staff to their Sahib and Memsahib was legendary: it was rewarded by the deep respect they enjoyed in return. This is a shining example of an extreme case of that relationshipn (as a Tamil, "Muthu", would probably have spoken Malayalam).

I wrote a Post long since, ("Search this Thread" cannot find it), but it was of a youg "bearer" (personal servant) to an Army Captain who returned to UK, and did not come back to India for twenty years, then was posted back out as a Colonel to take command of his battalion.

Forewarned in some mysterious way, the now "old" bearer was waiting at the bottom of the gangplank in Bombay, to pick up "his" Sahib's kit and carry on where they left off !

A true story, I believe.

D.

[MPN11]

Not only India, Danny42C. Singapore, late 1960s. Mate in the Mess at Tengah entered his room to find his Mess Kit all laid out and freshly pressed and laundered - socks and underpinnings included. His Batman had seen an invitation to the Changi Ball on the desk, and assumed 'Organ-Sahib' would be attending. Sadly, Jeff was't going, so quietly hung his stuff up in the wardrobe and headed for the Bar.

I used to get puzzled when my Batman [I'm sure it was the same as Jeff's] used to rearrange my possessions around the sink. It took me a while to realise that he cleaned and washed my Mason Pearson hairbrush on a regular basis.

Some of those 'Servants of the Empire' were simply lovely people, doing a wonderful job ... they were probably proud of doing it, and we may not have appreciated them enough.

[PPRuNeUser0139]

George's last few steps in France:
We were very warm and a little exhausted, having had little opportunity in the past for exercise and were relieved to see the two ahead turn onto a road leading to a wood. Hiding our bicycles we gathered together in a thick part of the wood. Sandwiches were produced and a bottle of tea and we sat down and got acquainted.

Harry was a navigator from London who had been shot down four weeks previously following a raid on Dortmund. Bill was a Canadian pilot who had run into a balloon barrage over Aachen six weeks previously.

The guide explained that we were to cycle to St Jean de Luz and stay there one night before crossing the Pyrenees into Spain. He also said that he would be coming with us. When we had rested we retrieved our hidden bicycles, made our way on to the road again and continued our journey, Edward and I in the rear as before.

Rounding a bend in the road we came to a small pretty village. The guide and the other two rode through and disappeared around another bend in the road. Edward and I were about to follow them when a gendarme came rushing out from the verge of the road and shouted "Halt!" We halted, whilst the others had passed safely through. He approached us, his hand conveniently near the holster containing: his revolver. Edward's face had paled, my heart sank and I silently cursed our ill-luck, having travelled thus far, to be caught almost at the end of the journey.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. Edward looked to me to be spokesman and I answered "We are on a holiday". From the way he looked at me and following my elementary rendering of French I knew that he did not believe me. "Your identity cards" he demanded. We produced them and then he wanted to know what we were doing so far away from our address in the northern part of France.

"We are on a cycling holiday" I repeated patting my bicycle.

"Are you Germans?" he asked next for it was obvious that we were not Frenchmen. What was I to answer?

Should I say that we were Germans in the hope that he was pro-German and say that we were deserting to Spain, or should I risk telling him the truth?

"Yes we are Germans" I said "Deserting to Spain."

"You must come with me" he said in an authoritative voice.

We were sufficiently near him to stop him using his pistol and having travelled thus far, we were certainly not going with him. Edward and I silently agreed on this point. What could I lose if now I told him the truth! If he still insisted that we go with him then we must dispose of him.

I extended my arm to touch his shoulder and said in French, "We are English pilots" and I added an enthusiastic "Vive la France". I then offered him my hand. He took it and shook it warmly.

"Then you are crossing to Spain?" he asked and I said we were.

We wanted to leave him there and then, for the others must have been miles away and soon it would be dark. He was overjoyed and his dark face was wreathed in smiles.

"Come" he said "You must drink with me". We both made some show of protest, but allowed him to usher us to his home, the police house, and to be introduced to his friends. The wine was brought out and a hasty toast was made "To France - to England" and "To the success of the war".

Explaining that we could stay no longer and with a final "Vive la France" we left them and disappeared around the bend at the end of the village. What next? Surely the others must soon find out that we were not following them and would come back looking for us. We decided to go no further, but to wait by the roadside, in the hope that they would come back for us or failing that to wait for nightfall and then start climbing the Pyrenees, the dark silhouettes of which we could see about five miles away.

http://slideplayer.fr/slide/3222347/11/images/37/La+Rhune+vue+du+col+de+Pinodieta,+entre+Ainhoa+et+Espelette. jpg

We waited, the sun was already sinking in the western sky. They must have missed us and we would have to go on alone. Then we saw the guide pedaling slowly back in the opposite direction searching for us.

Edward called to him quietly from the roadside. The guide stopped and then came over to us. ''I thought you two had been caught'' he said. We described our little experience to him and enquired of the other two. They had been hidden in an inn (the Larre restaurant in Anglet) about three miles further on where we were all to spend the night and in the early morning to cycle to St Jean de Luz. We found them at the inn, fed and refreshed and in a merry mood. They were overjoyed to see us and congratulated us on our good luck.

http://www.cometeline.org/143passage.jpg
George left this note of thanks with Pierre Elhorga..

Before it was light next morning we were up and away along a quiet narrow road through St Jean de Luz to Ciboure arriving there to the safety of a friendly house before the town had awakened. From the window we could see the sea and the coastal defences and many German soldiers. At the house we met yet another pilot, a South African (James Allison) who had made a forced landing in Northern France, only three weeks previously.

It was not safe to have so many of us staying there so that night we were to cross the Pyrenees, with an expert guide who was to call for us as soon as it was dark. Most of that day we spent resting for we were tired after our cycle ride and wanted to store energy for the night's walk. The mountain guide (Florentino Goikoetxea) came and brought with him several pairs of canvas shoes (rope-soled espadrilles) that would make little noise whilst we were walking.

He asked us to empty our pockets of any French money that we might have, for if we were caught in Spain we could be legally charged with currency smuggling and it would be difficult for the British Consul to get us out of prison. All was ready and collecting in the doorway we bade our hostess (Kattalin Aguirre) goodbye and our previous guide (Jean-Francois Nothomb) who had travelled with us from Bordeaux, came with us to visit the British authorities in San Sebastian.
More to come..

[PPRuNeUser0139]

By the way, if anyone would like to join us for our annual commemorative hike (the dates are 8-10 Sept) across the Pyrenees using the exact same route that George took, then PM me without delay and I'll send you the details. We do in 2 days what George did in one night.
There are a number of cost options - but most will choose the 115€ option (this includes meals and coach travel in and around the area for the 3 days). Accommodation is your own responsibility.

NB. Completed sign-up forms must be received by our treasurer nlt 25th August.

[Chugalug2]

Welcome back sidevalve! What an amazing picture you post of the terrain that George and his comrades traversed, quite Turneresque! He seems to have had a facility for saying and doing the right thing and at the right time, thus making the difference between success and failure. If he hadn't used his wits and stuck instead to the German deserters story, our Anglophile Gendarme would no doubt have taken great pleasure in doing "his duty" and handing them over to the authorities for their inevitable fate. The Lord helps those who help themselves, and George was definitely in that favoured grouping.

Incidentally, his original home at 36 Park Grove is still there on Google Maps in Street Scene. Quite a few others aren't though, either having been replaced by later buildings or by open spaces. Evidence of Luftwaffe redevelopment no doubt, for which George and his colleagues were bent on returning the favours.

[PPRuNeUser0139]

Thanks Chugalug,

Here's the man himself..!

kl5zYho_t6k

[roving]

British Pathe has created a website with many, many hours of film.

Sadly much of it is behind a paywall, but there are some 'freebies' including an excellent account of 617 Sqn Dambusters and Tall Boy raids.

https://www.britishpathe.tv/#/category/?category=history#top

Destroying the great dams of western Germany, using a very special weapon designed by scientific genius Barnes Wallis, made the RAF’s 617 squadron one of the most famous in the world. This film features rare archive film and photographs, fascinating Interviews (newly-filmed and from the IWM archives) and illustrative 3-D graphics.

[roving]

This is a better link.

https://www.britishpathe.tv/#/details?feed_id=t2GRmcCpBJw78&group_id=Us99dMKw4vrrv

[Danny42C]

roving (#11111),

Thank you for the steer to a very impressive Pathé review of 617's exploits. Would recommend it to everbody with an hour to spare. Only snag which affected me, (probably my own fault, anyhow), was that I couldn't get it up on Internet Explorer, but Google Chrome did the business.

Danny.

[ricardian]

Today please remember ATA pilot Flight Captain The Hon. Margaret Fairweather aged 42, the first woman to fly a Spitfire, who was killed on August 4th 1944 on active duty when her aircraft crashed during an attempted forced landing at Shocklach in Cheshire. Buried at Dunure cemetery alongside her husband Douglas who perished on ATA duty in April that year. Theirs is the only Commonwealth War grave with husband and wife.

[roving]

http://afleetingpeace.org/the-ata/index.php/2-uncategorised/25-w007-margaret-fairweather

[PPRuNeUser0139]

George's crossing..

The night was dark and there was drizzle in the air. It became difficult to see the man in front of me. There were seven of us and we held hands, helping each other up the slopes of the foothills. For hours we struggled upwards, along narrow paths, known only to a few, across fast flowing streams that soaked us to the skin. Little was said as we struggled onwards hour after hour.

The drizzle ceased, the clouds rolled away and we were able to see the majestic silhouette of the mountains against the starry sky. There were both German and Spanish patrols in the mountains and it was common knowledge that if one was caught by the Spanish guards, even though on the Spanish side of the frontier, one would be handed back to the German guards. Up and up treading in the footstep of the man in front, not knowing what was on either side, except the all-embracing darkness. A stream we had to cross, which was normally shallow and sluggish had swollen to a fast flowing river (the Bidassoa) much too dangerous to walk across. There was nothing for it but to use the bridge which was guarded.

A light was showing in the hut at the end of the narrow suspension bridge spanning the river. At intervals of two minutes we crept silently across, very slowly so as not to start the bridge swaying. Those were anxious moments waiting until it was my turn to cross over. All were safely over and we proceeded on our way. Another heavy downpour of rain, again soaking our clothes which had dried through our exertions. At one point we seemed almost to climb vertically and only managed to keep going by clutching small bushes that cut our hands and scratched our legs and faces. Soon we were half-walking, half stumbling downwards and suddenly below us, miles below it seemed, shone the lights of Spain, that meant to us Freedom! A few more minutes and we had crossed from the territory of France into the territory of Spain. But we were not safe yet. There would be Spanish guards to dodge and already it was getting light.

Chapter 7 - Spain and Freedom

Our troubles were by no means over for the Spaniards had a nasty habit of clamping people into filthy, lice-ridden jails, there to rot until the formalities had been completed. We most certainly did not look like Spaniards, being predominantly fair. We supped and breakfasted in a house shown to us by our guide, washed our tortured feet and surveyed our many scratches. The Canadian pilot's feet were blistered and bleeding but he assured us it was worth it. The crossing had taken fourteen hours of continuous walking.

The British Consulate in San Sebastian had been forewarned of our arrival and arranged for an embassy car to take us direct to Madrid driving through the night. This proved to be the most dangerous part of our long journey for the Spanish driver lolled sleepily over the steering wheel and it was only by our constant prodding and unmelodious singing that we managed to keep his eyes from closing. As it was we narrowly missed several trees and quite a few cows in the road.

In Madrid there was a regular community of aviators who had either evaded or had escaped from prisoner-of-war camps. Our stay in the luxury of Madrid was however short and after a day we were driven down to the port of Seville in the south west part of Spain.

We were to pose as the drunken members of the crew of a Dutch ship bound for Gibraltar. The seaman who was to show us the way, we met in a disreputable bar, sipping whisky. Judging by the brightness of his eyes and the unsteadiness of his voice, he seemed to have carried the pose to extremes. We followed his example, imitating his roll and joining in singing lusty sea-shanties, passing; along the quayside, up the gangplank, past the Spanish dock police and onto the ship. Before being allowed to leave port the ship was subjected to a thorough search, but by then we were safely hidden in the hold. Food was plentiful, books were available and though we were on the ship for four days before it sailed the time passed fairly quickly. Course was set southwards and in a day we had sailed through the Straits of Gibraltar, could see ''The Rock'' and knew that at last we were safe.

After dropping anchor in Gibraltar harbour we were taken ashore and driven to the airport. In our tattered clothes and with our manly growth of beards we approached the Wing Commander in charge of flying and explained our position to him and our desire to get back to England. He arranged uniforms, toilet articles for us and seats on the aircraft leaving for England the following night. That gave us a day to go shopping and we bought as many bananas as we could carry and a few pairs of silk stockings from our advance of pay which we had received. The next night found us seated in the darkened fuselage of a Dakota, over the Bay of Biscay flying northwards to England and freedom.

http://lowres-picturecabinet.com.s3-eu-west-1.amazonaws.com/162/main/1/742821.jpg

I arrived home on 12th October 1943 having been away for nearly four months. It was with deep sorrow on my return I learned of the fate that had befallen the rest of the crew. Five members had been killed and two had been taken prisoner. After a short spell of leave I was asked to tour R.A.F. stations to talk to aircrews about escape and evasion and to assure them that if they had the misfortune to be shot down, there were many courageous members of the Resistance within Occupied Europe waiting to help them.

Subsequently I returned to my old Squadron and completed a further 39 operations, always remembering with gratitude those brave and wonderful people whose help had enabled me to return and to continue the fight.


Post Script:
In 1947, I returned to Brussels with my wife and again stayed with Professor and Mme Pirart and through them met Andrée de Jongh and her friend Germaine, a fellow survivor of Ravensbruck.

We continued to visit our Comete helpers in Brussels every year, together with other members of the Royal Air Forces Escaping Society, until it was disbanded in 1995.

In 1951, this time with our son Tim, we returned to St Jean de Luz and stayed at Kattalin Aguirre's house in Ciboure and in 1955, I was once again walking over the Pyrenees with Florentino. We still visit St Jean de Luz to this day and together with Lily Dumont's sister Nadine, lay wreaths on the graves of Kattalin and Florentino whilst the younger members of our families walk over the Pyrenees together.

In 1955, my young brother-in-law visited the Netherlands on a student exchange and called in to see Martin der Kinderen, my first contact in occupied Holland. He was treated to a ride on the same bicycle which had been lent to me and returned with a message that we should visit Martin. This was the beginning of a lifelong friendship which culminated in Martin celebrating his 80th birthday with us in Spain. This year, his daughter Uus joined us for the Escape Lines Memorial Society annual reunion dinner in York.

Captain George Duffee - Aberaeron - 2013

[Geriaviator]

This has been a wonderful story, even more remarkable for the fact that George returned to ops and completed another tour. Thank you.

[Danny42C]

sidevalve,

What a magnificent adventure story - well worth expanding into a book (in spite of my former "cold-water-pouring" on more War stories, on the grounds that that market is saturated, and in any case they're ancient history to anyone under sixty, in the same way as Omdurman was to us in our day).

Could you pass on to George and Janet (who I hope are enjoying their retirement in wild Wales) the heartfelt thanks of all PPRuNers who have read their story (thanks to you). I do hope that you've managed to point George in our direction and (dare I hope) get him aboard here ? He'd be more than welcome !

Again, thanks ! Danny.

[PPRuNeUser0139]

Glad you enjoyed it..!
The story of the Comet Line was not widely known for some time - many of us were only aware of the broad outline of what happened.
As part of their debriefing process, Allied evaders had to sign that they agreed to remain bound by the provisions of the various Official Secrets Acts and that the details of their evasion - names, routes and places - were not to be discussed. The fear was, after 1945, that another European conflict was thought to be likely and hence the wartime Comet Line could be dusted off for re-use.
In talking to veterans and their family members it's clear that they took the vow of silence seriously. Many never revealed how they evaded, not even to their nearest and dearest.
Seventy plus years on, the emergence of the internet has enabled some of those who took part to write their piece of history. For that we should be very grateful.
George told me a few years ago that when he brought his young family down to SW France in those post war years to meet up with Kattalin Aguirre (whose house he'd stayed at in Ciboure) and Florentino Goikoetxea (who'd guided him over the mountains), that Florentino suggested to him that they go for a short walk in the hills for 'old times sake'. They set off with George thinking that they were going to stretch their legs for just a couple of hours - Florentino had other ideas! He took George back over the border into Francoist Spain where he picked up some contraband and set off back to France again.
Here's George pictured here with Kattalin at a post war function in the Pays Basque.
http://recurut.eu/images/phocagallery/ruta2/thumbs/phoca_thumb_l_kattalin-aguirre.jpg
More to come..

[ICM]

Whilst following George's story, I've been equally aware of that of FS John Evans, a pilot of 158 Sqn. Others may know of it via the short book "Airman Missing" by Greg Lewis. John's Halifax was brought down later on over Belgium, in May 1944 and, with two of his crew, they were looked after by the the Comete Line until they met advancing American forces in the Ardennes. He ended his war with one of the Ferry Units. Ironically, I heard through his brother, another Halifax pilot with 10 Sqn, that John died last week after an illness, peacefully and free from pain. Requiescat in pace.

[Chugalug2]

sidevalve, what an inspiring story of George Duffee's long walk home! Thank you for posting it. Despite his making light of the dangers and physical exertion of the journey it was clearly a challenge for all, escapers and guides alike. If anything it is the latter group that impresses most, for retribution would be visited not only upon them, but their families and acquaintances also, in that special inclusivity that was the hallmark of Nazi oppression.

The Dutch ship, of which he briefly posed as a drunken crew member, had me puzzled. Fair enough that it was bound for Gibraltar, but from Seville? 50 miles inland, shorley shome mistake? No, Wiki as ever set me right:-

Port
Seville is the only commercial river port of Spain, and the only inland city in the country where cruise ships can arrive in the historical centre. On 21 August 2012, the Muelle de las Delicias, controlled by the Port Authority of Seville, hosted the cruise ship Azamara Journey for two days, the largest ship ever to visit the town. This vessel belongs to the shipping company Royal Caribbean and can accommodate up to 700 passengers.

So much to learn, so little time...

[DHfan]

Like everybody else I'm sure, I've been avidly following George Duffee's travels and experiences. It's great to see it also resulted in some lifelong friendships.

One thing that's puzzled me since his continuing on Ops was first mentioned is I've always understood that successful evaders weren't allowed back on Ops over Germany or occupied Europe. I believe it was because they knew too much about the escape routes and the people that ran them.
As he completed another 39 operations it would seem the policy must have been changed.

He signed his postscript as Captain. Did I miss something earlier?

[PPRuNeUser0139]

Yes DHfan, that was always my understanding of the policy about evaders returning to 'ops' too. Perhaps it changed as the war progressed.
George went on to have a distinguished career in civil aviation and I believe he was the training captain with BOAC.

[pulse1]

Having lived off a diet of war stories through the late 40's and 50's I also grew up to believe that escapees were not allowed to fly on ops over enemy territory. However, George was never captured so the Germans would not have known of his existence and had no reason to question him had he ever been captured. Perhaps this made it alright.

[DFCP]

Other than references to this officers time on Mosquitos I have not been able to find any references to what would seem to have been a very distinguished career.
I met he and his Canadian wife in Cheltenham maybe 10 to 15 years ago. He had long wanted to retire to the UK and they were then house hunting in the area.About a year later I visited them in their house in a village near Stroud.Reg was in bed after being thrown from a horse and his wife was not happy with some aspects of English village life! They returned to Toronto and I had some occasional phone contact with him for several years.
I believe he had been flying in Toronto for a TV station before he returned to the UK and I gather from an internet source that he flew for KLM after the war.
His wifes obituary was in Toronto papers several years ago and there is mention of an auction of his medals on the internet.The last trace of Reg I could find was at a nursing home in Toronto
Has anyone knowledge of a written account of Reg,s career ---both wartime and susequent
to 1945?
Is their any published history on this well decorated officer and also of his career post WW2.?

[roving]

Sdn Ldr Reg Reynolds DSO and bar, DFC and bar


Reginald wilfred reynolds (http://www.rafcommands.com/forum/showthread.php?12742-Reginald-wilfred-reynolds)

[ricardian]

Flight Sergeant "Chiefy" Hynd - WW2 Flight Engineer and latterly Drill Instructor to many Boy Entrants at Cosford.
Information from the RAF Boy Entrants Association:
A few weeks ago Chiefy Hynd was diagnosed with bowel cancer, but due to age and a heart condition etc., it was originally decided to monitor rather than operate immediately. However, as the side effects of the condition worsened this decision was overturned and the operation was carried out on Saturday. After several hours on the table the prognosis is that all the tumour has been removed successfully and he was placed in the High Dependency ward.
Since then, Chiefy has been moved out of the High Dependency Unit and is now in Ward 53. The main surgeon saw him today and told him he will not be discharged before Mon at the earliest, currently a minor kidney problem and they know he lives alone.
It will soon be his 92nd birthday and though there's probably some ex-boys out there who hate or intensely dislike intensely the Admin and DI staff who administered to us, I'm hoping that you'll still feel it appropriate to send him a birthday card. Someone commented "Think of what you were doing on your 19th birthday because he spent his in a Halifax Bomber over Germany."
PM me for his address and/or phone number

[Chugalug2]

Channel hopping on my TV tonight I chanced on the last few minutes of "The Last Passage" on PBS America about the Comet Line! The story of my life I'm afraid. A search on YouTube though produced this short teaser:-

r4OOy-qZlMc

and this short but moving tribute to those who manned the Line, brave men and women all:-

ysGM5EB69EA

I'll look out for another repeat or on demand availability of The Last Passage, but thought I should share its existence with those who were unaware of it like me.

Edit to say that it's on again at 0020, 1015, and 1455 on PBS America, Friday 11/08/2017 (Channel 155 on Freesat, but no doubt available from other providers). Thank goodness for PVRs, I'll watch the recording tomorrow!

[BEagle]

PBS America is available on Sky channel 534, Virgin Media 276 and Freesat 155.

Thanks for the heads-up - DVR is set!

[FantomZorbin]

Many thanks for that Chugalug!

[roving]

Following on from DFCP's request for information about S/L Reynolds, he and I have exchanged PM.

Reynold's remarkable career maybe of interest to others. This link provides a detailed history.

https://www.dnw.co.uk/auction-archive/past-catalogues/lot.php?auction_id=323&lot_id=258501

[PPRuNeUser0139]

"The Last Passage" was well made but inevitably it's a snapshot of one particular episode - the arrest of Dédée De Jongh in Jan '43. Moztu Films, the Basque company that put it together, was funded by a grant but sadly, Moztu had to be wound up due to the global economic downturn a few years ago.

A major film could be made out of the Comet story - but there were so many individual stories that the problem would be in deciding the focus.

For those interested in reading more about Comète, I'd recommend Airey Neave's "Little Cyclone".. (PPRuNer) John Nichol & Tony Rennell's "Home Run".. Peter Eisner's "The Freedom Line" and Edward Stourton's "Cruel Crossing (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/10003656/Edward-Stourton-talks-about-his-new-book-Cruel-Crossing.html)".

A major reference work on Comète was published in French last year by Philippe Le Blanc (http://memogrames.skynetblogs.be/archive/2015/04/12/comete-le-reseau-derriere-la-ligne-dd-8419027.html) but at 49€ it's beyond the reach of the casual reader. Ten years in the making, the author (a former Belgian intelligence officer) covers the period from 1940 to Feb '43 in 464 pages..

[Geriaviator]

https://s20.postimg.org/47719aru5/18_CRANE4.jpg

This recently discovered photograph was taken on a little camera (costing 25 shillings, or £1.25) by my late father who served with 142 Sqn Fairey Battles at Berry-au-Bac in France in the winter of 1939/40. The dispersal area was on the left of the main road between Laon and Reims, the airfield a grass area made from fields across the road.

In early 1940 Flying Off Taylor was detailed to do a show-the-flag flypast for Pathe News and Press photographers. He flew so low that the assembled party threw themselves flat and didn’t get any photos, while he continued through a tree at the far end.

The Coles crane has lifted the damaged mainplane with embedded boughs from the tree. Note the 250lb bombs on the bomb dolly in front of crane. The bombs were carried in cells within the wings, and on external racks. The next Battle in the line of aircraft concealed in the trees is carrying bombs on the external racks. Flying Off Taylor was shot down a short time later and as far as I can tell survived the war as POW.

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator (#11132),

Tribute to the sturdiness of the "Battle" ! Question: is the airman on the left wearing puttees ? Were they still in RAF issue in 1939 ?

D.

[ian16th]

Geriaviator (#11132),

Tribute to the sturdiness of the "Battle" ! Question: is the airman on the left wearing puttees ? Were they still in RAF issue in 1939 ?D.

I believe that Apprentices and Boy Entrants wore them, post WWII.

[Danny42C]

Heads Up,

2100 BST Itv3 tonight, 14th August:

(1/3) "easyJet: Inside The Cockpit". Could be interesting.

''''''''''''''''

ian16thThanks !

D.

[Brian 48nav]

I wonder if you watched the programme about the partition of India - it was on BBC 1 last Wednesday and the second part is this Wednesday at 2100.

It was not one of the better moments in the history of our former empire!

[Geriaviator]

https://s20.postimg.org/8hvcfqsml/15_Crane1.jpg

Danny, the airmen wore Wellington boots, as shown by the two standing on the wing. The squadron had spent winter under canvas in temperatures down to -20C and my father recalled that their improvised airfield became very muddy once the snow had melted. This photo which I posted a few years ago also illustrates the trestling of the aircraft, it appears that the u/c leg has already been removed although the chock is still there, and the crane has been positioned to lift the mainplane.

Interesting that the crane is civilian registered and even sports a tax disc. As far as I can remember, in the late 1940s military vehicles were still registered as RAF xxxxxx or RN xxxxxx. Perhaps the crane was impressed into RAF service, as were many civil aircraft.

[Fareastdriver]

in the late 1940s military vehicles were still registered as RAF xxxxxx

They certainly were at Aldergrove up until 1950.

At the outbreak of war lots of old dowagers and suchlike donated their surplus Daimlers and similar vehicles to the Army to assist in the war effort. Most of them ended up rotting away in a field in Devon. I have seen a photographs of them but it's lost in the ether somewhere.

[Old-Duffer]

You mean F/O H H Taylor shot down in K7696 on 19 May 1940 near Laon

O-D

[harrym]

In the inter-war period I believe military vehicles were customarily registered with the London Count Council and so carried the appropriate plates, and I recall seeing a convoy of army lorries in the late 1930s the plates of which were all lettered in the HML series. I particularly noted this as those are my initials!

Of course this became impractical early on in the war, when the system was replaced by using RAF or whatever was applicable, followed by a very long string of digits. However it was early days when Geriaviator's picture was taken, when the new method had yet to be applied (across the Channel, anyway).

[Geriaviator]

https://s20.postimg.org/e6fxirujx/Mahadeu1.jpg

My happy memories of life as a six-year-old in Poona, where my father was stationed 1945-47, were posted earlier this year but this month's fascinating and superbly produced BBC programmes on Partition recall a sadder side. Our Indian bearer was a lovely man called Mahadeu whom we called Pop and who became part of our family. We lived in a row of wood-framed bungalows thatched with palm leaves, pictured above behind the three of us. Mahadeu was very fond of my little sister and by the time we left India she could speak as much Hindi as English.

In May 1947 my father was posted to RAF Drigh Road, Karachi, and Mahadeu said he would like to come with us. Our journey via Lahore on the Deccan Queen took several days and while each Service family was allocated half a coach with sleeping and eating accommodation, we were very disappointed when Mahadeu had to travel in the separate native servants' coach except at eating times.

Partition came as a great shock and my family was given a few days to pack all our belongings before we were flown from Karachi to Bombay where we took ship for England. My parents gave Mahadeu all they could, there were many tears when we parted at the airfield, and Mahadeu left for the railway station and his home in Poona.

We docked in Liverpool three weeks later and heard for the first time of the terrible unrest which was sweeping across India. We never heard from Mahadeu again although my parents wrote to him many times. He was probably among the tens of thousands who perished in the conflict, and until their deaths 40 years later my parents felt they were to blame because they had taken him to Karachi yet could not see him safely home.

Today the general impression is that the British were to blame for the consequences of Partition. But my father often said that all the Indians he met from his arrival in 1945, including those in the Indian Air Force which operated Vengeance aircraft from Poona, made it very clear that they wanted the British to leave without delay. After Partition began the Army and other Service personnel stayed on base and acted only to protect British people and property, for Congress objected to their presence and Nehru stated that he would rather every Indian village go up in flames than keep a single British soldier in India for a moment longer than necessary.

[Danny42C]

Brian 48nav (11136),

Yes - We exchange emails with a widowed niece of mine in Melbourne every day: I wrote a long critique of "The Viceroy's House" (DVD version of the book just published) to her, ending:

..."The hopes that the Lion would lie down with the Lamb proved vain; there were huge and violent exchanges of population both ways across the arbitary border; there was naked slaughter of men, women and children on an enormous scale. The estimate at the time was two million * dead and many times that number homeless refugees. Of course, the Indian view was that it was all Britain's fault - blind to the the fact that, when the "colonial oppressor" left, Pax Britannica went with him ! - and this was the predictable (and predicted) result. Our "Daily Mirror" wrote ruefully at the time:

"THEY KNEW" - Isn't it annoying when the wrong people turn out to be right ? - and we see the Indians behaving exactly as the old Blimps and Curry-Colonels said they would !" (Coincidentally, BBC 1 TV is starting a new two-parter on this very subject tonight)"...

and a day later:

..."I was far more impressed with the first episode of "My Family And Me: India 1947" (BBC 1 last night), personal experiences of British residents paying their first visit to the home villages of their forefathers. Very affecting. (Would I like to go back [if I could] ? - No, it's always a mistake: you cannot go back in time, the India I knew doesn't exist any more)"...

[Note *: revisionist historians have massaged this figure down to one million - I prefer the original figure; the truth is nobody knows, it is all guesswork anyway as nobody was counting].

Danny.

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator and FED (111137 and 138),

I think the Coles Crane was probably "commandeered" for miltary service, and they hadn'nt had time to repaint it and give it a service number.

So just plain old rubber boots, then ("Boots, rubber, gum, airmen for the use of ?") - stores Ref ?

Think there was a medieval statute which allowed draymen to piddle al fresco on the offside back wheel of their cart.

Danny.

[ian16th]

The RAF used Mauripur, Karachi, as a staging post until 1956.

When 214 Sqdn went there in 1960, I believe that we were the 1st RAF visitors since 56.

Many of the locals, shop keepers, taxi drivers et al, asked us, 'Are the British coming back?' In a hopeful tone!

[roving]

In a shoe box of WW2 photos, is this one taken by my Dad in Italy in the summer of 1944. I have no idea who the pilots were other than that they were members of 208 Sqn. Maybe someone may recognise one or more of them.

[Danny42C]

ian 16th (#11114),

Never went back myself, but an old 20 Sqn friend, Flt Lt N.R.Ker (RIP), an Anglo-Indian born and brought up in India, and a fluent Hindi speaker, went back several times in the years after Partition.

He often heard, from the old folks: "I wish the British would come back !"

Danny.

[Danny42C]

Geriaviator (#111141),

Mahadeu would have been a Hindu, his home, Poona (now "Pune") was in India, over the Partition border, several hundred miles south of Karachi, a Muslim town in what is now Pakistan, where you had to part.

As you say, his prospects of reaching Poona alive by train in those times would have been poor indeed !

Danny.

[Fareastdriver]

"I wish the British would come back !"

Then they would have somebody to blame.

[Three Wire]

An RAAF Vengeance taxying in New Guinea.

Snipped from ADF serials.

2773

[ancientaviator62]

Danny,
todays online Daily Mail has some pictures of the RAF in India and Burma in WW2.

[Danny42C]

ancientaviator62 (#11150),

Thanks for the steer ! - very interesting ! But some of the text is strange: what are we to make of ..."Corporal Peter Westlake Walker was stationed in India and Burma, but was soon deprived of his pilot's license due to being colour blind"...? for example, and there are other items difficult to understand.

The shots of chaps in their 'blues' (and that amazing two-man rickshaw with the puller in a sort of mad Red-Indian head dress must have been at a hill station (Poona? or somewhere up north in the winter. In Bengal and all points east we wore KD all year round.

..."At the book's semi-official launch, I was really taken back by how many people spoke to me of their fathers, brothers and other relatives who had fought out in the Far East and everyone without exception said 'they never spoke about it"...

cf my Thread: "Dad never said much about the war when he came back". (Multi-page thread 1 2 3 4 5) on Military Aviation.

Danny.

[ancientaviator62]

Danny,
text and captions in the Mail (and other papers) sometimes are at odds with the pictures. Glad they were of interest. Was one of the a/c a Vengeance ?

[ian16th]

ancientaviator62 (#11150),

The shots of chaps in their 'blues' (and that amazing two-man rickshaw with the puller in a sort of mad Red-Indian head dress must have been at a hill station (Poona? or somewhere up north in the winter. In Bengal and all points east we wore KD all year round.
Danny.

This is almost certainly on Durban Sea Front where his troopship probably stopped.

[Danny42C]

Three Wire (#11149),

Thank you for the pic of my cantankerous old steed ! The RAAF got Mk Is and IIs (in which they flew all their 'ops' in WWII) and later Mk.IVs, mostly converted as target tugs. In India/Burma, we likewise operated Mks.I and II, Mk.IIIs (non-op), but no IVs (in fact I've never even seen a IV in the metal). They all look alike at first glance.

It looked what it was: a big ugly brute ! But quite docile and easy to fly, A useless aircraft in most respects ("too clumsy to fight, and too slow to run away"). Like the Stuka, it could only operate in conditions of aerial superiority. But superb when pointed straight down !

Notes: The upper massive airbrakes are hinged from the front, the lower from the back. They are mechanically linked, so the effects of airflow are balanced out. Well away from the wing surfaces, they had no effect on control. Very easily open/closed, they can be partially or wholly extended to make "parking" in your formation station "a piece of cake", after rushing up into position from behind. Fully extended in a vertical dive, they held the speed down to the terminal velocity of 300 mph.

As shown here, they also make a convenient backrest for your crew when giving them a lift between dispersals. The gun ports show up well, but what is that stuff draped over the outboard port on the wing ? And why doesn't it blow off ? There are no wing bomb racks fitted: it is not going to war that day.

The u/c leg shows the pilot's "short cut" to the cockpit: right foot on the (3-ft) wheel, left foot in the "stirrup", a quick scramble - and you're on top. Better than climbing "the North Face of the Eiger" (hand and footholds up to the gunner's cockpit level), then stepping onto the trailing edge and going forward.

As, for some reason, the Jap did not molest us (although he had the "Oscars", which could cut us to shreds), ours were the safest 'ops' imaginable: it was said that our greatest danger was of twisting an ankle when jumping down from a trip !

Last one extant, AFAIK, in the Camden Museum, Narellan, Sydney.

Danny.

PS: aa62 (#11152), No, saw no VVs, old stuff like the Hawker Demon" (?) - and what is that Lancaster doing out there ? (not in WWII).

[Geriaviator]

Danny (your #11147)
Mahadeu was indeed a Hindu, I should have noted that we kids called him Pop as we could not pronounce his name. His gentle and enthralling stories of the Hindu gods are described in my Poona post #10749 p538, as usual ending with chaos in Sunday School when my ecumenical attempt went wrong. Seventy years on, I'm still happy to rely on Lord Shiva :hmm:

[Danny42C]

Re: my (#11135),

"Jet Blast" has a Thread running on this, 87 Posts to date.

D.

[roving]

Two days ago @11145 I posted a random photo from the shoe box marked 'my dad's easy war pics' and announced that the photo was taken in Italy in 1944.

Today I visited the naval8/208 squadron association website and discovered that a chap called Porrit has posted pics of his dad whilst serving on the same squadron at the same time and place.

One the photos (which in fact is only the left half of it), shows his dad standing next to a Spitfire MK 9 propellor holding his cap and standing in his wellies.

[Clicking on the pics enlarges them]

Reg Porrit 02 (http://www.naval8-208-association.com/SpitHurrLysGallRegPorritt02.html)

Hmm I thought, I am sure that the full original of that one is in the shoe box.

[Danny42C]

roving,

Nice pic ! Two points: they are wellies (which disposes of my "puttee" idea) Did we have wellies in Burma ? (must've had but can't remember, but recall our "monsoon capes").

And they are on pierced steel planking which we mistakenly used to call "Sommerfelt tracking" (something quite different - see Wiki). Laid on mud, this PSP Meccano-like covering allowed aircraft to operate from forward "kutcha" strips in the monsoon. I found the clatter and vibration scary: sounded as if something had dropped off your aircraft when moving about on it.

Over on the R is a wheel of a "chore-horse" (ground battery back for starting).

Danny.

[roving]

Danny, thanks. Photography was my Dad's thing.

[roving]

Danny et al

Have quoted Tinus le Roux's video interviews before, his latest is with Denis Taylor a Spitfire pilot (and also POW) of 4 Sqd SAAF

http://saafww2pilots.yolasite.com/denis-taylor.php

Also his library is

Tinus le Roux - YouTube (http://www.youtube.com/user/biltongbru?feature=mhee)

Trust these may be of interest (I have Tinus's permission to post links)

PZU - Out of Africa (Retired)

This is a brilliant website for those interested in aerial warfare in the Middle East and Italy.

pzu has posted about it on this forum many times and I agree with him.

There are video taped interviews of South African WW2 aces, all now sadly no longer with us.

The 17 video taped interviews with Major Stewart Finney DFC* provide an extremely detailed and wonderfully understated anecdotes of Hurricanes and Spitfires dogfighting with 109's.

http://biltongbru.wixsite.com/ww2-saaf-heritage/bomb-finney

My initial interest arose from the fact that the C.O. of 208 was a South African Lt. Col. during much of the Italian Campaign.

[PPRuNeUser0139]

Some of the best stories about the Comet Line are those that didn’t make it into the history books.

The German security services were aware that evading Allied airmen were transiting through the Basque country en route to Spain and Gibraltar and so putting a crimp in the operation of the Comet Line quickly became a high priority for them. The security checks at Bayonne railway station became tighter and tighter as the war progressed.

The Comet organisers adopted a number of ruses to counteract this: they first used teenage girls to meet the airmen on the platform as they arrived on the overnight train from Paris to greet them with kisses as though they were returning boyfriends, before breezing through the exit gate.

The next phase in evading detection was known as ‘Operation Water’ (Le water being an old-fashioned French term for the toilet – a contraction of Water Closet). At Bayonne station, there was a toilet on the platform that also had an external door to the street outside. This door was normally kept locked. However, the Comet helpers managed to get hold of a key from sympathetic SNCF workers – thus bypassing the leather-coated security men waiting at the main exit.

Once outside, they would be led in Indian file across the bridge over the Adour to a restaurant - chez Gachy - opposite an old fort in the centre of Bayonne that was used by the Germans as a barracks. Madame Elvire De Greef, aka ‘Tante Go’, the brilliant Comet organiser of the network in the South West, always took each new group of ‘children’ or “parcels’ (as the evaders were known) to this restaurant to give them a good meal before setting out on the Pyrenees crossing.

Rather than serving the evaders in a side room on their own (which could have attracted unwelcome attention) Mr Gachy seated them in the main area of the restaurant in the midst of the many German military diners from the barracks opposite – the thinking being that no German would ever imagine that the young men sharing his table could possibly be Allied airmen. If Mr Gachy spotted a German trying to engage the evaders in conversation, he'd tell him that he was wasting his time as they only spoke Basque.

So far so good. Mme De Greef always treated her evaders to a steak lunch on arrival to boost their morale before they set off for the mountains. At this point, it should be remembered that, unlike in France, people in the UK (and maybe elsewhere) were not accustomed to eating steak that was served rare. Apparently one day, an evader cut into his steak and, on seeing the blood that ran out from it, he pushed his plate away. There was a dog in the restaurant and before the evader could be stopped, he held out the steak to be gobbled up by the lucky dog. This was at a time when 80% of French food production was being sent to Germany.

This exchange immediately piqued the interest of a Wehrmacht officer sat nearby and he appeared to ‘Tante Go’ to be taking an excessive interest in her table. Sotto voce, she told her ‘children’ to finish their meal quickly – as in now – and they paid and left before the German officer had time to dwell on his suspicions.

The next phase saw the Comet guides, with their evaders, switching trains at Bordeaux station from the main line to a slower country line that took them to Dax (about 60km from Bayonne). Bicycles were pre-positioned at Dax station with the connivance of the SNCF workers and the evading group would ride from Dax to Bayonne.

What could possibly go wrong? Who would have thought that someone who could fly a B-17 would be unable to ride a bike? Strange but true. “Franco”, the Comet guide, took the embarrassed pilot around to a patch of waste ground near the station for an instant 10 minute course.

The party of six – 2 guides and four evaders – then set off and shortly afterwards they found themselves cycling along a long straight lane towards the distant blue Pyrenees. “Franco” saw 2 German soldiers on bikes in the distance coming towards them. The tyro cyclist found himself drawn irresistibly across the lane into the path of the Germans and they all collided in a tangled heap. Displaying his quick wits, “Franco” pulled out an almost empty bottle of cognac from a pocket and mimed that the evader was drunk – at which the Germans laughed it off and they went on their way.

And then there was the RAF evader who, on being handed his bike at Dax station, blithely rode off on the wrong side of the road.. A moment’s inattention was all it took to attract unwelcome attention from prying eyes.

Below: 'Tante Go' with 'Max' and two evaders; Bayonne station in the 40s; a German guard on the bridge over the Adour from the station to Bayonne; Bar Guernika (the former Chez Gachy), Bayonne; Dax station; René and Faustina Gachy.

[roving]

sidevalve wonderful photographs and anecdotes. Truly the greatest generation.

I see from your profile that you live in S.W. France. A wonderful region.

I drove up into Spain in the 1970's -- there was a motorway which ran by the Gulf de Lyon, but on that trip I travelled on a similar route to that described in your posts.

It must have been a steep ride on a bicycle.

[Warmtoast]

Danny & Ian16th

Re your comments #11151 #11153 about the Burma photos that had appeared in the Daily Mail I’ve had a look at the photo of the two airmen in a rickshaw I think Ian has it right as having been taken on the Durban seafront.


http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/RAF%20Thornhill/Durban%20Aug%201953/D%20Mail%20Photo_352x600_zpsvffrvyd2.jpg

I say this with experience because in August 1953 I’d hitch-hiked down to Durban from 5 FTS, RAF Thornhill in S. Rhodesia and whilst in Durban was photographed in a rickshaw on the Durban seafront with the rickshaw driver sporting a similar headdress – see photos below.

http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/RAF%20Thornhill/Durban%20Aug%201953/Rickshaw%203%20-%20Best_445x600_zpsrprwnydi.jpg

http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/RAF%20Thornhill/Durban%20Aug%201953/Rickshaw%20I_438x600_zps0sxyroc6.jpg



http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/RAF%20Thornhill/Durban%20Aug%201953/Durban%20Beach_800x589_zpsi9xkqetq.jpg



One other memory from my trip to Durban 64-years ago was that one could go on a bus tour into Zululand and photograph Zulus in their homeland going about their daily chores such as this photo I took of a bare-breasted Zulu maiden grinding Maize into mealie-meal.


http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/RAF%20Thornhill/Durban%20Aug%201953/Zululand%201_438x600_zpszj9fba8r.jpg


What one could do in the RAF in those days!

[PPRuNeUser0139]

I’m actively involved with an association based in the Côte Basque dedicated to preserving the memory of those in the Basque country who risked all in support of the Allies during WWII. I work together with the son of a wartime Basque “passeur” (Comet guide) in researching the history of Comet’s operations in the area. Very little was committed to paper at the time for obvious reasons and so we have to use what little hard info we have – plus contact with the few remaining veterans and descendants of those wartime helpers.

Comet was run in the South West by Mme De Greef (aka ‘Tante Go’), a Belgian refugee, and she kept a meticulous log in an exercise book of each crossing – dates, names (rank, service, home address ) and names of the Comet guides. She kept all her incriminating papers in a coffee tin tucked away on a shelf in a nearby shop. Fortunately, I have a copy and it has proved invaluable, together with evader reports, in helping to unravel – as best we can – what actually happened.

There were two main axes for crossing the Pyrenees: the first was the original route pioneered by Andrée De Jongh. This involved a 4-5 hr trek up and over the mountains until they reached the River Bidassoa at a location known as San Miguel – where the river marked the frontier between France and Spain. After fording the river, they were faced with a sporty climb straight up through a mass of tangled vegetation before emerging in more open, but no less rugged, country.

Their destination was “Sarobe Farm” – a safe house near Oiartzun, Spain. This trip would normally take the evaders about 10 hours – and up to 14 hours in inclement weather (viz George Duffee). They would rest at the farm until a car arrived from the Consulate at Bilbao to take them first to the Embassy at Madrid, and then on to Gibraltar and home.

After the arrest of Andrée De Jongh in January 1943 at Bidegain Berri, a safe farm near Urrugne, a Belgian noble named Jean François Nothomb (aka “Franco”) became head of Comet. Due to the heightened security by German patrols in and around the coastal frontier area, “Franco” set about establishing an alternative, less risky, inland route. I’ll cover the inland route(s) in a future post.

One of the outcomes of the round-the–clock bombing of the Reich by the 8th AF by day and the RAF Bomber Command by night was that the number of Allied aircrew evaders ‘in the system’ ramped up sharply and once the Allied Tactical Air Forces achieved air superiority over large swathes of France, the wisdom of evaders using the French rail network was called into question as P-47s and rocket-firing Typhoons roamed at will looking for targets of opportunity.

Over 800 Allied airmen were successfully repatriated while in the care of the Comet Line, with 286 successfully evading via the Pays Basque – the balance of 500+ airmen were held concealed in makeshift camps in large forests (Fréteval (http://www.rafinfo.org.uk/rafescape/freteval/brayley-collection.htm) in France and the Ardennes) and kept supplied by air.

Only two evaders were lost while in Comet’s protection. One was the outgoing head of Comète in Belgium, Count Antoine d’Ursel (aka “Jacques Cartier”), who was ‘burnt’ (ie, his cover was blown by the Gestapo) and was en route to London.. The other was 2nd Lt James Frederick Burch, USAAF – a 26 year old B-17 co-pilot from Terrell, Tx. This tragic saga will be the subject of the next post.

Interactive map here (https://www.zeemaps.com/view?group=2576501&x=2.196434&y=47.708156&z=13).

Below: Mme De Greef (aka "Tante Go"); the Bidassoa valley; Bidegain Berri, Urrugne; "Franco"; Count Antoine d'Ursel; 2nd Lt James F Burch, USAAF.

[pzu]

Today is 75th Anniversary of Dieppe Raid - was recently in contact with an old school pal, turns out his father was a Spitfire pilot on 129 Sqd
Dieppe was his second op ( with only 120 hours t/time) was attacking Hess battery then bounced by 4 x FW's, escaped flying under electric lines then on return found a few holes, changed a/c and returned

PZU - Out of Africa (Retired)

[ian16th]

Ah well, in Aug 53 I was still a Boy Entrant, with 12 years of RAF 'experience' in the future, but now I live about 110Km south of Durban.

[eko4me]

Following Warmtoast's working example of mealie grinding. Collected many years ago in northern Kwa Zulu it must have seen many tonnes of throughput before the bottom fell out - hidden under the grinding stone! Heaven knows how old it is but Cetshwayo might have nourished himself therefrom!

[Chugalug2]

sidevalve, how amazing that the Comet Line lost only 2 evaders, one of them being one of its own, despite the great number that was passed along its extended length. That it was only really brought to a stand by the growing threat of blue on blue Allied air attacks is an ironic twist, as were the French forest camps established in its stead to house and hide those who were evading and/or escaping from.....German camps! Irony also extended I suspect to the title of Tante adopted by these courageous girls and young women who were at the very heart of this lifeline.

If we can have a generic memorial to women of WWII in Whitehall, then we should have a specific one there to those men and women who thwarted the enemy in occupied territories by aiding the escape and evasion of our Armed Forces. The constant fear of your door being battered down at 3am requires a very cold courage indeed to overcome.

Thank you for reminding present generations of the sacrifice made back then to return democracy to the nations of Western Europe, and why it is important to go on defending it today.

Warmtoast, the colourful rickshaw drivers in your pictures might well be the sons of those who met my father's outbound troopship in Durban in December 1941. He duly got snapped in such a rickshaw and sent the photo home before embarking again for Singapore. Events however intervened and they disembarked in the Dutch East Indies instead, before being overrun by the Japanese Imperial Army. No Comet Line there I'm afraid!

[PPRuNeUser0139]

If we can have a generic memorial to women of WWII in Whitehall, then we should have a specific one there to those men and women who thwarted the enemy in occupied territories by aiding the escape and evasion of our Armed Forces. The constant fear of your door being battered down at 3am requires a very cold courage indeed to overcome.

That's the point I often make to local people here - many of whom are unaware of what Comète was all about, and the fact that its operations in south west France were run from a house about 1km from the Kommandantur at Anglet comes as a complete surprise to many.

The aircrew had been trained to carry out their primary flying task and they were only at risk in flight. If they were shot down and captured, they were protected (in theory) by the provisions of the Geneva Convention.

In contrast, none of the Comète volunteers had been trained - and facing them were the various arms of the German security services (Gestapo, the Sicherheitsdienst, the Feldgendarmerie, the Luftschutzpolizei, Abwehr etc etc). The Occupier had made it perfectly clear that aiding airmen/parachutists would incur severe consequences. Comète helpers had always to be on the alert for anything out of the ordinary - such as a strange face in the street perhaps. They were at risk 24/7 until they were captured - and that occurred, as Andrée De Jongh always briefed prospective helpers, on average after no more than 6 months of operating. Once captured, they had to endure harsh interrogations before either being shot or deported to the camp system in Germany, usually under 'Nacht und Nebel (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nacht_und_Nebel)' conditions.

http://p9.storage.canalblog.com/95/67/1024330/88876662.png
'Tante Go'

'Tante Go' was tailor-made for her role as Comète organiser in the SW. She quickly realised that she needed a cover story to divert attention from her constant comings and goings and so she became a black marketeer (a forbidden activity). She actually supplied senior German officers with delicacies such as foie gras etc. A useful spin-off from this activity meant that, despite food rationing, she was always able to feed the evaders, who generally arrived - hungry - in groups of four.

http://home.clara.net/clinchy/albjohn.jpg

Living with the De Greef family was an Englishman - Albert Johnson (aka 'B'). He had been the chauffeur and travel secretary to the President of the International Olympic Committee in Brussels since 1928. During the mad days that followed 10th May 1940, he had been adopted by the De Greefs as they fled south west. He was quickly fixed up with some false papers in the name of Albert Jonion.

Employed ostensibly as a handyman/gardener to the De Greefs, he too became a Comète helper and in due course went on to lead 13 groups of evaders over the mountains. One day, 'Tante Go' and 'B' set off by train to visit Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port (https://www.google.co.uk/maps/place/64220+Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port,+France/@43.1790117,-1.2832259,10z/data=!4m5!3m4!1s0xd50d5616cb5d49f:0x27d43cc64a91e1c7!8m2!3d4 3.163141!4d-1.23811?hl=en) to meet someone in connection with Comète. However, during a routine inspection of papers during the journey, 'B' was arrested. (His looks and his accent betrayed him) On arrival at Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, he was taken to the Citadelle (https://www.google.fr/search?q=citadelle+saint+jean+pied+de+port&num=30&newwindow=1&rls=com.microsoft:en-US&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjq6pKlm-XVAhWGBsAKHTkfAgsQ_AUICigB&biw=1920&bih=950), a fort used by the Germans as a prison. This was a highly dangerous situation as he was intimately familiar with Comète operations - so, bold as brass, 'Tante Go' called at the prison demanding to see the senior officer in charge. She admitted that she and 'B' were there to collect black market supplies and she invited the police chief to telephone her food supplier and also her most senior German customer in Anglet to corroborate her story. Embarrassment all round followed - and 'B' was released.

A positive outcome of this story was 'Tante Go' now had top cover for her black market business! She was a cool customer. After the war, she was invited to London where she was presented with the George Medal by the King.

As for 'B', following this incident, it was decided that it was too dangerous for him to stay in France so he left for Spain and worked for MI-9. Post-war, 'B' married and lived initially in Devon but he felt stifled there so in 1952 they emigrated to Australia, finally settling in Tasmania and living in Opossom Bay some 40 km south of Hobart.

'B' died of cancer in St John's Hospital, Hobart on the 3rd of February, 1954 aged just 45.

[ricardian]

A little later than WW2. RAF Mauripur, Xmas Day 1953

https://scontent-lhr3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/11880627_1482149305440902_6025000513836878500_n.jpg?oh=93602 348ba8583b28140a8e087c343e3&oe=5A16F250

https://scontent-lhr3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/11873628_1482150788774087_1274751969785631651_n.jpg?oh=92fc6 6209e311e961edbabb99ffdb54b&oe=5A172F0D

(Thanks to Steve Gerrard on Facebook)

[ian16th]

They ate better than those that came later!

In 1961 when 214 based tankers there, we were in the North Western Hotel in Karachi proper for 3 weeks.

Every man jack of us went down with dysentry.

Later trips we used the Palace Hotel, much better. But we never had another visit as long as 3 weeks.

[roving]

In late 1958 I flew from Singapore to Blackbushe via Calcutta, Karachi, Bahrain, Beiruit, Brindisi.

In the hotel in Karachi I asked my father what was this disgusting meat we were eating.

"Camel steak" came the reply. I always thought he was joking, until I read someone else describing being served-up Camel steak there.

But on Royal Air Force stations catering has always been to a high standard.

[Warmtoast]

...argh! Memories of Christmas. 5 FTS, RAF Thornhill, S. Rhodesia - Xmas 1951

http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/RAF%20Thornhill/Thornhill-Xmas5_zpsaa4fa96a.jpg

Waiting for the officers to serve us our turkey

http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/RAF%20Thornhill/Thornhill-Xmas3_zps45b80b59.jpg
Earlier out on the airfield Father Xmas had arrived from the North Pole by Anson with sacks of toys for the kids

http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/RAF%20Thornhill/Thornhill-Xmas4_zps89f533b9.jpg


http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/RAF%20Thornhill/Thornhill-Xmas1_zps6780545b.jpg



http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/RAF%20Thornhill/Thornhill-Xmas2_zps0080fcf2.jpg

Later in the afternoon on the sports field the Sergeants dressed up in fancy dress to play the officers in a Christmas football match.

[ian16th]

In late 1958 I flew from Singapore to Blackbushe via Calcutta, Karachi, Bahrain, Beiruit, Brindisi.

In the hotel in Karachi I asked my father what was this disgusting meat we were eating.

"Camel steak" came the reply. I always thought he was joking, until I read someone else describing being served-up Camel steak there.

But on Royal Air Force stations catering has always been to a high standard.
Both camel & goat were served by the North Western Hotel.

[Blacksheep]

But on Royal Air Force stations catering has always been to a high standard.Apart from RAF Waddington Airmen's Mess in 1967 and 1968 that is.

We staged the great Mess boycott, treated by Their Airships as a mutiny and investigated by the SIB. The 'snoops' uncovered a catering swindle and the mess caterer and two accomplices were court-marshalled after which the food improved enormously.

[Fareastdriver]

When we took some Javelins out to Singapore we stopped for a couple of nights in Karachi at some hotel known as Mini Wallahs. This was used because apparently it was the only hotel that could accommodate a planeload of passengers should a Britannia break down.

We had two RAF medical officers with us who at first sight decamped to the Speedbird at the airport.

The were two lift shafts but only one lift. The other shaft was ungated so you could look up or down four floors. There were two sets of plumbing in the rooms. The original was inoperative and had green mould around the orifices; the working set looked lethal.

We were issued with water and threatened with dire consequences if we even cleaned our teeth with the hotel water. The food was dreadful but the conditions in the dining room was OK; they had fly screens all around to stop them coming out of the kitchen.

When we departed two of us Valiants taxiied out with four Javelins behind us for departure, We were cleared to line up and that was it.

After fifteen minutes we were getting worried about the fuel state getting to Gan. We were refused take off, again, so the leader called rolling and we all took off with ATC erupting over the radio.

For some reason or other we never routed through Karachi again. Thank God!

[Danny42C]

roving and others,

Spent a fortnight in Gatow on attachment when the Berlin Wall sprouted in summer 1961, and it looked as if we were likely to have a second Airlift. The favourite place for Sunday lunch was the Belgian Officers' Club at Tegel (?), where they did the most magnificent steaks (reputed to be horse - but none the worse for that !)

Never knowingly ate camel (out East it was always a mistake to ask what the main ingredient in your curry was). What goes into one end of a camel comes out the other. Dried and ground, it is reputed to be the main constituent of the filling of a "bidi" (the ubiquitous Indian roll-your-own).

But then you hear so many things ............

Danny.

[ian16th]

We were issued with water and threatened with dire consequences if we even cleaned our teeth with the hotel water.

The 1st trip 214 had to Karachi we also took our own MO with us. He tested the water etc and warned us the same.

We groundcrew travelled by Hastings that trip, we had night stopped at El Adem and Aden where I had bought a bottle of duty free gin. This was used in Karachi for cleaning teeth!

[roving]

This morning I was re-reading some of Hummingfrog's very informative posts dating from 2014.

His father and mine were on the same course at 1BFTS ( No. 12 course), they both were then posted to Montrose on the flying instructors course, but not at the same time.

For reasons I may post about on another occasion, unlike most on the course at 1BFTS, my father was already getting in long in the tooth -- he was aged 26 when he completed the course and had previous flying experience having been trained and flown solo with the Civil Air Guard pre-war.

Reading those posts prompted me to look again at "The Course Photograph'. Seated in the centre of the front row (close to my dad) was a student named Peter Tisshaw.

I thought I would undertake a little research.

His promotion to Pilot Officer and at a later date to Flt Lt appeared together with my father's name in the London Gazette. Add to which their service numbers were sequential.

Peter Tisshaw had joined the Royal Air Force in 1941 after graduating from University. Like Hummingfrog's father and mine, he too had become a QFS.

The Gazette then records that in late 1945 he was posted on 'special duties'.

From a note written about him, in December 1945 he was posted to Turkey returning to the UK in January 1946. He then left the service and became a test pilot with Boulton Paul.

On the 3rd of February 1949, he was the observer in a prototype B.P. T2 trainer which which was under the control of B.P.'s chief test pilot. It appears that 'diving tests were being performed.

The canopy detached and the a/c hit the ground at high speed, killing both.

http://thetartanterror.********.lt/2011/11/kingsley-peter-henry-tisshaw-1923-1949.html

The attrition rate of test pilots in the late 1940's and 1950's was very high.

My father was coming under increasing pressure to join A.V. Roe as a test pilot in the late 1940's. The AAF Squadron he was flying with was closely connected to A.V. Roe. The Hon air Commodore was Sir Roy Dobson, the Chairman of A.V. Roe and my father was very good friends with the C.O. of the Squadron, who was a test pilot with A.V.R.

Tragically my father's friend was killed in 1956 when testing a prototype Shackleton.

[olympus]

Tragically my father's friend was killed in 1956 when testing a prototype Shackleton.

Was this Sqn Ldr Jack Wales? My mother knew his wife and through her, him. I remember my mother being very upset when Mrs Wales came round to give the bad news (we didn't have a phone in those days)

[roving]

Was this Sqn Ldr Jack Wales?

It was.

I spoke to his son in 2007, a few weeks before my father passed away.

His medals and log books were auctioned off last year (I think).

I will dig a photo out of the shoe box with Jack Wales and my dad on it and post it here later today.

In 1956 we were in K.L. I asked my mother why my dad was upset and she told me that he had learnt of the accident.

[roving]

Jack Wales is seated 5th from the right.

My father (as always when photos are taken) looking at the ground third from the left..

[zetec2]

What an incredible display of medals.

[roving]

Switched to Vampires when the Squadron was called up as a fighter command squadron when Korea kicked off. Patrolling above Holland was one of its regular operations

This photo was taken just before my dad rejoined the RAF in 1951. He never got to Korea as a fighter command pilot, but he squeezed in three and half years in Malaya before he was parachuted into the underground cold war bunker at Patrington in 1959, along with Ginger Lacey and others who had fighter command experience, but deemed to old to fly.

After a couple of years he took a different view and spent the next twenty years with Marshalls at Shawbury.

[Fareastdriver]

You can recognise the SD hats. Second from the left and fifth from the right are Bates; extreme right Moss Bros and third from right Gieves.

[Wander00]

heck, a new spotter's club - SD caps. Beats engine numbers any time....hat,.....coat.....

[roving]

I think my father favoured G&H.

Quite expensive these days.

RAF Uniform (http://www.gievesandhawkesmilitary.com/acatalog/RAF_Uniform.html)

edited by adding

This is an excellent paper on the history of RAF thinking and the rise and fall of the AAF & VR post WWII.

Page 86 addresses and explains the rationale of the belief prevalent at that time that at thirty one was simply too old to fly a military aircraft.

https://www.raf.mod.uk/rafcms/mediafiles/F0C76731_5056_A318_A867A7F0C37E7052.pdf

[Fareastdriver]

When I went through ITS we were given money to buy our own SD hats. The Bates were the best as they had floppier crowns that with the help of a damp towel enabled one to arrange it so that it hung over the side and back.

For more operational than the stiff Moss Bros etc..

In the seventies I reprimanded the Bates rep. because his offerings did not resemble my old one and he told me that they had had a three line whip from the Airbox to standardise them with the rest.

[Danny42C]

Fareastdriver (#11188),
..."The Bates were the best"...
Still are. My 50-year old-stager (last remnant of uniform) sits sullenly in a corner, waiting for a call that will never come.
..."standardise them with the rest"...
It was precisely because we were not "standardised with the rest" that we won the war.
"All progress depends on the unreasonable man" [GBS]
Danny.

[MPN11]

Being impecunious at the onset [1965] my first SD hat was from Messrs Allkit. After a couple of tours, the second being in FEAF, it had collapsed gently into some resemblance of a cloth cap and it was soon suggested [quite firmly] that I should source a replacement. It moved gently sideways into a new existence as my shooting hat at Bisley, until that existence was 'officially' terminated by a 4* interjection some time in the late 80s and berets became mandatory. It still soldiered on, though - the attached photo is dated 1993 ;)

As a final gesture of defiance, I wore it on my last day in uniform whilst clearing at RAF Uxbridge in 1994 :)

It still resides in a corner of the attic.

[roving]

the second being in FEAF, it had collapsed gently into some resemblance of a cloth cap

I guess it was the jungle survival course which eventually did for it.

[Blacksheep]

Oh, where did you get that hat?
...where did you get that tile?
Isn't it a lovely one? - it's just the proper style.
I would like to have one, just the same as that.
Wherever you'd go they'd shout "Hello! Where did you get that hat?"

[Fareastdriver]

MPN 11. I forgot about Allkit. It hasn't got the high front and the sweep down to the sides in the Luftwaffe style that a Bates could achieve.

On the 9th September 1966 my original SD hat had accumulated 1,000 hrs. in the back of an aircraft with me. That was when I retired it and sent it to explore the Borneo jungle some 40 miles east of Tenom.

Should you see a gibbon or an ourang-outang wearing an SD hat on your travels in Borneo; it's mine.

[MPN11]

FED ... it swooped quite well at the beginning, possibly with a bit of user-assistance! But it collapsed quite quickly.

My parents insisted on a studio photo ... God, I was young then, and subsequently collapsed as well!

[roving]

Did you ever come across Bob Garlick?

He was qfi on JP4s.

I did a search for him on pprune and these threads provided answers ... both however were some years ago.

http://www.pprune.org/where-they-now/17392-bob-garlick.html?highlight=bob+garlick

http://www.pprune.org/where-they-now/400064-bob-garlick.html?highlight=bob+garlick

Cadet Pilots
' 21st May 1965

Robert William GARLICK (4232623).

https://www.thegazette.co.uk/London/issue/43705/supplement/6423

[Ian Burgess-Barber]

Does anyone of this congregation know of the above WW2 pilot?

My mother (92 years young ex-WReN) found his 2nd log book, (runs Dec 1940 - Feb 1943) at an antiques fair/curio sale and was upset that such an item should end up thus. She purchased it, (the stallholder thought it had come from a house clearance), now some years later, she has given it to me, and interesting reading it makes. This log book covers his service with 267 Comm Sqdn, 113(B)Sqdn, 272 (Beaufighter) Sqdn (all of these in the middle east). After his return to UK and leave in 1942, he goes to fly for the Parachute Training School at Ringway and that is where this log book ends in Feb. 1943.

His Aircraft Flown page has 35 types logged and his Aerodromes landed at totals 100 in the UK, Iraq, Egypt, Jordan, Palestine, Cyprus, Libya, Crete, Greece, and Sudan.
Here's hoping someone here can tell me more

Ian BB

[roving]

Fit. Lts. : —

*J. E. LYDALL (40546}.

*Since promoted.

SUPPLEMENT TO THE LONDON GAZETTE, 23 MAY, 1944

https://www.thegazette.co.uk/London/issue/36524/supplement/2340

[Danny42C]

Tuning out some of my old stuff the other day, daughter Mary came across a pair of gold lace RAF wings. They were full-size (not Mess kit). And it wakened an old memory. I told the story on this Thread 4-5 years ago, so it may be new to some people. Anyway, it's in full on Page 165, #3288.

Here is Google's take on it:
...[Wiki]: "In 1947, the temperate officers' services dress jacket was altered. The lower side pockets were removed and the single slit was replaced by two hacking jacket style slits. The lower button was moved up to a position behind the belt and silk embroidery flying badges were replaced with ones in bullion embroidery. These changes were unpopular and in 1951, with the exception of the lower button move, the former uniform style was re-adopted.[1]"...
Did anyone else get caught in this ridiculous trap ? Did you ever wear it as a SD Jacket ? Or as a Mess kit top ? Was there a tropical version ? What did you do with the wretched thing ? Was there an Other Ranks equivalent ?

I can't have been the only one !

Danny.

[Ian Burgess-Barber]

Thanks roving for - yr. post No.11197. I now have Gazetted Details:

Squadron Leader John Elgie Lydall (40546)

Short Service Commission as Acting Pilot Officer for 4 years (WEF 6 Dec. 1937).
Confirmed as Pilot Officer 6 March 1939.
Flying Officer 6 Aug. 1940.
Flight Lieutenant (War Substantive) 6 Aug. 1941.
Transferred to the Reserve and retained on the Active List 6 Dec. 1941.
Squadron Leader (Temporary) 1 July 1943.
Commission Relinquished retains rank of Squadron Leader 1 July 1953

So sad that my mother could not find, over many years, any living relative to return his log book to - maybe PPRuNe may yet find someone?

This log has some YLSNED items for me and I hope to post some of it for your consideration.

Ian BB

[roving]

Thanks roving for - yr. post No.11197. I now have Gazetted Details:

Squadron Leader John Elgie Lydall (40546)

Short Service Commission as Acting Pilot Officer for 4 years (WEF 6 Dec. 1937).
Confirmed as Pilot Officer 6 March 1939.


A John E Lydall, whose mother's maiden surname was Elgie, was born in Bradford, West Yorkshire in the 4th quarter of 1919, which would fit with his being commissioned in December 1937 -- at the age of 18.

[Ian Burgess-Barber]

Thanks roving -
"A John E Lydall, whose mother's maiden surname was Elgie, was born in Bradford, West Yorkshire in the 4th quarter of 1919, which would fit with his being commissioned in December 1937 -- at the age of 18".

That would be right, and I know that he was at Hanson High School Bradford.

His Record of Service page shows -
E.F.T.S. Desford 6.11.37 - 18.2.38
No. 5 F.T.S. Sealand 6.3.38 - 24.10.38
No.30(B) Sqdn Habbaniya Iraq 25.10.38 - 8.8.39
Nav'n Course Att. Abu Sueir 9.8.39 - 29.8.39
No.30(B) Sqdn. Ismailia 30.8.39 - 22.4.40
Comm Flight Ramleh 23.4.40 - 16.6.40
Comm Flight Amman 17.6.40 - 9.10.40
No.267 Comm Sqdn. Heliopolis 10.10.40 - 15.6.41 ........which is where this No. 2 log book starts on Dec. 5th 1940.

Ian BB

[roving]

That would be right, and I know that he was at Hanson High School Bradford.



The death of a John Lydall, whose date of birth was 18 November 1919, was registered in Bradford in 1983.

Perhaps there was a house clearance and the log book (which would not have been considered as a valuable archive back then) ended up in a flea market.

[roving]

My father was posted to Habbaniya Iraq in 1946 on a promotion tour as acting wing commander P1 and discovered a stack of files of pending court martials on the floor next to the desk which reached as high as the desk top.

He was toured out at 208 Sqn at the end of 1945 -- he was then flight commander of 'B' flight, having flown 230 hours in Italy and Palestine. The limit for fighter and fighter recon squadrons was then 200 hours. So he was due a rest from operational flying.

Given the sums invested in his training the RAF wanted to keep him so sent him on a Staff Course which ended in December 1945.

Habbaniya, which was like a holiday resort. was so hot in the middle of the day that most retired to the mess or wherever for a couple of hours R&R.

My father made use of a Griffin powered Spitfire on the pretext of checking the weather.

At the end of that six month tour, the AOC sent for him and said that he was forming a Mosquito squadron. My father commented that the glue melts in the Middle East -- which was a widely held view -- and the AOC replied that they were 'trying new glue'.

He wanted to stay in the service but not for another long tour in the Middle East, having been overseas for much of the previous four years, especially given he would have been stripped down in rank and pay, and he left joining 613 Sqn AAF.

Korea brought it all back to life and he rejoined.

[Ian Burgess-Barber]

This log book starts on Dec. 5th 1940 when Lydall was with No.267 Comm Sqdn. based at Heliopolis. He had just over 600 hours brought forward. He leaves this unit 6 months later, 9th June 1941, having flown some 330 hours in a variety of aircraft as follows.
As 1st. Pilot

Miles Magister
Percival Vega Gull
Percival Proctor
Westland Lysander
Long Nose Bristol Blenheim Mk. 4
Avro Anson
Percival Q6...........(YLSNED I had never heard of this A/C before. He reports that on at least 6 flights he experienced "Tail Flutter" mainly on landing but sometime on T/Off) One to avoid methinks!

As 2nd Pilot

Lockheed 14 (Pax General Wilson & Staff)
Lockheed Lodestar (To Crete and Athens)
Savioa March- SM 79 (captured 3 Donk machine used as a taxi for return from ferry flights).

He names some of his more notable Pax, for example:

Admiral Sir Andrew Cunningham (C in C Med).
Rear Admiral Baillie-Grohman
General Sir Archibald Wavell
General Catroux
Brigadier Kisch
Brigadier Maxwell

The majority of these flights were within Egypt or Libya sometimes to places with no name, just a number eg. LG 21, LG 91, LG 57, LG 103, LG 75, LG60, LG 05. (I presume that LG means Landing Ground). The main problems he records are of dust storms and u/s items on the aircraft involved, which were mainly outdated marks from the UK theatre.

His shooting war was soon to start - he was posted to No. 113 Bomber Squadron (Blenheims) on June 15th 1941.

Ian BB

[Ian Burgess-Barber]

Lydall joins No.113 Squadron June 16th 1941 and stays with them until Nov. 6th 1941. During this 5 month period he flies 230 hours in total, almost all of them on 'Long Nose' Blenheims, with 6 or so hours spent on side trips in Magister, Lysander, Hurricane, and after ten minutes dual takes his first solo (3 circuits) in a Beaufort (of which, more later). He logs just over 120 of the 230 total hours as Operational Hours accumulated in 26 Operations. The Squadron had no permanent base but operated from Ma'aten Bagush, or one of it's satellites, in the western desert. By the end of Aug. I note that he signs his log J. E. Lydall. F/O O.C 'A"Flight, but by the end of Sept. and Oct. he signs as J. E. Lydall S/Ldr Commanding 'A' Flight.

Some excerpts from his entries for this period :

June 17 Blenheim V6136 OP. No. 2. Flight bombing attack on concentration of enemy tanks In region of SIDI OMAR. Self No. 2. Heavy AA fire encountered. Did 2 runs over target (photos taken). Later that day returned (OP.No. 3). same target. Self No. 3. Dropped 2 250 lb bombs + 1 container 40 lb bombs. Hits scored among tanks. (1 run).

June 18 Blenheim T1821 OP. No. 4. Machine gun attack on MERHILI aerodrome. I flight Vic formation. Self No. 2. Rear gun jammed shortly after taking off.

July 6 Blenheim V6136 OP. No. 8. Night bombing attack on DERNA aerodrome, (single A/C). 1st. run target obscured by cloud. 2nd. run dropped bombs on aerodrome. Intense AA fire over large area.

July 8-9 Blenheim V5870 OP. No. 9. Night bombing attack (single A/C) on DERNA, MARTUBA, TIMIMI and GAZALA N. aerodromes. One 250 lb bomb on each. Visibility poor. On instruments for 4.15 hours.

Aug 9-10 Blenheim V5941 OP. No. 12. Night raid on GAZALA aerodrome. Dropped 4 250lb bombs. Visibility very poor. Much low cloud. Shot at by TOBRUK AA guns.

Aug 10 Blenheim V5641 Flew Air Chief Marshal Sir E Ludlow-Hewitt & G/Capt Venn from BAGUSH SAT. to BARANI MAIN and return.

Sept 3 Blenheim Z5907 OP. No. 16. Ground strafing attack on BARCC road. Unable to complete attack because chased off road by 3 Me. 110s.

Sept 11 Blenheim T3919 SORTIE No. 3. Standing night fighter patrol from FUKA MAIN to SIDI HANEISH. Intercepted and shot down one SAVOIA SM79. Enemy A/C caught fire after 3 bursts and crashed in flames near FUKA. Enemy's return fire set floor of own A/C on fire. This was stamped out by observer who was wounded in both feet.

Oct 25 Blenheim T2243 OP. No. 26. Machine gun attack on M.T. on road between ACEDAGIA and EL AGHEILA. Destroyed 6 10-ton lorries & killed numerous personnel. A/C was hit in port motor by fire from the ground & oil tank holed. Approaching JARABUB port motor seized and airscrew sheared off. Pumped u/c and flaps down manually and landed safely on JARABUB old aerodrome.

Oct 25 Beaufort L9875 One circuit with Sgt Harvey .10. FIRST SOLO ON TYPE 3 landings .30

Oct 27 Beaufort W6518 Ferrying Beaufort back to its Squadron. This A/C had had hydraulic trouble and I flew it with u/c locked down. On approaching Alexandria stb. motor started to surge. Boost pressure varying from -4 to +3.5. Altered course to AMIRIYA to make emergency landing. During left hand turn near AMIRIYA port motor burst into flames & cut. With port motor dead and stb. surging A/C was uncontrollable and turned over on her back & went down in steep left hand spiral dive. Position of throttle lever and c/s control had no effect on stb. motor so was forced to switch off. A/C became controllable with both motors dead so pulled out of dive at 300 feet and landed safely cross wind on southern edge of AMIRIYA aerodrome. Fire on port motor went out when motor was switched off.

Lydall was returned pax to his unit in another Beaufort later that day.

He was posted to No. 272 Beaufighter Squadron on Nov.26 1941.

IanBB

[roving]

Ludlow-Hewitt was appointed Inspector-General of the RAF on 4 Apr 1940.

George Venn was appointed SASO, HQ No 203 Group on 9 Dec 1940: it was a (Maintenance) Group which was formed on 17 August 1940 from HQ RAF Sudan.

Beaufort W6518 was one of two Beauforts shot down by flak on 23 June 1942 whilst in service with 39 Sqn. off the coast of Punta Silo when attacking shipping.

add

In February & March 1942, Lydall was the C.O. of 272 Squadron.

I look forward to learning all about that.

[ricardian]

A little light relief:

https://scontent-lht6-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/21192703_10155722165714268_2531767911679170437_n.jpg?oh=a7bb f35e0693cf708f835bf1438a9a38&oe=5A29D1C2

[roving]

A little light relief:


Many a true word said in jest. At one point in WWII maintenance failures on, I think, the Tempest were killing more pilots than enemy action.

[FantomZorbin]

I have heard a whisper that 'they' are endeavouring to get a Tempest into flying condition. Has anyone got an update on this?

[ian16th]

I have heard a whisper that 'they' are endeavouring to get a Tempest into flying condition. Has anyone got an update on this?
Which engine? Napier Sabre or a Bristol Centurus ?

[jonw66]

Hawker Typhoon and Tempest restorations - 2016

Hi all,
After listening to the Wings Over New Zealand Show interview with members of the Typhoon Legacy team, I got thinking as to what projects are out there for both Typhoon and Tempest. I have the following, all to fly/airworthy condition:

Typhoon JP843 - Typhoon Legacy Co, Comox BC, Canada
Typhoon IB RB396 - Project RB396, UK

Tempest II LA607 - N607LA, Kermit Weeks, Polk City Fl, USA. Not flown for some time but included as the rego is current
Tempest II MW376 - KF Aerospace, Kelowna BC, Canada
Tempest II MW401 - G-PEST, Anglia Aircraft Restorations, UK. Stored?
Tempest II MW404 - Chris Miller, Tx, USA
Tempest II MW758 - Tempest Two, ??
Tempest II MW763 - G-TEMT, Anglia Aircraft Restorations, UK
Tempest II MW801 - Nelson Ezell, Breckenridge Tx, USA

Tempest V EJ693 - N7027E, Kermit Weeks, Polk City Fl, USA
Tempest V JN768 - G-TMPV, Richard Grace, UK

From a thread on Key Publishing

[Molemot]

It's a Typhoon with a Napier engine....
Hawker Typhoon RB396 » Restoration (http://hawkertyphoon.com/)
Being restored to flight; they have a seviceable engine.

[Ian Burgess-Barber]

Lydall joins No. 272 Beaufighter Squadron on Nov. 26 1941 and stays with them until Mar.28 1942. In that 4 months he flies 151 hours of which 104 are Operational. As roving says previously, he was the S/Ldr Commanding No. 272 for the last 2 months (Feb/March). Prior to that he was O/C 'A" Flight for Dec. '41 & Jan. '42. They flew initially from Edcu, but then mainly from L.G. 10.

The following log entries show that his 1st. week with this unit was somewhat trying!

Nov 26 Beaufighter T4702 F/LT Bxxxxxt. Self Passenger for instruction. A/C hit obstruction on take off & damaged u/c. One wheel down, one up. A/C was crash landed. No-one hurt.

Nov 27 Beaufighter T3308 W/CMDR Yaxley. Self Passenger for instruction. 2 landings. Con. rod broke in stb. motor on second approach. A/C landed OK.
Nov 27 Beaufighter T3314 Ist solo on type. 2 landings.

Nov 28 Beaufighter T3314 Cannon firing test. All four cannons failed to fire. Port motor very rough at high revs in fine pitch. Auto u/c lever jammed. Excessive vibration at high speed. Spectacles on c/c out of alignment. Petrol consumption excessive. A/C very slow.

Nov 29 Beaufighter T3314 Cannon firing test. Stb.Outer failed to fire. Excessive vibration on stb. motor at high engine speed. Excessive fuel consumption.

Dec 2 Beaufighter T4700 (SORTIE 4) OP. No. 27 Ground strafing attack on BARCE aerodrome. Destroyed 2 B.R. 20s on the aerodrome. Intense and accurate light AA fire. 3 A/C took part. One shot down on the aerodrome by AA fire. Heavy rain + low cloud on both outward and return journey. Return journey on instruments practically all the time. Picked up Barrani - Matruh road at 50 feet. Landed base with 15 mins. petrol left, 5 mins. before dark. Vis. base 300 yards.

For the rest of December and first half of January '42, their operations (mainly strafing tanks and M.T.) are frustrated by miserable weather and a plethora of unserviceability issues. The desert environment takes its toll as the sand and grit gets into machines and equipment alike.

More excerpts from the January & February log (Lydall now commands 'A Flight).

Jan 15 Beaufighter T4876 (SORTIE No 40) Fleet escort on Alexandria bound convoy. (1 M.V. + 4 Destroyers) off BENGHAZI. Convoy attacked by an Me. 110. Chased and overhauled him about 100 miles out at sea. Had 10 minute dogfight but was unable to bring him down. Me. 110 much more manoeuvrable also able to bring intense return fire from rear gun. Broke off attack due to shortage of petrol and landed BERCA with 12 gallons left.

Jan 18 Beaufighter T4876 (SORTIE No 42) Fleet escort on MALTA bound convoy. Low cloud and heavy rain with clear patches. Fleet shadowed continually by Ju. 88. Was brought on to 88 by vectors from fleet. Saw and attacked Ju. three times, but on every occasion disappeared into thick cloud before I could press home attack at at short range. All firing was at long range and was unable to bring him down. Fleet opened up on one occasion and had to take violent evasive action to avoid being shot down by fleet AA. Returned Base.

Jan 21 Beaufighter T4832 Lydall flies (non-operational) a representative from The Bristol Aeroplane Co., a Mr Hillier, from L.G. 10 to EL ADEM. Then to GAMBUT and return to L.G.10. He notes that the Dust Haze goes up to 6000'.

Feb 6 ME. 108 (TAIFUN) Captured German A/C. Ist Solo on Type.(.25).

Feb 13 Beaufighter T4876 (SORTIE No 47) Fighter escort on convoy of 2 Merchant Vessels, 1 Cruiser + 3 Destroyers. Convoy dive-bombed by Ju. 88. E/A much higher than self when chase started. Ju. 88 was rapidly approaching cloud cover so was forced to open fire at long range. Gave 5 bursts at long range but E/A disappeared into cloud and no results were observed.

As of Feb 21 Lydall begins to log Test Flights or Collection Flights for 53 R.S.U. (Repair & Service/Salvage Unit). in between further Convoy Escort Sorties. There were 5 such flights for 53 R.S.U. in the last week of Feb. in Hurricanes, Kittyhawk & Tomahawk (Curtiss P-40, not the PA-38 Tomahawks that I flew). He records that most of these flights revealed snags, some resulting in emergency landings. So his log is not only signed by himself as O/C No.272 Squadron but his Test Flying is certified correct by the O/C of 53 R.S.U. 12 more of these Test Flights are logged in the first 2 weeks of March.

Lydall flies his final Sortie on March 20 (SORTIE No 55) Fleet Escort on a Malta bound convoy - uneventful. This brings the Operational hours in his log to 224.15 and his grand total to 1318 hours.

There are no more entries in the log for over 3 months until he records "Posted to Parachute Training School. Ringway (Now Manchester International Airport) July 5 1942.

His Record of Service page says - Return UK from M.E. (Ship) Leave etc. 28.3.42 - 4.7.42.

Ian BB

[Rossian]

..... please check your PMs.

The Ancient Mariner

[roving]

Ian.

the a/c they had to fly in the early part of the war in the Middle and Far East demonstrate all too clearly just how ill prepared Britain was for the war, a war many including Churchill, had been predicting for years.

Bad enough that the a'c were not fit for purpose, but they were poorly maintained too.

[Ian Burgess-Barber]

Conclusion

Lydall first flies at the Parachute Training School Ringway in the Cheshire countryside on July 6 1942. In the next 8 months until this 2nd Log Book ends on Feb 28 1943 he flies 197 hours. The majority of these being flown in A. W. Whitley Mk. 5s, (80 hrs), D.H. Rapides, (51.15 Hrs) and A.W. Whitley MKs. 2 & 3 (40.40 hrs). The other 20-odd hours being flown in a random selection of whatever was lying around the aerodrome at the time. Bristol Bombay, Anson, H.P. Harrow, Lysander, Miles Mentor, Tiger, & Leopard Moths, plus a .40 P.2 trip in a Lancaster.
Parachute drops are short trips (15-20 mins) and on occasion he logs 12-14 such flights in a day, so while 197 hours in 8 months does not seem a lot of flying it does entail an awful lot of t/offs and a hopefully a matching number of landings.
One thing that stands out in his time with this unit is the reliability of these obsolete A/C compared to the catalogue of woes that he experienced in his Operational Squadrons. He records only 3 snags in the 8 months (2 minor problems just requiring adjustment and 1 engine shutdown on a Whitley, broken crankshaft).

What happened to Lydall after this Log Book ended 28 Feb '43 (1515.10 Total Time), I do not know. I hope that my precis of what kind of war he was given has done him justice and enlightened some of us to 'What it was like' back in the day. All this from a Log Book found on a stall at a junk fair by my old mum.

If, (long shot now) any relation of S/LDR Lydall does ever see this and wishes to claim it, I will, of course, oblige - meantime it will sit on the bookshelf alongside the WW2 Log Books of my father, step-father and godfather.

Ian BB

[roving]

Many thanks for sharing the contents of the log book.

Anticipating today's disclosures about Ringway this website provides an explanation for the many short flights and maybe the trip in a Lysander.

No 1 PTS (http://www.3para1945-48palestine.com/pts.html)

https://www.airbornehistorycanada.com/ringway---roster-1942-to-1945.html

The Parachute Training School had persuaded Lord Egerton, who was also an early aviator, and owner of Tatton Park, just some 5 miles south of Rinway, to allow parachute training drops from Whitley a/c. This involved clearing an area of woodland. 92,000 jumps had been made, almost all over Tatton Park.

Not only were army paratroopers trained there, but, in secrecy, Special Operations Executive (SOF) agents.

edited by adding:

1. With your pedigree I can see why you acquired a PPL and your interest and expertise in transcribing the log.

2. One of my younger brothers, who passed away earlier this year, served with 1 Para and with the Pathfinder' Coy, so this part of the story was of particular interest.

[ancientaviator62]

Ian,
the 'low' hours whilst training paratroopers chimes with me. When I was an airdrop instructor on the C130K a lot of trips were straight to the DZ for the drop or a short LLXC before dropping. Lots of log book entries for not many hours flown but a lot of prep !
Thank you for the posts they have been very interesting.

[Ian Burgess-Barber]

Postscript

Thanks to roving and to ancientaviator62 for your interest and kind words.

Looking again at the 'Aircraft Flown' page (33 Types), apart from all the ones I have written of in these posts there are all his pre-war types to wonder at.

Hawker Hart
Hawker Audax
Hawker Hind
Gypsy Moth
Vickers Valentia
Vickers Vincent

and YLSNED
Short Scion Junior (2 Pobjoy Niagara Motors) - no really!
Short Scion Senior (4 Pobjoy Niagara Motors) - you couldn't make it up!

Ian BB

[ancientaviator62]

I am always fascinated by log book entries. Quite often the single line entry hides a great deal more. My log books have entries that instantly bring back memories and some that I think 'what did we do that for ?'
As regarding a/c serviceability maintaining a/c away from a main base (especially in the desert and the far east) in war time is a far more challenging task than doing it back at a base in the UK. The pressures to get the a/c out, the lack of spares and the conditions under which the groundcrew had to work are often greatly underestimated. Perhaps Danny can comment on this aspect .

[Danny42C]

ancientaviator62 (#11220).

Not sure I can usefully comment on this. I only know that our chaps out there worked their butts off to keep our aircraft servicable, monsoon rain or blazing hot (always out in the open under flimsy shelter or no shelter - no hangars. All hours of the day or night, no one was counting.

I take my cap off to them - they were the salt of the earth !

Danny.

[ancientaviator62]

Danny,
as always your reply has summed up the problems facing the groundcew in those far away places.

[roving]

Recent study of Churchill's policy of discouraging (delaying) the wish of Stalin and Roosevelt's for an invasion of France in 192, or at the latest in 1943, was because of he simply did have trust in the British Army or rather its Generals.

Therefore to distract the Americans he pressed for campaigns in North Africa and Italy and he tried to persuade the Americans to engage in campaigns in Greece and Greek islands.

Anything to postpone a land battle in Western Europe until the the Germans had been softened up by the Russians and aerial bombardment by the Royal Air Force -- in whom he had great faith.

In the end, Churchill was overruled by Roosevelt and Stalin and what followed was the successful campaign in Normandy in 1944. Whether a land invasion on the French coastline in 1943, rather than an invasion of Italy, would have been successful and would have shortened the war, remains to be seen. Certainly the attempt on Hitler's life in July 1944 suggests that once the landing in Europe had been accomplished some German Generals recognised that total defeat was just a matter of time.

As for the Italian campaign, the best comment may have come from a German General after the war, "when invading Italy, it is best not to start at the bottom".

[ian16th]

When Eisenhower arrived in the UK, he very quickly realised that all idea's of a 1943 invasion were pipe dreams.

See: Crusade In Europe

[roving]

Indeed.

Mark Clark, who triumphantly drove into Rome, rather than cutting off the German retreat, was actually senior to Eisenhower and had more campaign experience but Eisenhower was a shrewd politician and accepted advice from the British.

It was General Marshall in Washington who wanted a quick war in Europe before turning full attention to the Pacific. When Churchill prevailed upon Roosevelt to delay an invasion, Marshall advocated abandoning the Germany first policy and refocusing on the Pacific.

Fortunately Roosevelt rejected that idea. Without the nuclear bomb, the war against Japan would have dragged on for along time and cost many lives. Meanwhile Germany -- with only the Russians and RAF bombers to worry about, would have been able to develop and produce more sophisticated weapons, including jet aircraft.

[Blacksheep]

...he very quickly realised that all idea's of a 1943 invasion were pipe dreams.The build up of troops and planning were a massive task.

The Americans considered the British as rank amateurs, but the unnecessary casualties sustained on the relatively more lightly defended US Beaches in 1944, show their rejection of the British AVREs as tin toys greatly underestimated our inventiveness and professionalism. They even rejected the Airspeed Horsa as unsuitable for concentrated troop insertion because of its wooden construction!

[MPN11]

Sadly, American arrogance at several points cost many American lives. It was the same in WWI, until they learned hard lessons in blood.

However, that's their problem.

[ian16th]

Indeed.

Mark Clark, who triumphantly drove into Rome, rather than cutting off the German retreat, was actually senior to Eisenhower and had more campaign experience

In Sept 1939, when Germany attacked Poland, Eisenhower was a Major.

[ElectroVlasic]

Recent study of Churchill's policy of discouraging (delaying) the wish of Stalin and Roosevelt's for an invasion of France in 192, or at the latest in 1943, was because of he simply did have trust in the British Army or rather its Generals.


Apropos of this, those interested in the topic might find the following videos worth their time.

a1QapjJzTRE

duOYnIGivys

[lakomee]

Seletar's Sunderlands - RAF Seletar - Singapore (http://www.rafseletar.co.uk/flying-squadrons/seletars-sunderlands/)

How long after that they bobbed around on a buoy is a different question.
It was not PP198,but DP198

[roving]

Most like me would have very familiar with the period after Montgomery took over, but until I watched the first video I was not aware of the precise train of events and the roles/decision making of the British (or should I describe them as UK) Generals in the year preceding Montgomery's arrival.

Ritchie comes in for severe stick. Didn't the AUK retire to North Africa after the war? His perceived failure was in delegating planning and execution to Major Generals who were simply not up to it. Rommel on the other-hand (even when promoted to Field Marshall) seems to have been involved at all stages. I think he was in Germany recuperating when Montgomery launched his campaign. Ironically history repeated itself there, because when the Allies landed in Normandy Rommel, who was in command in Normandy, was again in Germany, celebrating his wife's birthday - I think.. .

Thank you for the links.

[Ian Burgess-Barber]

I recommend perusal of the article "Ordinary Heroes" in yesterday's (Sept. 10) Sunday Times Magazine by Patrick Bishop (author of "Fighter Boys") - a very fair and balanced assessment of "The Big Picture" which none of those involved could have possibly have known about at the time.

Ian BB

[roving]

I recommend perusal of the article "Ordinary Heroes" in yesterday's (Sept. 10) Sunday Times Magazine by Patrick Bishop (author of "Fighter Boys") - a very fair and balanced assessment of "The Big Picture" which none of those involved could have possibly have known about at the time.

Ian BB


I read it. Thanks.

[Warmtoast]

article "Ordinary Heroes" in yesterday's (Sept. 10) Sunday Times Magazine by Patrick Bishop (author of "Fighter Boys")
I too read it and am intrigued by the accompanying photo of the Short Stirling photographed at Waterbeach in 1942 with a bit hanging down from the aircraft behind the two crew on the left. What is it?:


http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/Short%20Stirling%20bomber%20Waterbeach%201942_800x516_zpsidw a8mlg.jpg

[DHfan]

It's part of the undercarriage. It's a bit dark but you can nearly see the same thing under the starboard wing.

It goes back to Martlesham Heath complaining that the take-off run was too long and requesting an increase in wing incidence.
That would have caused a nose-down cruise like the Whitley, and tooling was already well advanced for production, so they fitted what was basically a big crate between the top of the undercarriage and the wing mountings.
It worked but was notoriously fragile.

[Ian Burgess-Barber]

I believe that it is the fairings that cover the u/c when retracted. Compare with the starboard main gear which is partly in the shade.

Ian BB

[olympus]

And what's a complete crew doing strolling nonchalantly along underneath the running engines of an unchocked aircraft? Is there anyone in the cockpit?

What some people had to do in the name of PR!

[roving]

Typhoons Over Normandy

by Ken Trott


This remarkable account of a Typhoon Pilot appears as the lead story in the 60th Anniversary D-Day edition of Wartime News. This personal episode in the life of a fighter pilot demonstrates just how committed these men were and the risks they had to take to defeat the enemy.

Template: Masthead Layout (http://www.amnesta.net/other/KenTrott/KenTrott.htm)

[BernieC]

re Typhoons over Normandy by Ken Trott.
Two questions/comments:
1. Did others notice that the text is (partly) duplicated?
2. I had never heard of "Wartime News" and went looking for it, unsuccessfully, alas! Does anyone know whether it is archived somewhere and can be accessed?

[MPN11]

And what's a complete crew doing strolling nonchalantly along underneath the running engines of an unchocked aircraft? Is there anyone in the cockpit?

What some people had to do in the name of PR!
Caption: "Oh, just leave it there. That was a cr@p trip, and I'm tired."

[roving]

Those who have seen the movie "Dunkirk" will know that Tom Hardy portrayed a Spitfire pilot who having successfully shot down German a/c off the coast of Dunkirk during the evacuation which began on 26 May 1940, landed the Spitfire on the beach, set fire to it and was taken prisoner.

This could be based on (then) Pilot Officer Alan Deere (later A/C DSO, OBE, DFC & Bar whose autobiography was titled "Nine Lives"). There is one major difference between Tom Hardy's character and Alan Deere. Deere evaded capture and went on to have a remarkable WWII career, punctuated with him using eight of his nine lives.

Alan Deere was serving with 54 Squadron in May 1940. This is the account of the first of those 'nine lives' on 28 May 1940 as set-out on the excellent link provided.

"On 28 May Deere was leading his squadron on their fourth patrol of the day when they encountered 17 Dorniers. In the engagement which followed, return fire from one of these aircraft hit the oil system of his Spitfire, and while Deere was half blinded by smoke from the burning oil his engine seized. He was then flying at barely 800 feet over the Belgian coast between Nieuport and Dunkirk, so he made for a stretch of beach along which his Spitfire slithered, finally coming to rest on its nose. Although injured in the head Deere scrambled out of his aircraft, set it on fire, and began to make his way on foot towards Dunkirk. After a hazardous and eventful journey, partly made by converting abandoned cars to his own use, he finally reached that port and returned by ship to England."

World War 2 - RAF 54 Squadron, May/June 1940 (http://www.epibreren.com/ww2/raf/54_squadron.html)

Later this week I will detail the career of another pilot during the evacuation from France, who at the beginning of May 1940 was flight commander of 54 Squadron, but was posted in May 1940 to No. 1 Squadron, which was covering the evacuation from aerodromes in France. This second officer, whom seventeen years later I would know personally, also ended his career as an A/C -- though in his case had he not retired in 1963, would almost certainly have ascended higher up the greasy flag pole.

[Danny42C]

Is it really the end for this, once the best and most popular of all Threads on the best of all Forums on PPRuNe ? Cliff Leach (RIP) started it nine years ago, now it is in the Doldrums of Page 2 of "Military Aviation" (where once it usually topped the Bill on Page 1), and attracted just 32 'hits' in the last 24 hours (where once it was good for thousands).

Nothing is forever, I suppose. Pity. Thanks to our Moderators for their endless patience with our Thread excursions !

Danny42C.

[Wander00]

Hmm, Alan Deere, Assistant Commandant at The Towers when I was a cadet. Shook me rigid when he walked out of the Junior Cadets' Mess and addressed me by name, in his first week in post

[Chugalug2]

Danny:-
Is it really the end for this, once the best and most popular of all Threads on the best of all Forums on PPRuNe ?

Danny, I share your concern. The secret of this thread has been that of a running narrative, principally first hand from you and your fellow WWII pilots, and latterly second hand by the likes of sidevalve. He tried to revitalise the thread by telling the story of the Comet Line. It seemed to be an appropriate theme, WWII aviation related (the target customers were escaping Allied aircrew), telling of outstanding duty and courage by civilians living under Nazi occupation. Little interest was shown though and he understandably stopped posting. In the absence of any further personal WWII testimony I sadly agree with you that the end is in sight.

This thread constitutes an important historical document, quite apart from the very real pleasure it has given over the years, and the many BTW's that delighted us all. Much of that delight and pleasure has stemmed from you, Danny. Thank you for informing and entertaining us so well. This may not be the end, etc, but I suspect we have seen the best of the thread now.

[Brian 48nav]

I hope we can keep this wonderful thread going!

I picked up a good read last week in Hay Cinema Bookshop - 'From Dogfights to Diplomacy' by Donald MacDonell.

He went to Cranwell in the early 30s, did a loan spell with the Fleet Air Arm amongst other postings and was then posted to Kenley as OC 64 Squadron just in time for the Battle of Britain. I've just reached the point where he was shot down over the English Channel by the Luftwaffe ace, Molders, in 1941 and 'rescued' by the Germans.

[Blacksheep]

Al Deere was Commandant of RAF Halton when I was there. He used to ride about on a motor bike and sidecar with his wife in the sidecar. Here he is at the Band Competion, with me picking up the prize for the Best Corps of Pipers (3A Wing).

3049

[harrym]

Quite aside from his illustrious wartime career, Al Deere was a true gentleman in the real sense of the word – easy to get on with, no 'side' whatever and a great sense of humour; in late 1959 he hitched a ride to his home country on my Britannia, when we supported 617 Squadron's three Vulcans on their eventful flight to New Zealand and onwards.

For some reason he incurred the displeasure of the AVM commanding whatever group to which the Vulcans belonged, who was determined that Al should not be with us; however, by dint of appearing on the ramp at the last possible moment, hiding behind whatever cover was available until the AOC's Comet departed, he managed to evade detection and got home safely. As this VSO was not particularly well liked, we were only too glad to assist Al in any way we could.

We eventually returned to UK with only one Vulcan as company, but that is another story!

[FantomZorbin]

but that is another story!
HarryM you can't leave it at that!!!!! Please tell us more or you'll be condemned to do the washing up till TourEx!!

[harrym]

Sorry FantonZorbin that's all I can provide on Al Deere, I could give a fuller account of that NZ trip although it's somewhat OT for this thread.

However having just arrived on holiday in Italy with only a tablet, you might have to be patient as all my memoirs are on my home computer.

All the best- harrym

[roving]

In the Italian Campaign 208 Squadron was tasked with Tac/R which involved (1) low level oblique photography to enable the US/British armies to see the picture on the ground, and (2) locating and reporting targets of opportunity. and (3) directing the 'big guns' to targets up to a distance of 20 miles. (my late father never talked in detail about operations in WWII -- but he did once say that he could see the shells from the big guns as they passed under his MK IX Spitfire).

Of course the Germans were not stupid and as soon as they saw the Spitfires flying low overhead they targeted them with 88mm flak.

This is the Telegraph obituary, dated 28 Jan 2016, of one of 208 squadron's pilots and at the time, one of the two flight commanders, and who was shot down by flak over Monte Cassino in May 1944. it includes how he fought with the partisans before eventually reaching Allied lines. it reads like 'boys own stuff'.

Flight Lieutenant Eric Garland - obituary - Telegraph (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/12127606/Flight-Lieutenant-Eric-Garland-obituary.html)

[Geriaviator]

Spurred by the appeal from the incomparable and irrepressible Danny, alas I must join Chugalug in agreeing that we have seen the best of this wonderful thread as one by one our gallant contributors have made their final climbs. On the other hand I enjoy the more recent third-party accounts which show that there's still fascinating material out there, so please keep it coming. Enjoy your sojourn in Italy, Harrym, and please can you tell us more when you return? Godetevi la vostra vacanza in Italia!