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View Full Version : Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II


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thegypsy
27th Oct 2009, 17:59
regle

Really interesting stuff. I was surprised that when a First Officer you were rostered with the same Captain all the time. How long did that go on for? Would not happen these days for sure.

Spartacan
27th Oct 2009, 19:39
>>The resultant return of the unfortunate Radio Officer in a sealed coffin and an unpressurised aircraft is another story that could have had nasty results with the Alps standing in the way but, fortunately the crew realised this in time and flew all up the valley of the Rhone instead. <<

I have just worked that one out - Yuk!

Sandisondaughter
27th Oct 2009, 20:07
In response to Regle's post of 6th October at 18:18 - I will certain pass on that info to Dad (Sandy Sandison - ex-Lanc pilot and Sdn Ldr). I'll be at the RAF Club with him on Saturday for 619 Squadron's annual reunion lunch, and will be taking sheaves of print-outs from the Forum to share with everyone there. You'll no doubt be pleased to hear that Dad won the Wednesday points series this year in Poole helming an X One Design boat. Not bad at 89!

johnfairr
27th Oct 2009, 20:39
Bob Tuck vents his wrath on the RAF and the Luftwaffe.

At the end of December we were given a convoy job, so in company with a flight from 124 Sqn, led by Sqn Ldr Duke Willis, we flew down to Manston, refuelled, and took off in flights over this convoy, which turned out to be, as far as we could see, a mine-sweeping job. We were miles and miles out into the North Sea, very nearly Sweden I think we got to. We couldn’t stay out there very long, but we stooged out there for about an hour and a half. There’d be four of us each time, and we’d wait until the next four came to take over, then we fly back to Manston, land and pop back to Gravesend.

Gravesend was a satellite to Biggin Hill, where the Wing Commander Flying was Bob Tuck and he used to come down to Manston with us and sometimes pop out with us on this convoy patrol just to see if anything was happening. He was very good inasmuch as we’d get to Manston, early in the morning, and if coffee and sandwiches weren’t ready he’d get on the blower to the Station Commander, the Station Adj, everybody down to the lowest AC2 (Aircraftsman Second Class, the lowest rank in the Royal Air Force), just to make sure that his aircrew were looked after and we thought an awful lot of him. There was one occasion when all the aircraft had landed and were lined up and one of the radio mechanics decided, as was usual, to check each aircrafts’ radio. Now the normal thing is for the mechanic to pick up a helmet, then go along the aircraft testing all the time. There was only one snag, the aircraft parked immediately outside dispersal happened to be Bob Tucks. He tried the first aircraft, that was alright, so he took the helmet off the seat where Bob had left it and proceeded to check all the other aircraft, which was great until Bob Tuck decided he was going to fly and then he couldn’t find his helmet. When it was discovered what had happened, Bobs rage was a joy to watch, so long as it wasn’t directed at you! He fairly screamed and jumped, shouted at the top of his voice,

”Don’t let me get near the barstard, I’ll kill him!”

Anyway, he got his helmet back, flew off with the others, and all was well.

It’s been said that Bob Tuck was a very lucky flier. Well, he probably was. But he was also very good. On one occasion he was sitting in our dispersal with us and we’d just landed. Another flight were due to take off to pick up from the flight that had relieved us and Bob thought that he’d go and join them. So he ambled along, making a section of five as opposed to four, and on all the times we’d flown over this convoy business, we hadn’t seen a thing. Nothing had come near us, nothing had been reported. We were just stooging round and round the North Sea. Anyway, on the occasion that Bob decided to fly out and see what was happening, he went with Duke Woolley and a few others. Just as they arrived over the convoy, that made nine Spitfires, a Ju88 decided to have a look at the convoy and needless to say it was shot down by Duke Woolley and Bob Tuck.

Once, when we were coming back from the convoy to land at Manston, the weather closed in and there was thick fog up to 1500’ and we all got a case of the jitters, and were imagining we’d have to bail out, because we couldn’t see a thing. The flight commander, Campbell, who was leading us, asked Manston to shoot up flares, so we’d get some idea where Manston was. They shot up quite a few flares and we actually saw one red one, coming to the top of the clag and Campbell, apparently, could see a lot better than we could, said “Well, follow me!” and we all piled in and flew very close to him until eventually, one by one, he got us down to Manston. Campbell didn’t land himself, he’d come down with each one, fly around, pick up the next chap, bring him in, let him land and fly off again. Well, I was last but one to go in and I couldn’t really see a thing and I started to land, and I thought better of it, so I opened up and went round again. He was cursing like the clappers because he thought he’d got us all in by then. Anyway, I went round again, and I eventually did land, but I still couldn’t see much. I was highly delighted to get down in one piece. The last chap didn’t even make it, he crash-landed just outside Manston, but he got away with it. For that and various other things, Campbell was given a DFC.

72 Sqn – January 1942

January was a pretty quiet month. For one thing the weather was grim and there wasn’t much chance of getting any enemy aircraft up, even if you went across the Channel. I only did twelve and a half hours, of which five and a half were operational. At least a couple of convoy patrols and a bit of a short sweep up and down the Channel and home again. I did some cine-gun practice with Sgt Larry Robillard who was a French-Canadian. He’d been shot down earlier in 1941 near Lille and he managed to escape, come through France via Paris, got to Spain, got brought back again. He’d shot down two or three and had a DFM. He was a dark-haired chap and talked nineteen to the dozen, most of the day. Also at that time, we had an Australian Sgt pilot with us, Al Hake, who was a very monosyllabic character, who used to speak about three times a week. The longest speech he ever made was one day when Robillard was nattering on as usual and Al had been sitting there saying nothing, suddenly turned round and said

“For Christ’s sake, shut up Robillard!”

We were so staggered that Al had actually managed to put two or three words together, that we rolled about laughing. But at least it shut Robillard up.

Al had just been given his commission in early 42 when he was shot down over France. He managed to bail out and was sent to the prison camp from which 50 officers escaped and Al unfortunately was one of those shot by the Gestapo. (Stalag Luft 3, immortalised in the film, “The Great Escape”).

During the bad weather Sqn Ldr Masterman did his best to keep up morale, and as I’ve said he was no great shakes as a flying CO and leader, but he always had the interest of the Squadron at heart and arranged football matches, shooting, shove ha’penny and darts competitions. He also ran a sweep on who would prang the next aircraft. Our names were put in a hat and selected and everybody was hoping to get me inasmuch as I had pranged two aircraft on two separate occasions at the end of 1941. I got Daniel who later became CO of 72 in Tunisia and, lo and behold, Daniel was the first one to crack up an aircraft after the competition started and whilst I was delighted and won two or three pounds, Daniel was most upset and he and I never really got on after that.

I’ve already mentioned the square in the middle of Gravesend aerodrome which was unusable, so Masterman decided that he’d put a target in there and we’d do ground to air firing and he would do the first run. We all stood around watching him come down and open up, but none of us had really considered that you’re likely to get the odd ricochet, and before we knew where we were, there were ricochets all over the place, so we all took shelter and that was the end of the air to ground firing.

We used to have normally one day off a week which ran from 1 o’clock on one day to 1 o’clock the next and on the 28th January I was due to have a day release from 1 o’clock and at half past twelve, Bob Tuck decided to do a sweep and I was on it, which irritated me a bit inasmuch as I thought, well, I’m not going to get back here by 1 o’clock, and by the time I’d got up to London I shall lose half my day release. Anyway, we took off and tore up and down the Channel, Bob Tuck demanding information from base as to what was happening and nothing was, so we just tore up and down the Channel for about a quarter of an hour and eventually came back again. The minute I landed I took off for London on my day off and when I came back on the 29th I was staggered to hear that Bob Tuck, having got fed up with nothing happening on the sweep, had decided to do a
Rhubarb with another chap from Biggin Hill and he’d been shot down by flak over France. We simply couldn’t believe it.

Warmtoast
27th Oct 2009, 22:50
regle

Re the Sabena DC3 Shoot-down. As reported in the press at the time.

http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/Times4thJune1954.jpg


http://i145.photobucket.com/albums/r231/thawes/Times5thJune1954.jpg

regle
28th Oct 2009, 07:51
Let me introduce you to Terri, the latest contributor to pprune. When I was training in the States with the first class, 42A, of RAF cadets to be trained by the US Army Air Corps, as it was then, in early 1941, before the "day of infamy" when Pearl harbour was attacked by the Japanese on Dec.7th of that year, Sandy Sandison, Terri's Father was a fellow cadet and I knew him well. He had a very distinguished career with Bomber Command on Lancasters and when he was awarded the D.F.C. had the rare, if not unique, experience of seeing his whole crew decorated to mark the recognition of the valour of his tour of operations. He was to continue his flying career with BOAC, as it was then, later British Airways and finally retired to carry on with his love of sailing at which he has just showed us all that 89 is not too old to win trophies. Unfortunately this skill does not extend to computers...although I suspect that, like so many of us, he just does'nt trust the d.......d thing ! but his Daughter has faithfully kept him up to date with all the fun and games that go on, with print outs where they are relevant. I think that we can all take heart from this. I wish that we could have known as much about our Parents and Grandparents as this generation can, through Forums and other means such as the very keen interest in searching out our ancestry, that is now within our reach. I never knew a Grandfather as they were both dead before I was born. We didn't live as long those days. Now entire families are learning about the trials and tribulations that our Parents and Grandparents went through and also, I hasten to add, the very good times as well. I think that some eyebrows have been raised when details of the Mess parties and "snogging" behind the NAAFI have been revealed.
So welcome Terri and let us hear more about the family reactions that are so relevant to this forum. People like you ,Cliff, John Fairr and others are so important to keep these memories alive. Reg

cliffnemo
28th Oct 2009, 16:34
I obviously can’t remember what happened on each trip to Pomigliano, but I do remember certain incidents, not necessarily in chronological order, which happened. One such incident was when Paddy , our navigator and I, hitch hiked to Salerno We wanted to view the beautiful vista along the Amalfi coast, and Capri, then have an evening on the vino. When we arrived we found we had spent all our money, on cameos , wine, and fruit, all of which were packed away in four gallon petrol tins and left in our hotel. The ever enterprising Paddy had a solution. When the next street urchin approached with the usual “Hey Johnny you sell English pound notes ?” Paddy told him we had none, but he was willing to sell him his vest. The deal was done, Paddy removed his vest, received more than enough Liras for a night out, which would include a few bottles of vino , and a large Italian omelette.

On another trip, our skipper came to some arrangement ( a weeks holiday package deal ?)with an army lieutenant ,who was on leave in Naples. The deal was to take him to Hemswell , and one week later to return him to Pomigliano. Unfortunately we had a ‘clamp on’ for two days, and could not take off.We had to hide and feed him for the two days, which was not too difficult as every thing was ‘easy come , easy go’ after V.E Day. A very worried army officer was eventually returned , and was slightly happier at being A.W.O.L in the right country, rather than A.W.O.L in the wrong country.

Whilst returning on another day , we were half way across the Med, when I sensed I slight change in engine noise , and though It was not time to check gauges , I decided to check. The gauges for one Merlin showed the temperature was rising and the oil pressure dropping, so I advised the skipper that we should shut it down and feather the prop. This was done and I increased boost and revs to maintain the original air speed. Then followed a long discussion,( I wouldn’t call it an argument). The rules were , less than half way turn back, more than half way , carry on and we were well short of halfway Unfortunately we had a skipper who had just met a beautiful ‘popsy’ in Gainsboro and a navigator who wanted to stick by the rules. The skipper had a date that night, and thought that if he didn’t turn up then **********? While the discussion progressed , much to your disgust, I decided to ‘work a flanker’. When calculating fuel consumption the method is to calculate consumption on one engine taking into consideration , boost, and revs, then multiply by four. I made a ’mistake’ and instead of multiplying the increased consumption on three engines , multiplied by four. Proving we did not have enough fuel to reach Glatton. I gave my pad containing the figures to the skipper, and he approved them and decided to fly the reciprocal.
On the approach to Pomigliano, I could imagine the skipper thinking about our recent training on three engine landings , and the advice that it was better to hit the end of the airfield , rather than the beginning. We came in fast, faster than the normal one hundred and forty five knots , prior to funnels, then seventy five knots stall out just at the beginning of the runway. (The navigator always read out the airspeed so all could hear, when we were on the approach). We were still airborne a quarter of the way down the runway, when the skipper decided to touch down, we then shot back up again, about fifty feet, which repeated three times with ever reducing height. The skipper then applied full brake, and the Lancaster decided to shoot of the runway towards an airfield control mobile cabin. I can still remember the occupant jumping out and running fast enough to win a gold medal. We did stop just a few feet away from the cabin Amazingly our twenty soldiers happily disembarked , but one of them remarked to me he didn’t realise how bumpy landing was.

Just remembered we must have stayed below seven thousand feet as the soldiers were not provided with oxygen.
Paddy and Cliff on a kerb edge in Salerno (minus vest ?)
http://i274.photobucket.com/albums/jj248/cliffordleach/PADDYCLIFFSALERNOADOBE2284-1.jpg

GordonPDavis
30th Oct 2009, 19:52
Good to see you back again Cliff

Your story about Paddy giving up his shirt in exchange for Lira takes me back again to Singapore. In an earlier post I mentioned that a few of us went ashore at Singapore a few days after the Japanese surrender. We were amazed to see that all the shops were well stocked with goods. On board the carrier we had purchased Malayan Dollars (printed in Great Britain) for two shillings and fourpence each but when we tried to spend them the locals were very suspicious and would only treat them as Rupees (one shilling and sixpence each).

We had heard stories about the English army swapping jars of instant coffee or cigarettes for cameras when they occupied Germany so we thought we would try our luck. We found a high class shop with Leica and Contax cameras on show and asked the shop keeper how many cigarettes he would want for a Leica. He replied the cost of the camera was £100, he valued a packet of Players at one shilling and after a short calculation said he would accept 2000 packets of cigarette. We left the shop in a hurry, these wily oriental gentlemen were too canny for us.

Carry on with the good work,

Gordon

Icare9
31st Oct 2009, 12:29
The 156 Squadron website contains a German report of 1944 detailing their understanding of how the Pathfinder Force operated.
It's fascinating to me that there was such extensive knowledge of the RAF techniques, obviously gleaned from PoW interrogations and comparison with the Luftwaffe Blitz and Baedekker raid techiques.
Apologies that it is fairly long, but it has a good summation as to how raids were marked.

British Pathfinder Operations as at March 1944
Issued by Luftwaffenfuhrungsstab Ic/Fremde
Luftwaffen West
Preface

The success of a large-scale night raid by the RAF is in increasing measure dependent on the conscientious flying of the Pathfinder crews. The frictionless functioning of the attack is only possible when the turning points on the inward and courses, as well as the target itself, are properly marked. Lately, these attacks have been compressed into about 4 minutes for each wave averaging 120-150 aircraft

Dense and high reaching clouds, which hide the sky markers over the target, and exceptionally strong winds which blow the markers away quickly, represent an unpredictable barrier to Pathfinder operations and can often appreciably decrease the efficiency of an attack.

Another reason for the failure of a raid may lie in the partial failure of the first Pathfinders, the 'Initial Markers', to arrive, since experience has shown that succeeding Pathfinders, in spite of being equipped with H2S and blind marking equipment, have allowed themselves to be influenced, to a certain extent, by the Initial Markers.

A: DEVELOPMENT

1. The concentrated large-scale RAF raid on Cologne on 30/31 May 1942, during a full moon night and with an alleged strength of more than 900 aircraft, was the first attempt to imitate the 'Focal Point' raids initiated by the German Air Force during this strategic air war against the British Isles during the years 1940 and 1941.

The lessons taught by this first large-scale raid, the increasingly high losses and the fact that the Hyperbola (Gee) navigation system could only be used in certain conditions, forced the AOC-in-C of of Bomber Command to develop new systems of attack.

Using the German system of 'Illuminators' and 'Fire Raisers' as a model, the use of Pathfinders was developed towards the middle of August 1942, in order to bring on to the target all the aircraft, some with inexperienced, others with only medium-trained crews, and to allow the dropping of the bombs without loss of time.

2. Air Vice-Marshall BENNET, at present still in command of these special units, was appointed Chief of the Pathfinder formations.

This 35 year old Australian - known as one of the most resourceful officers of the RAF - had distinguished himself as long ago as 1938 by a record long-range flight to South Africa in a four- engined seaplane which was launched in the air from a Sunderland flying boat (composite aircraft). In 1940 BENNET established the Transatlantic Ferry Command with aircraft of the Hudson type. As an example of his personal operational capabilities, an attack may be cited which he made on the German Fleet base at Trondheim.

BENNET's appointment as Commander of the Pathfinder Formations is also based on the fact that he has written two standard books on astro-navigation.

3. The use of Pathfinders in the first large-scale raids was comparatively primitive. Several particularly experienced crews were sent out first as Fire Raisers ahead of the Main Bomber Force and, in order to facilitate and ensure the location of the target, moonlit nights were especially favoured.

Shortly after the formation of these Pathfinder groups, however, the principle of raids during moonlit nights was dropped and raids in dark cloudless periods began to take place.

BENNET strove to render the raids independent of the weather and at the same time to make it easier for the less experienced crews to locate the target.

4. At first there were only four bomber squadrons, equipped with Stirlings, Halifaxes, Lancasters and Wellingtons, and in January 1943 these units were organised into No 8 Bomber Group, the Pathfinder Group.

The grouping of the Pathfinders into a Bomber Group of their own made it possible to standardise the equipment and the training, to put new ideas into operation and to immediately evaluate all experiences.

During the course of 1943, the number of Pathfinder squadrons was increased to meet the increased demands, and among others, several Mosquito squadrons were detailed to the Pathfinder Group.

B: ORGANISATION AND EQUIPMENT

I: Organisation and Aircraft Types

1. Eighth Bomber Group at present consists: Five Lancaster squadrons, one Halifax squadron, four Mosquito squadrons (including two special bomber squadrons with 'Bumerang' [Oboe] equipment) and one Mosquito Met Flight.

For further information concerning the organisation of these units, see 'Blue Book Series', Book 1: The British Heavy Bomber Squadron.

2. In addition to the normal navigational aids (see also 'Blue Book Series', Book 7: British Navigation Systems) the aircraft carry the following special equipment:

a) Four-engined aircraft (Lancaster and Halifax):

Rotterdam (H2S) for location of target and bombing without ground visibility;

Hyperbola navigation instrument (Gee);

Identification Friend-Foe (IFF); acoustic night-fighter warning instrument 'Monica';

visual night-fighter warning instrument (Cathode ray oscilloscope) 'Fish Pond'

provision for bomb-release in the cabin as well as in the navigation room.

b) Twin-engined aircraft (Mosquito)

Hyperbola navigation instrument (Gee);

special equipment according to mission, for example 'Bumerang' (Oboe)

the existence of Mosquitos equipped with H2S have not as yet been definitely established. According to latest information, this special equipment does not yet seem to have been installed in the Mosquito.

II: Personnel

1. The crews are no longer composed mainly of volunteers as was formerly the case. Owing to the great demand and the heavy losses, crews are either posted to Pathfinder units immediately after completing their training, or are transferred from ordinary bomber squadrons. As in the past, however, special promotion and the Golden Eagle badge are big inducements to the crews.

At first Pathfinder crews had to commit themselves to 60 operational flights, but due to this high number there were insufficient volunteers, and the figure was decreased to 45.

After transfer to a Pathfinder squadron, a certain probationary period is undergone. The crews are not appointed Pathfinders and awarded the Golden Eagle until they have proved themselves capable of fulfilling the equipments by flying several operations (about 14) over Germany. Before the award of the Golden Eagle each member of the crew has to pass a special examination to show that he is fully capable, of performing two functions on board, for example gunner and mechanic, or mechanic and bomb-aimer, etc.

2. There is a special Pathfinder school (NTU Upwood Special School). All new crews, however, are sent on a special navigational course lasting 8-14 days at a Navigation Training Unit, where particularly experienced instructors, who have already completed their pathfinder tours, train the crews in the operation of the special equipment and put final polish on their already good navigational training.

New Pathfinder crews fly training flights over Great Britain. These are usually made southwest from the Cambridge area, course being set for the Isle of Man. On the return flight, a large city, such as Birmingham or Manchester is approached, dummy bombing using H2S is carried out, and target photographs are brought back to the home base. Flights of this kind are flown to a strict time schedule, just as in the case of a large-scale raid on Germany or the Occupied Western Territories, and are taken into consideration in the assessment of the crews as Pathfinders. If, on several occasions the schedule is not adhered to, the crew is transferred to an ordinary bomber squadron.

C: PATHFINDER OPERATIONS

I:General

The operational tactics of the Pathfinders have been under constant development ever since the earliest days, and even now cannot be considered as firmly established or completed. New methods of target location and marking, as well as extensive deceptive and diversionary measures against German defences are evident in almost ever operation.

Whereas the attacks of the British heavy bombers during the years 19421-43 lasted over an hour , the duration of the attack has been progressively shortened so that today, a raid of 800-900 aircraft is compressed into 20 minutes at the most. According to captured enemy information, the plan for the raid on Berlin on 15/16 February 1944 called for about 900 aircraft in five waves of 4 minutes each.

In spite of the increased danger of collision or of dropping bombs on other aircraft which must be taken into account, the aim has been achieved of allowing the German defences, the Commands as well as the defence weapons themselves, only a fraction of the time available to them during raids in the past.

The realisation of these aims was made possible by the conscientious work of the Pathfinder group and by the high training standard (especially regarding navigation) of the crews.

The markers over the approach and withdrawal courses serve as navigational aids for all aircraft and above all they help them to keep to the exact schedule of tines and positions along the briefed course. Over the target, the markers of the Pathfinders enable all aircraft to bomb accurately without loss of time.

II: Markers

Up to date, the following markers have been identified:

TARGET MARKERS

a) Ground Markers: also called cascade bombs, are red, green and yellow. Weather conditions govern the setting of the barometric fuse, whereby the Ground Marker container is detonated at a height varying from 800 to 5,000 metres, thereby releasing 60 flares which fall burning and burn out of the ground.

Ground markers are mainly dropped in the target area, but they are also sometimes used as Route Markers. Ground Markers are also dropped in 10/10ths cloud in order to illuminate the cloud base from below. When the clouds are thin, the crew can see the glare without difficulty. The average duration of burning of a Ground Marker is 3-4 minutes.

b) Sky Markers: parachute flares, of which several are usually placed simultaneously. As a rule, the flares used are red ones from which, at regular intervals, quick-burning green flares ('dripping green stars') drop out.

Besides these, green Sky Markers with red stars and , although comparatively seldom, green Sky Markers with yellow stars are also used.

The bomb aimers are for the most part briefed to drop their bombs into the middle of a group od Sky Markers. This corrects the opinion held until now that two sky markers are set, one to indicate the point of bomb release and the other to indicate the target.

c) White and Yellowish Flares: used chiefly to illuminate a target. They are also sometimes used as dummy markers.

During raids in the autumn of 1943, the enemy attempted to mark a target approach corridor by setting numerous flares. It may be assumed that he dropped this system because of the heavy losses inflicted by German single-engined fighters in the target area.

ROUTE MARKERS

a) As Track Markers: or Indicators, Sky Markers are used in 10/10ths cloud.

b) Ground Markers: (Spotfires) are red, green or yellow; red and yellow are mainly used. A ground marker does not split up into different traces, but burns with a single bright light for from 3-8 minutes.

NEW KINDS OF MARKERS (as yet not clearly identified)

The enemy has often tried to introduce new kinds of markers with varying lighting effects:

a) Among others, a quick-falling flare bomb was observed lately. After it hit the ground, 1 90 metre high column of sparks was observed, which slowly descended in many colours. Confirmation, however, is not yet available.

b) To designate the beginning and the end of the attack, a large reddish-yellow 'Fireball' has often been observed. Red flares fall from the Fireball and at low heights these again split up into green stars. The light intensity of these bombs is unusually high.

c) The so-called red 'Multi-Flashes' are apparently used as Route Markers,. They have been observed sparkling to the ground at intervals of 2-3 seconds.

d) The enemy seem to have stopped using enormous 1,800 kg size flare bombs. The reason for this could not be determined.

III: Execution of Pathfinder Operations

DIVIDING OF TH PATHFINDER CREWS

a) At present, Pathfinder crews are divided into the following categories:Blind Markers, Blind Backers-up, Visual Backers-up, Visual Markers, Supporters - Pathfinder Main Force.

About 15% of the bombers used for a large-scale operation are Pathfinders. For example, out of a strength of 900 aircraft, 120 would be Pathfinders, of which about 20 to 25 would be Blind Markers, 30 to 45 would be Blind and Visual Backers-up and 60 to 70 would be Pathfinder Main Force.

b) Blind Markers: It is the duty of the Blind Markers to locate the target using H2S and to set Ground or Sky Markers, or both, according to weather conditions, at zero hour minus 2 to 5 minutes.

The Blind Marker crew are responsible for the success or the failure of the raid. They are more strictly bound to the time schedule than all the other aircraft taking part in the raid. They are not allowed to drop their markers if the schedule is deviated from by more than one or two minutes, or if the instruments fail, or fail to indicate accurately. In such cases the Blind Marker aircraft automatically becomes part of the Pathfinder Main Force and must drop its HE bomb load exactly at zero hour.

With smaller targets, it is the duty of the Blind Markers to set flares over the target area, in order to illuminate it.

Another duty of good Blind Marker crews during the initial stages of the attack is not only to set new markers, but also to re-centre the attack. Experience has shown that the first aircraft of the Main Force drop their bombs near the Markers but that succeeding aircraft tend drop them short of the target area during the progress of the attack. It is the duty of the Blind Markers detailed for this purpose to bring the bombing back to the original target by resetting the Markers past the first aiming point in the direction of withdrawal.

For several months past, the Blind Markers have had a further duty, In several operations it was repeatedly shown that errors in the navigation of the Main Force occurred owing to inaccurate wind forecasts. Experienced Pathfinders were therefore instructed to transmit their established wind calculations to England by W/T. Each Group picks up these reports and transmits them every half-hour to the airborne bombers.

c) Blind Backers-Up: The duties of the Blind Backers-up are similar to those of the Blind Markers, except that they fly in the bomber stream. Thus, they drop their Markers during the attack, also in accordance with a strict previously laid down time schedule. Blind Backers-up are used to set Ground Markers and, above all, Sky Markers, which are always renewed by means of H2S and never visually.

d) Visual Backers-Up: In order to give new Pathfinder crews a chance to gain experience for future operations as Visual or Blind Markers, they are allowed to set the new Markers visually; these, however are always of a different colour. Theoretically, these Markers should be on, or very near, to the original Markers, but as in practice this is very seldom the case, the impression given is that of the target being framed by markers. The bomb-aimers of the succeeding bombers are therefore briefed to release their bombs in the centre of the markers dropped by the Backers-up.

e) Visual Markers: An attack on a small or pin-point target (definite industrial installations, dockyards, etc) necessitates still more accurate marking than is possible by the Blind Markers. The Visual Markers, therefore, locate the target visually from medium height, sometimes from as low as 1,500 metres, and then release their Ground Markers on the centre of the target, in order to concentrate the attack of the high-flying bombers. The Visual Markers are aided by the illumination of the target area aided by several Blind Markers (Newhaven attack).

f) Supporters: New crews who come from training units or other squadrons and who are to be trained as Pathfinders, fly their first operations in the Pathfinder Main Force. They carry only mines or HE bombs, arrive exactly at zero hour and try, at the first concentric bombing, to create conditions necessary to allow the incendiary bombs of the succeeding waves to take full effect.

ROUTE MARKERS

Route Markers are set buy good Blind Marker crews and are renewed during the approach of the Bomber Stream by further good Blind Marker crews. Ground Markers (Spotfires) are sometimes set visually, and sometimes by instruments, but Sky Markers used as Track Markers or Indicators are set only by means of H2S.

The route of approach and withdrawal are generally identified by three Markers set at especially prominent points or turning points. The colours of these markers for any single night raid are usually the same: either red, green, yellow or white. It has often been observed that the Route Markers do not always lie exactly on course. They are set somewhat to one side so that the approaching bombers are not unnecessarily exposed to the danger of German night-fighters.

TARGET MARKERS

The Target Markers will differ according to weather conditions. More Sky or Ground Markers are set, according to the visibility and cloud conditions prevailing. Up to date, the following methods of attack and target marking have been recognised:

a) The 'Parramatta' attack under a clear sky and with good visibilty. Ground Markers are used only.

b) The 'Wanganui' attack with 8-10/10ths cloud cover. Sky Markers only.

c) The 'Musical Parramatta' attack with 5-8/10ths cloud cover. Mainly Ground Markers, but some Sky Markers.

d) The 'Newhaven' attack, in which the target area is illuminated by means of parachute flares, coupled with several Ground Markers.

e) The 'Musical Wanganui' attack with 8-10/10ths cloud cover. Mainly Sky Markers, but some Ground Markers. This system of target marking has been used to a great extent lately during bad-weather operations.

DROPPING THE MARKERS

The setting of the Pathfinder Markers requires a great deal of experience. For this reason, training flights with Markers of all kinds are often carried out over Great Britain, serving for practical experiments with flares as well as for training purposes.

When the target area is already illuminated by previously dropped flares, the Ground Markers are released visually by means of the ordinary bomb-sight. In cases where 10/10ths cloud or dark conditions are found over the target area, H2S is used for dropping all Markers.

A great deal of experience is required for the setting of Blind Markers. Close co-operation between the navigator and the H2S operator (see 'Blue Book Series', Book 7: British Navigations Systems for the difference between the two) who sit side by side in the navigation room, is the first essential for the precise setting of Markers by means of H2S. Above all, drift must be calculated before the Markers are set, so that the Main attacking force has only to navigate on the Markers themselves.

NAVIGATION

The basis for all Pathfinder navigation is dead reckoning, and all other systems are only aids to check and supplement this. H2S equipment is valueless without dead reckoning because the ground is not shown on the cathode ray tube as it is on a map.

To facilitate the location of the target, an auxiliary target, which experience shows to give a clear picture on the cathode ray tube, is given during briefing. This auxiliary target should be as close to the actual as possible, in order to eliminate all sources of error. Cities, large lakes, or sometimes even coastline features are used as auxiliary targets.

The course and the time of flight from the auxiliary target to the actual target are calculated in advance, taking the wind into consideration. The H2S operator then knows that the main target will appear on the screen a given number of seconds after the auxiliary target has been identified.

MOSQUITO PATHFINDER OPERATIONS

The Mosquito aircraft have special duties as Pathfinders, concerning which the following information is available:

a) Setting Ordinary Markers: 15 to 20 minutes before the beginning of the actual attack, in conjunction with other Lancaster Pathfinders, over an auxiliary target.

b) Setting Dummy Markers: along the coast and at other places to indicate a false course and a false target.

c) Dropping so-called 'Fighter Flares': these are imitations of the white and yellow flares dropped by German flare-carrying aircraft, to attract and divert German night-fighters.

d) Dropping 'Window' from great heights: this is so timed, after taking wind conditions into consideration, that a cloud of Window will be over the target when the first four-engined Pathfinders get there. This is made necessary by the fact that the target must be approached in straight and level flight, without evasive action, in order to get a good H2S picture. It is supposed to eliminate to a great extent aimed (radar) fire by the Flak.

e) Release of Single HE Bombs: 20 to 30 minutes after the main attack and observation of the results of the main attack.

f) Identification of pin-point targets: for succeeding Mosquito waves by setting Ground Markers with the aid of 'Bumerang' (Oboe). The succeeding Mosquitos then drop their bombs visually on the marked target.

D:CONCLUSIONS

1. Strong criticism from amongst their own units was at first levelled against the British Pathfinder operations, but they were able to prevail because of the successes achieved during the years 1943/44.

2. The original assumption that the majority of bomber crews would be less careful in their navigation once they became used to the help of the Pathfinders, and that therefore the total efficiency and success of raids would diminish, has hitherto not been confirmed. The navigational training and equipment of the ordinary British bomber crews has also been improved.

3. The operational tactics of the Pathfinders cannot be considered as complete even today. There are, in particular, continual changes of all markers and marking systems.

4. The trend of development will be towards making possible on one and the same night two or more large raids on the present scale, each with the usual Pathfinder accompaniment.

Distribution:
Units of the Rdl an Obdl
Luftflotten down to operational Gruppen
Flakabteilungen an Ln Regiments
(Source: No 61008 Secret Ic/ Foreign Air Forces; A/Evaluation West)

I wonder if RAF crews knew that much!!

regle
31st Oct 2009, 13:54
Thank goodness that I/we did not know half as much of the absolutely absorbing Gen that you have just posted. I am very thankful that I remained ignorant of the many escapes that I had and I know that every one of us who flew in Bomber Command would say the same thing. Knowing exactly what was awaiting us would have been terrible and would have sent most of us "round the bend" ! Nevertheless it was good to read the finest description of the exact duties of the valiant P.F.F. that I have ever seen. Thank you, Reg

regle
1st Nov 2009, 15:47
I think that some of your questions to me , may interest everyone so will endeavour to answer here.

Were there ever times when you were convinced that your end had come ? No, never. In an emergency you are always too concerned about what you must do to think of the consequences. It all happens very quickly. When the trees were coming through the windscreen of my crashing Mosquito a brief "I hope that my watch doesn't break" flashed into my mind" but was put away. Upside down in a Halifax over a burning Mannheim . " Do an Immelman and half roll out." In a Halifax with a runaway engine hurtling down the runway towards the bomb dump. "How can I stop. Pull the U/C up , you idiot. ". No time to think. Act. Here's where experience is invaluable.. "Been there,(or something similar) done it, got away with it . " cannot be taught but will get one out of nasty spots so many times because it enables you to keep calm and act. It is only when an emergency is coupled with a long drawn series of consequent actions and then you must put that right to the back of
of your mind that you may not survive and concentrate on the right course of actions. Above all you must have and show to your Crew the willpower and the determination that you and they are going to survive, whilst taking all the possible and, sometimes, impossible, actions to ensure this. I refer to such possibilities as a long drawn out return over the sea with engines out and/or crew injuries or even a Hijacking. I have met people
who were convinced that their names were on a certain bullet or even target and that their " number would be up " on a certain day. There is not much that you can do about this except make certain that he is not in your crew or it can spread like wildfire. I believe like Gary Player that "the more practice the luckier you get " with the important proviso that you can practice all the time but you have to be lucky as well.
There was a dreadful superstition that reared it's ugly head on many Bomber Command Stations that "Going out with a certain WAAF "was tantamount to suicide for the whole crew. They were nicknamed "Calamity Kate" and became so unbearable for the unfortunate girl that she was often discharged or, at least, posted to a non operational station. It was , of course, inevitable that such things would happen when losses were running so high but the reality was that the crew would be very upset about any member seeing such an unfortunate girl and would do their utmost to stop it.

Regarding the question of L.M.F. Like Inspector Clueless, we would rather die than "Let the school down". For "School" read Crew, Sqdn. Country, Wife, Children, Self and even "Butcher Harris". and you have it That or those were the reasons that we carried on and I , too regarded the First World War with an absolute horror of the Trenches, Going over the Top and the Gas Warfare, but the terrors of the Area Bombing, the Holocaust and the Concentration camps brought the realities of War and what it means and does to all civilisation and was not confined to the Armed Services.

Steve, I will answer you soon. Regle

cliffnemo
4th Nov 2009, 15:08
GORDON you mention the Leica camera, many of us when we were informed we were posted to Germany after V.E day heard that Leica 111 C cameras could be purchased for a few cigarettes. \I decided that my first purchase on arrival would be one of these beauties. Before the war they were the international Rolls Royce of cameras and so expensive that the only people who used them were the very rich ot top reporters of national newspapers. On my arrival my new best friend or oppo was a Sgt Bernhard Schier who was originally a German Jew who had left Germany about 1936, He spoke perfect German and perfect English, so had been appointed Civil Labour Manager at R.A.F Wunsdorf. Strangely he was given a civilian interpreter (but as the man said ''Rules is Rules'' There was nothing he could not obtain. A for instance, when the officers mess required a pig’s (or was it a boar’s) head for a mess function, Bernhard took the day off, and returned with one. However he could not find a Leica for me in either Hanover or Braunshweig (his home town), they had all been purchased by the early birds . He did locate a Robot camera which I purchased for 2000 cigarettes . I bought it from a German Officer, who said the 2000 cigarettes would produce enough cash to put him through university. Ii was the same size as the Leica , with a F1.8 Carl Zeiss lens, but had a long tube on the top which contained a clockwork device enabling the camera to take thirty five frames in quick succession, \I was told this was because it had been fitted in a German fighter aircraft. Some time later in civvy street I managed to purchase a genuine 3c , but the deal included a Leica copy made by Reid , England. Evidently when the war started the patent law was ignored in many countries who made Leica copies, in the U.K Reids made a screw for screw identical model for use by the R.A.F . I still have both cameras and was surprised to see the Reid is worth about four times the value of the Leica when I searched on Ebay I saw two Reids selling for £1200 each. A pic of my Leica might appear below.( More about Bernhard a fantastic bloke, when I reach Wunsdorf.)
http://i274.photobucket.com/albums/jj248/cliffordleach/DSC00929.jpg

Meanwhile back to Hemswell , the Python leave scheme carried on, with us flying to Pomigliano , and other squadrons flying to Bari on the East coast of Italy. One trip comes to mind , when we arrived at Pomigliano cloud base was one thousand feet. The skipper wanted to ‘let down’ over the airfield , but the navigator advised that as Vesuvious was nearby at five thousand feet, and not having the help of the U.K navigational aids , it would be advisable to obtain a Q.F.C (atmospheric pressure at sea level) , let down over the sea, then obtain a Q.F.E (aerodrome level) and approach from the sea. A few voices came over the intercom saying “out to sea”, we then flew West and came in under the cloud base, to land safely.

ODDS & ENDS
I remember also returning early one morning through Naples, as our transport swept round a corner our headlights lit up a leveled out ‘bomb site’, and we were amazed to see dozens of people using it as a toilet. The smell was terrible, and when we enquired about it, were told that the sewers were completely blocked, however it was a sight I never witnessed in Germany.



With reference to my note saying ‘civvies in the U.K used their vehicle tyres until the tubes popped out , I also saw a car trundling along through Naples with what looked like a Spitfire wheel on one side and a bare rim on the other.
And Regle, I took the pic of the Leica mainly to practice taking and transferring pics using my new mobile phone and as usual my mind stared wandering again, what if we had had mobile phones during the war. Hi mother, just approaching the coast.?. Sorry folks , i'm claiming pre-senile dementia.

Arclite01
4th Nov 2009, 16:21
Regle

I believe that those unlucky girls were also called 'Chop Girls'. In one of Jack Curries' books he mentions being kept away from one by his whole crew !

Great stories guys - keep 'em coming...............

Arc

regle
4th Nov 2009, 17:38
I think that you have hit on a good idea, Cliff. Chaps; what would be your choice of the one modern invention that would be of the most practical and most welcomed for the general good during the war ? Just to add to it; what practical use would the mobile be put to ? I would exclude all ideas for weaponry and such. Regle

Icare9
4th Nov 2009, 20:44
Mobile phones might have changed things at Arnhem. If I recall all the radios had duff frequencies, hardly able to signal from one side of the road to the other....
Glad to see both of you back, been a bit too quiet without you!!
I suppose if I suggested SatNav, I'd upset the Navigator fraternity, but what other modern invention would have proved worthwhile on the battlefield?
Infra red? Heat seeking missiles, helicopter, kevlar, email, blackberry, ******* (ha!)....
I would like to suggest that instead of producing heavies, production of the Mossie so that if lost, only 2 crew gone, rather than 7. 3 times the number of aircraft so perhaps equivalent bomb load per target. I only wish the RAF had been as effective as the Germans in attacking night bombers, so huge numbers of intruders to catch the nightfighters taking off to intercept the bombers.
I can't see that we had any real alternative means of attacking Germany apart from the air and daylight attacks were almost suicide.
There was no practical alternative, nor any means of damaging enemy production but by dropping hundreds of bombs around the target area.
That tied up troops and equipment that would have been available elsewhere to the detriment of the Desert campaign and Russia might have been knocked out again. it also hampered production of existing equipment and prevented the design and use of many more effective aircraft, tanks and other equipment. Germany fought practically the whole of WW1 outside its territory, and practically the same in WW2.
I think the one thing I would want the power to change would to have been in the Comet design team and insisted on oval windows, not rectangular.
Aviation might then have seen Britain at the forefront of civil and military design....

regle
4th Nov 2009, 21:56
Oh dear , Regle

kookabat
5th Nov 2009, 05:54
What about an EPIRB for those crews unfortunate enough to ditch in the North Sea?

Blacksheep
5th Nov 2009, 13:12
Autopilots with Flight Management Systems. Autoland. Ejection seats at all crew stations, including turrets.

regle
5th Nov 2009, 15:19
Lady's sexy voice " at 1000 yds turn "Left,left", turn "Left,left", on Orange Track Indicators. .Keep straight ahead, At twenty miles , in three and a half minutes, turn "Right", turn "Right". In one minute, "Open Bomb doors". In Two minutes drop bombs on Blue Target Indicators" , Start bomb run now. Left, left, steady, Back a bit, Right, steady Bombs away NOW." Loud bang !!! "You have now reached your Final Destination "
Regle...If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

kevmusic
5th Nov 2009, 15:37
As usual, you trumped the lot of 'em, Reg. :p :D

Molemot
6th Nov 2009, 08:21
Simply putting canopies on dinghies would have saved a lot of chaps, I reckon...never understood why they didn't.

cliffnemo
6th Nov 2009, 10:19
Molemot

Simply putting canopies on dinghies would have saved a lot of chaps, I reckon...never understood why they didn't.

http://i274.photobucket.com/albums/jj248/cliffordleach/img034-1.jpg
Nine man dinghy , at Maryport, inflated ready to be lashed to deck of the "Two sisters"
They did, but when? I thought we had them but maybe confused, as I bought a R.A.F surplus one, for my boat after the war. Seem to remember a story of a a canopied dinghy being overturned once in a rough sea and the crew 'walking round' it inside to right it. Also seem to remember being told that as the floor, sides, and bottom were also inflated to insulate, as well as provide buoyancy.The body heat of seven men inside would prevent frost bite, even in the coldest weather. Was it called the Beaufort dinghy ? Any one know the true facts ? A figment of my imagination?

BEagle
6th Nov 2009, 10:44
Simply putting canopies on dinghies would have saved a lot of chaps, I reckon...never understood why they didn't.

Probably because the effects of wind chill and hypothermia weren't widely understood at the time.

The only ones that put humans through extensive hypothermia research (at lower temperatures) were the Nazis at Dachau. The Nazis immersed their subjects into vats of ice water at sub-zero temperatures, or left them out to freeze in the winter cold. As the prisoners became unconscious, the so-called Nazi 'doctors' meticulously recorded the changes in their body temperature, heart rate, muscle response, and other characteristics.

I've modified that quote, the original is even more graphic and repellant.

Thank you, regle et al., for blasting some of those Nazi swine off the face of the earth.

The best invention we could have had in WW2 would have been anything which improved inteliigence about high value targets and a method of concentrating Bomber Commands assets more productively than they were in the earlier years.

johnfairr
7th Nov 2009, 09:08
New W/C Flying and CO 72 Sqn, and “The Channel Dash” - February 1942

Jamie Rankin took over as Wing Commander Flying at Biggin Hill and Brian Kingcome took over 72 with Pete Wickham as ‘A’ Flight Commander. Now, you’ve heard me mention Brian Kingcome on a number of occasions, but I’ll just say, he was probably one of the finest leaders and squadron commanders I’ve ever come across. He really was tremendous. To begin with he had no side whatsoever and after being introduced to each of us at the dispersal, he said,

“Well, my name is Brian. I don’t want any of this “Sir” business, but on the other hand, if I’m talking to the Station Commander, I don’t want some Sergeant Pilot walking up and slapping me on the back and saying ”Wotcher Brian, how are you?””

PeteWickham had fought out in Greece with Pattle and Vale (“Pat” Pattle was the highest scoring Commonwealth pilot in WWII credited with 50+ kills , before being killed in April 1941 over Athens/Piraeus. “Cherry” Vale was credited with 30+ in the same theatre, both flying with 33 and 80 Squadrons in Gladiators and Hurricanes. “Timber” Woods, passim, was in the same combat when Pattle was shot down.) He was a very experienced chap and a very good flight commander. He also gave me permission to have the word “Connie” painted on my aircraft, so I obviously had a soft spot for him.

Now the normal daily arrangement on the squadron was to have a list of pilots written up on the board, so that whatever came up, those pilots would be on the first show. Now I’d done a convoy job on Feb 10th and Feb 11th and consequently I wasn’t particularly surprised when my name wasn’t on the board on Feb 12th. We were a bit surprised when the squadron was ordered to take off and rendezvous at Manston to escort some Swordfish on what we were told was a convoy strike. Anyway the aircraft took off. Well, eleven out of twelve did and the twelfth chap was a South African by the name of Suga, who wasn’t exactly a do or die character. We were watching from the dispersal and we were a bit surprised to find that Suga’s aircraft never left the perimeter track. He eventually returned to dispersal and we couldn’t make out whether his aircraft was u/s or he was u/s, or just didn’t feel in the mood, or what. Anyway, no arrangements had been made for a spare to fly along with the squadron, so the rest of us just hung around and waited for them to come back. As you know full well, the eleven aircraft from 72 picked up the Swordfish off Manston and tried to do some damage to the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau. The squadron ran into a horde of 190s and what with the enemy aircraft and the flak from the battleships, they were unable to do anything about protecting the Swordfish, which were all shot down one after the other. (The Swordfish were from 825 Naval Air Squadron, led by Lieutenant Commander Eugene Esmonde RN, who received a posthumous Victoria Cross for his gallantry. Five aircrew survived, all of whom were subsequently decorated for bravery.)

One of our chaps circled one of the Swordfish in the sea and saw one of the airmen get into a dinghy and circled as long as he could, calling up “Mayday”, but eventually had to leave for lack of fuel and how any of the Swordfish chaps got back I have no idea. Anyway, the squadron destroyed three confirmed, four damaged but that wasn’t much help to the Swordfish boys. Not long after they had returned the squadron was ordered out again and once again, Sogar decided that either he wasn’t well, or the aircraft wasn’t well, but he never took off with the rest of the Squadron. I hadn’t anything to do, and consequently I got into my aircraft and in order to save time, instead of taxiing round the perimeter track, I shot straight out of the bomb-bay, took off downwind, much to the surprise of Doc White who’d been watching from the dispersal. He said it was quite an interesting take-off!

Anyway, I couldn’t find the squadron after I got to Manston, although there was every type of aircraft you could imagine flying around, but I saw a couple of Beauforts and I imagined they’d be pointing in the right direction, so I tacked onto those and flew in very misty weather it seemed, for ages. We went on, we never saw anything and I thought I’d either run out of fuel or get lost, because there didn’t seem much point in going on, so I waved goodbye to the Beaufort boys, turned round and eventually found my way back to Gravesend. The weather by this time really was grim, you couldn’t see more than about four or five hundred yards and I’m surprised anyone found the German warships at all.

The following day we escorted seven destroyers far out into the North Sea but although we were expecting loads of enemy aircraft, nothing turned up and the only thing we saw was a Beaufighter, so we handed over to another squadron and came back and that was the end of the Scharnhorst affair as far as we were concerned.

During Feb we had two Rhodesian pilots posted to us, Sgt Pat Reilly and Sgt Tommy Wright and I took both of them out on sector recces, to show them our area, points to look out for and how to find the aerodrome in bad weather and all this sort of business. It made quite a change from 111 Sqn where new pilots were just told to take off and have a look round on their own. It’s a lot better if you’ve got somebody with you who can point out things to you that will help you in days to come. Actually, on the first trip, I took Pat Reilly on, his engine packed up, it had a glycol leak and crash-landed just outside Rochester but he got away with it alright. He was shot down and killed later on and many years after the war I was reading “Airmail” and there was an advert in the paper from his son asking if anyone knew Pat Reilly who was with him on the squadron, so I wrote out to Rhodesia, explaining what I knew of him and what had happened when we did our one trip together and said that I also had his clothes brush, which was a very nice one, and if his son would like to have it I’d send it out to him. I received a very nice letter from his son, saying thanks for the information and he’d be delighted if I’d hang on to the clothes brush in memory of his father, and I’ve still got it.

Tommy Wright was a great lad, a very cheerful soul, he stayed with the Sqn until August 42 when he and “Timber” Woods, who was our flight commander, were sent out to Malta and Tommy Wright, I regret to say, was killed at Malta.

regle
7th Nov 2009, 10:15
What a wonderful contribution you are making with the vivid recollections of your gallant Father and how proud you must be of him, John. Thank you and how humble I feel when I read of the fate of those intrepid crews of the Swordfish. I also feel so angry at the circumstances that led us to have to pit those ancient "Stringbags" against the terrible odds that faced them. "Lions led by Donkeys" again springs to mind. A quiet , but heartfelt "Thank you" to all of them. Regle.

Sandisondaughter
8th Nov 2009, 15:35
Was talking with my father just now. On his last 12 ops as a Lanc pilot (the final 8 of which were to Berlin) he took a total of 10 extra crew - 8 pilots and 2 navigators - to experience their first op before doing it for themselves. He says, though, that he can't remember where the extra pilot sat/stood for take-off - can anyone throw light on this? He also remembers that one of the rookie pilots was seen to be fast asleep as they approached their bombing run over Berlin. He was soon rudely awoken by the crew! In discussion next morning Dad's crew decided there was no way this chap would survive the war. In fact he did.

This same pilot also managed to fall asleep in the officers mess some weeks later - which apparently was seen as a serious crime by all other officers. Therefore whilst asleep his feet were surreptitiously tied to the legs of his chair - once this was done someone rushed over to him to tell him there was a phone call for him, to an obvious resultant comic effect!

regle
8th Nov 2009, 17:42
During the summer months of 1954, Sabena operated a service from Knokke/Le Zoute on the Belgian coast border with Holland and from there, via Ostend , to London. This service was called the "littoral" (the coast) and was very popular with the Freight Captains as it meant a very nice week spent at the very popular and "chic" resort of Le Zoute and a welcome change from flying pigeons and pigs.
The service was nearly always full with the 25 passengers that the D.C.3 was capable of carrying and especially the return to London when the homeward bound pax would stock up with the "Duty Free" that was sold on board. Once, whilst on this route, I found the trim of the aircraft very strange so went back to investigate. I found that the enterprising sole stewardess had set up a counter on a box in the aisle and was doling out the goodies from the packing cases behind her to the queue of passengers who stretched down the aisle to the tail. Thus saving her from going seat by seat and then back with the sale.
One day I was in London Airport, waiting for the aeroplane to be ready for the turnaround to go to Ostend . I walked into the Sabena office and a lady staff member said "You are Captain L... , aren't you ?"
When I replied "Yes." she said "Well I am the Station Manager's secretary and we had more than 1200 applicants for the thirty Pilots' jobs that were vacant. Do you remember getting a letter , when you applied for the job, telling you to come for an interview and you replied that you were working during the week and would not ask your employer for time off to apply for another job ?". "Yes". I replied. " Well we were snowed under with applicants and our Manager, Mr. S..... said "That's one less." and threw your letter in the wastepaper basket. I thought that it was a shameful way to treat your honest reply so, when he had gone home, I retrieved it, phoned you myself and arranged the interview for Saturday morning." I was speechless and have often thought how that kind action had changed so many lives. It is impossible to imagine how our children, grand and great grandchildren and so many other lives , would have been affected so I thanked her profusely and put it down to fate.
We had, by now, purchased a car. It was a second hand Studebaker in beautiful condition and was a constant source of enjoyment to our small family. The kids loved it because they said that you could never tell whether it was coming or going. The front looked exactly like the tail. We bought a big tent and enjoyed the beautiful, long stretching, firm sands of the Belgian coast. One of our most memorable holidays was at La Panne where we actually went to a "Pension" and had one of the loveliest summer holidays that still remains in my memory; the sun shone as if we were in the South of France, the children were small enough to only have small problems and Dora was released from the kitchen for the first time in our married life. We were very happy. I was now a fully fledged Captain flying the finest propellor air liner that I ever flew, The Convair 240. The cockpit was the nearest thing to a Fighter Pilot's dream and the aircraft handled like a Spitfire. I was flying on the European sector with very few nights away from home and it came as no surprise when Dora told me, in the early autumn of 1955 , that she was pregnant. In June 1956 , Dora went into a very nice Nursing Home in the nearby Flemish district of Brussels, Schaerbeek. I would come home from visiting her and the three children would rush to meet me from school and would shout "Has it come ? ". On June the 8th. 1956 they were all thrilled when I was able to tell them that they had a new baby sister. When I took them to see her , the little Flemish nurse brought the baby in and said "Voila votre "Fillke"", giving the usual Flemish diminutive of "ke" to "Fille" making it "little girl" in the Bruxelloise argot. We had decided to call the baby Helen, and I was actually at the counter of the registry Office , completing the form when the Clerk gave me the phone and said "Your Wife wants to speak to you. " Dora had changed her mind and wanted the name Susan, so Susan it was. Not that she was ever called that. No. The name "Fillke" stuck and although we anglicised the spelling to "Feeka", she is still called Feeka to this day. There was a brief spell much, much later ,when meeting her from school she would whisper vehemently "Call me Suzanne ". but that did not last very long.
The house at Evere was now too small so we moved to the leafy district of Woluwe. St. Pierre. We had found a fairly big house at No 2 Ave. de l'Escrime. It had four big bedrooms , a nice small garden and was near a very good school and the small village of Stockel with it's shops and weekly market. It was less than the requisite 30 minutes by car from the Airport at Melsbroeck. If you could'nt get to the airport in that time then you had to do all your "Reserves" at the Airport in uniform and ready to go anywhere in Europe. This was quite a nuisance as you were "En Reserve" at least twice a week so that meant that you could stay at home and await their usually inevitable call. Incidentally, as a matter of interest when I first met the charming Widow , of a "certain age", as the French so tactfully put it, owner of the house that we had rented, she had asked me if I wanted to enter into an agreement called a "Rente Viagaire". This is a sort of life annuity where you pay a much lower rent to a Landlord/lady but must pay it until his/her death when you would then become the houseowner. I had never heard of this before but evidently it was quite common in Belgium and France. I refused politely as it was not my intention to stay too long before building my own property. As far as I know she is still alive !
The Studebaker had done it's job well but we were now more affluent and bought our very first brand new car, a gleaming Opel, appropriately entitled "Kapitan".
Our new house stood on the corner of the street and the house on the opposite corner belonged to one of the Directors of Sabena. One evening there was a ring on the doorbell and the Sabena Director stood there, Could he please phone his house as he had forgotten his keys ? His Wife was very deaf and could not hear the doorbell ? She had probably gone to bed as she didn't hear the phone either. (this was long before the day of the mobile ). Eventually, our eldest son, Peter, who had gone up to his room, came down and said "I can let you in." He crossed the road, shinned up a drainpipe,went in through a half open window and let the flabbergasted Director in through the front door. "The Maid's room" said Peter, conversationally. On this note...to be continued. Regle

Union Jack
8th Nov 2009, 19:40
No wonder a big smile comes to my face every time I see your monniker on the list of new posts! What a cracker and isn't fate an extraordinary thing .....

With very best wishes on this special day

Jack

Tyres O'Flaherty
8th Nov 2009, 23:35
Reg, you missed your second calling in life, i.e. writing.

It's very enjoyable.

Thanks and please continue, yourself, and Cliff, and now Gordon P Davis, and John Fairr.

And did you know, there is a notice of the first flight of your beloved Halifax, at Bicester now, amongst local people, due I think partly to the efforts of BC heritage to raise some memorial to your fellow flyers.

pulse1
9th Nov 2009, 11:22
Another brave "regle". The full story here:

Squadron Leader Reg Lewis - Telegraph (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/military-obituaries/air-force-obituaries/6516442/Squadron-Leader-Reg-Lewis.html)

Union Jack
9th Nov 2009, 12:37
Pulse

For the avoidance of doubt and for obvious reasons, I hope that you agree that perhaps your very commendable reference to this stirring tribute reads better as "Another brave "regle"-type story here"

Jack

thegypsy
9th Nov 2009, 13:05
re S/L Reg Lewis


His Pilot in Dec 1942 F/O Cooke when in XV Squadron with Reg Lewis was one of 3 experienced crews detailed for an attack against Deipholz, their target was to be a German aircraft depot .The three crews were F/O Cooke,F/S McMonagle and P/O Frank Millen. F/O Cooke piloting Stirling bomber BF411.LS-A took off first at 1722 closely followed by the other two. Approaching the target at 7000 ft F/O Cooke made a low level bombing run at 1937. He was followed five minutes later by F/S McMonagle who unbeknown to the latter was being stalked by two Bf110 nightfighters. He knew of their presence when cannon and machine gun fire spat forth. As they took evasive action the gunners returned fire and shot down one of the nightfighters. The second took up the challenge scoring hits and wounding the mid upper gunner. Stirling BF355 survived to fight another day but unfortunately P/O Frank Millen was shot down by a nightfighter and crashed at Epe in Holland.

This was one of the many encounters of S/L Reg Lewis whilst completing his 30 missions at XV Squadron on Stirlings.

Blacksheep
10th Nov 2009, 13:55
For some very moving stories in their own words, there's quite a few here (http://www.rafbombercommand.com/personals_2_dangersofwar.html#br_2_winningavc).

"I was a Flight Commander at the time, I went from Pilot Officer to Squadron Leader in six weeks due to the casualties."

(Bill Reid VC was another of those who learned to fly in the USA.)

Weheka
10th Nov 2009, 19:58
Just finished a reread of Max Hastings book Bomber Command. A quote from a member of 76 Squadron I think sums up the thoughts of a lot of aircrews in 1943.

"If you live on the brink of death yourself, it is as if those who have gone have merely caught an earlier train to the same destination, and whatever that destination is, you will be sharing it soon, since you will almost certainly be catching the next one."

Reading of the early days of the war and the daylight raids with the Blenheims, Whitleys and Wellingtons, you have to wonder at the carnage and wastage of highly trained crews who were sent out on hopeless missions time and time again. It really was a case of "Lions being led by donkeys".

Good to see this thread continues to run with the stories from those days from regle and co, keep it up.

lastgasp
11th Nov 2009, 14:10
regle

I have been slowly working my way through this thread, - undoubtedly the most fascinating and valuable record to appear here, - and to my delight spotted your reference to Len Thorne, the pilot who flew you out to Belgium when you first joined Sabena.

Len, who died some years ago, was my wife's uncle. As you are doubtless aware, he too was an Arnold graduate (having started the war as a probationary Met policeman, in which capacity he was awarded one of the first George Medals for rescuing a large number of people from a burning building). He completed a full tour on Lancasters and subsequently had a long career with Sabena.

I had the pleasure of meeting him in Belgium on a number of occasions, but never had the real opportunity to get to know him well. I have a vague recollection that he was given an award by King Leopold for managing to land him at a fog-bound Brussels during the Congo crisis, when the advised diversion to another country would have cause great loss of face. It would be great to hear any memories you may have of him in the course of your next Sabena instalment.

cliffnemo
12th Nov 2009, 15:19
He says, though, that he can't remember where the extra pilot sat/stood for take-off - can anyone throw light on this? He also remembers that one of the rookie pilots was

Hi Sandisondaughter, Welcome I think that the official position for the bomb aimer during take off and landing was to sit at the rear of the main spar with his back to the spar although I don’t remember any one doing this. On the other hand I do not remember any bomb aimer staying down in the nose on take off, think he just stood behind me ( FE position.) Because of this the best position for any spare ‘bods’ would be sitting with their backs to the main spar, but not twelve of them. Would think the extra pilots would sit on the floor, backs to side of fuselage, and somewhat aft of the main spar just like our twenty soldiers , carried during the Python leave, described in a recent post. Me if I was a spare ? I would be on the rest bed with feet forward against the bulkhead , and also fast asleep.

Would it be possible for you to give us more interesting info, even if only occasionally , I am positive that every one on here would be extremely interested , I certainly am.

regle
12th Nov 2009, 18:11
Cliff, I don't think that the twelve second pilots were all aboard together.Surely,not even our "Leaders" would take the risk of losing thirteen pilots in one aircraft ? I took it that she meant that over a short period Sandy had twelve second dickies. I may be wrong but that is the way I read it. I must confess that the first time I read it I thought the same as you which made me read it again and come to the above conclusion.Regle

johnfairr
12th Nov 2009, 19:12
A long entry, but I did not want to lose the continuity of the action. Apologies if it seems a bit family and boring. JF


72 Sqn – March 1942 – Engagement, Bale-out and move to Biggin Hill

Anyway, as you know by now, I’d been seeing quite a lot of Mum during the time I was at 111 and now 72 and I had a few days leave at the beginning of March and we thought it would be rather nice if we were to become engaged. Now in those days it was the usual thing for the prospective son-in-law to see the father-in-law and ask for the hand of his daughter. Well we’d been down to Monkhams that night (The Monkhams Inn was a pub about half a mile from 76 Kings Avenue, near Roding Valley Station, and a favourite of Ferdie and Else, who continued to frequent it right up till the ‘60s), and we came back and Mum knew I was going to speak to Ferdie about this and she and Else (mother in law of RJHR) went into the kitchen and I said to Ferdie,

“Can I have a word with you?”

“Yes, alright.”

So we went into the lounge and with some trepidation I said that Con and I would like to become engaged if it’s alright with you. Well he seemed fairly pleased with the idea but said he’d rather we waited to get married for a year or so. We didn’t mind, having surmounted the first hurdle. Now at that time I had about £10 in the bank and a tax rebate, so having collected the tax rebate, Mum and I went up to the City and bought the engagement ring which I placed on your mothers’ hand on the 10th March in the Queens’ Brasserie. But Mum took it off again, because Ferdie rather wanted us to become engaged on his birthday, which, if I remember rightly, was the 11th March.

I went back to the squadron highly delighted and full of myself and the lads were quite pleased, because they’d heard nothing but my talking about Mum day in and day out, which may surprise you, young John.

The weather was picking up, we did quite a few sweeps of which I was on eight in March We went to various places, Boulougne, Calais, Dunkirk, Abbeville and a place called Massingguard, which I’ve never yet managed to find on any map. All I remember is that it was quite a long way into France, but we met very little opposition, I didn’t get a squirt at a Hun anyway. We met them, but they wouldn’t play and we got to ignore the flak unless it came very close; there was no great panic about it, particularly over Abbeville. If you went one side of the river, I can never remember which, you got flak all round you, but if you went the other side of the river you got very little flak at all, which was quite good.

On the 14th March we were due to escort six Bostons to Le Harve which we didn’t mind a bit, inasmuch as the Bostons were quite fast and they didn’t hang about once they’d bombed the target which gave us a little more scope to have a crack at anything that came up. Well on this particular occasion we had to hang around in the Ops Room after being briefed and whilst there was nothing doing the Intelligence Officer, a Sqn Ldr Derfour decided that we could have a little chat from a Sqn Ldr who’d baled out a few days before and finished up in the Channel. As I said before, very few of us had ever baled out and any information was good for us. Well, I sat next to Brain Kingcome while the talk was going on, and the chap was explaining how he’d pulled up into a slow roll, hung on his back, undone his straps and dropped out. Brian turned to me and said,

“I don’t believe that method, Robbie, it’s a lot easier to shove the stick forward and get hurled out.”

Well I didn’t think any more about it and we picked up these Bostons, went across to Le Harve and there was a fair amount of flak and I’m not sure if I got hit, to be honest. Anyway, coming back, about halfway across the Channel, glycol started pouring out like mad and the engine was making funny noises. My Number 2 called up and said that I was on fire and bale out. Well on the 14th March it was very, very cold, very bleak, there were enormous waves which had great white tops on them and I didn’t fancy finishing up in the drink at all. We passed a couple of coasters, quite near our coast and my Number 2 was calling,

“Get out, get out”

And I still didn’t fancy it inasmuch as if I’d finished in the sea, with the height of the waves, the coasters probably wouldn’t have seen me anyway and I’d have frozen stiff or drowned or both, so I said,

“No, I’ll put the aircraft down on the beach”.

Well, having got so far near Brighton I thought, ‘Oh well, the beach is probably mined, so I’ll put it down in a field’. Well it was still chuntering along, but by this time a fair bit of smoke had come out and the smoke was coming up through the cockpit and I thought I’d better get out and for some reason I had an idea that if baled out you were given leave. So before I undid my straps and decided to get out I called up my Number 2 and said,

“Is it right you get a weeks leave if you bale out?”

Well his reply was short and to the point.

“Don’t whatsit whatsit” as he was yelling at me to get out.

So having got rid of the hood, or slid it back, I undid all the straps and trimmed the aircraft fully forward, and I thought, well I’ll take my hands off the stick and give a mighty push and I should be hurled out. Well having trimmed it fully forward, the minute I let go of the stick, the nose dropped and the next thing I knew I was floating about in the air. Now I looked up and I couldn’t see any parachute and I thought I must be upside down, so I looked between my legs and there was still no parachute. I looked round and found I hadn’t pulled the ripcord, which I did a bit smartly and, a second or so later, there was a satisfying thump and the parachute opened. I must say it’s a very soothing experience, to float about 1500’ up, it’s so quiet it’s amazing. The only thing was that the aircraft was still on fire and flying round and round on its own and I had visions of it colliding with me, but it didn’t.

Sitting in my parachute harness, surveying the landscape, I found there were fields all around except for one large copse and that seemed to be the place where I was headed. Now I know that if you pull on one side of the rigging the parachute will go one way and if pull on the other side it will go in the opposite direction, but there’s no method by which you can keep the parachute up there any longer than the force of gravity will allow. As I didn’t want to land any faster than I would normally do, I just let the parachute take me and I was dragged backwards through quite a few trees and eventually came to quite a pleasant halt, stuck in the top of the tree. So I undid my harness and climbed down and made my way to the edge of the copse, through a hedge and lo and behold, in the road, just the other side of the hedge was one old dear, who looked at me as I came through the hedge, and said,

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

I said ‘No thank you very much’, crawled out, and waved to my number 2 to show that I was alright and he disappeared back to Gravesend.

Now just after that a lady doctor arrived in her car and picked me up and took me to the nearest military base, which happened to be a Canadian dental centre. Now these characters had seen me fly over, emitting vast amounts of smoke and seen the other Spitfire and naturally assumed that the Spitfire had shot down a Jerry and I was the Jerry. So the CO, a colonel, had armed everybody with rifles and revolvers and anything else he could lay his hands on and they were all set to come out and pick me up and I think they were quite disappointed when I arrived.

Anyway, they were quite nice to me and I was bit scruffy, but they took me into the Officers’ Mess and forced a large whisky on me, and as you know I can’t stand whisky, but I managed to get it down. The only snag was, I’d left my pipe at Gravesend on the window ledge of the dining room, I remember it well. So they gave me a cigar and I smoked that, had a very nice meal, then the CO gave me his car and driver and I was taken to Shoreham.

There was a small hospital at Shoreham where I spent the night and had a check-up and the following morning I was taken to Shoreham aerodrome where the lads were going to fly me back to Gravesend in a Lysander. Well I must admit I wasn’t too popular with the lads at Shoreham. They had an air-sea rescue base there with a Walrus and they’d watched me coming across the Channel with smoke and everything else billowing out and they were looking forward to doing a bit of air-sea rescue and getting another notch on their gun-barrel or whatever they do and they were most upset when I chugged across Shoreham, still emitting smoke and baled out farther on! Anyway, they put me in this Lysander and took me back to Gravesend and to sit in the back of a Lysander when it lands is quite an experience. To begin with, when it slows down, enormous sort of shutters shoot out of the wing with a helluva clatter and it drops almost vertically, but they got me there quite safely.

Now, having landed I felt quite the little hero and I was walking up to the dispersal and spoke to Brian, Brian Kingcome, who congratulated me on getting out and getting home alright and I felt quite chuffed until he said,

“There is one point, Robbie, you don’t have to tell all the bloody German Air Force, you’re going to bale out!”

I felt quite a little hero for a time, especially when I had to explain exactly what it was like getting out and what I did and how, but my number 2 still insisted I would have been better off jumping into the Channel, with which I did not agree.

airborne_artist
12th Nov 2009, 20:56
a place called Massingguard, which I’ve never yet managed to find on any mapSounds like Mazingarbe in the Pas-de-Calais, here (http://maps.google.co.uk/maps?q=Mazingarbe,+Pas-de-Calais&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-GB:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&hq=&hnear=Mazingarbe,+France&gl=uk&ei=UYT8SouyKIiu4QaGsfyPBw&sa=X&oi=geocode_result&ct=title&resnum=1&ved=0CAgQ8gEwAA).

From Wiki:

"The creation of a treatment plant and coal processing plant in 1896, which later became a large chemical complex, significantly enhanced the town......The Second World War (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_World_War) didn’t spare the town either. An Allied (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allied) aerial bombardment of the factories and mines, in September 1943, claimed 27 civilian victims."

cliffnemo
13th Nov 2009, 10:15
Cliff, I don't think that the twelve second pilots were all aboard together
I thought on reading the post that risking twelve pilots in one aircraft unusual. However my mind started to wander as usual, and I thought of the two merchant ships filled with rifles and ammunition steaming towards the middle East. One was torpedoed, the one carrying the ammunition ..

' Mine is not to reason why.........' ?

regle
13th Nov 2009, 14:09
Lastgasp, you had me foxed for a little while until I realised that you had the wrong King when you said that King Leopold had decorated your Wife's Uncle . Leopold 11 had been forced to abdicate by his Nation because of his behaviour at the invasion of Belgium. Leopold 1 was the founder and tyrant of the Belgian Congo and it would have been King Baudouin that decorated Len. I wonder whether the coincidence can stretch further as the King was gracious enough to make me a "Chevalier de l'ordre de la Couronne" for events which took place many years later ? I suspect it would be the same as it is a decoration reserved for non Belgians.
I have sent you a PM. All the best , Regle

regle
15th Nov 2009, 16:39
As time went by I rose up the promotion ladder. We were still being paid a bonus on every hour over 50 each month and we were paid more for flying the more modern and , usually bigger aircraft. This led to the common practice of people who, for one reason or another, could not exceed 50 hours , "offering their flights to friends who could, to the benefit of both parties, Strangely enough, "Rostering" never seemed to complain about this practice. I wonder why ! It was quite common to exceed 100 hrs. per month as there was no limitations on flying hours.
One day, in a Convair 240, I was just about to land at London airport , when a gigantic Air Canada Constellation taxied on to the runway in front of me. I was at about forty feet and had cut my power and realised that I was too low to overshoot with the "Connie" in front of me so I ,literally, bounced it over the Constellation. There wasn't much runway left and I had to brake and reverse hard. Later, a very cool (British!) passenger told me that he had seen the three tails of the "Connie" pass under his window and had then seen his glasses slide to the end of his nose and back again. Oh !, I forgot. As it happened I was being "line checked" by my Chief Pilot,Europe, Marcel Vanderverren. He didn't say a word. He just sat there, white as a sheet and didn't speak for about five minutew. He later sent me a very nice letter of commendation. I heard , but cannot confirm, that the hapless Canadian had become hopelessly lost whilst taxying out and had taxied on to the runway thinking that it was the taxiway.

Belgium was now preparing for the World Exposition that was to be held in Brussels in the summer of 1958. They were quite ruthless. The city was torn apart and a network of very fine roads and ring roads with underpasses was built. Even the ubiquitous trams went underground and their systems were extended to the suburbs and became more like trains, with level crossings being built in the respective boroughs.
Notorious black spots had underpasses built beneath them and although it was chaotic for a long period, you could eventually drive from one side of the city to the other without encountering a traffic light and for decades afterwards, Brussels was left with a very fine road system.

The Atomium was built and the Exhibition grounds at the Heysel were taking shape. The replica medieval village, "Joyeuse Belgique" or, to give it it's jollier Flemish name "Frollijke Belgie", became an integral part of Belgian night life. Sabena crews would go straight from their flights to the village where it's numerous Cafes, Bistro's and Restaurants never closed from the opening of the Expo, welcomed them amd they would be joined by their wives and partners who believed in the old adage about what to do if you could'nt beat 'em.
One of the British architects responsible for the building of the British Pavilion had conveniently left a cleverly constructed secret entry into the Exhibition Grounds and it was hilarious to join a group of elegantly dressed Diolomats and their guests, after one of the numerous Embassy parties , sneaking in by the back door, to continue the revelry.

In those pre EU days the British Colony was quite small but had a very good , well organised social life. Amongst the British Pilots of Sabena ,we found that we had become the Uncles and Aunts to each other's children who had left their real relatives behind in the U.K. The British Royal Cricket Club was one of the leading lights of the social life. It had existed since 1815 when the Guards had played Cricket, before the Battle of Waterloo, in Brussel's lovely "Bois de la Cambre" and had continued by playing in the Dutch league and friendlies with many British visitors. We once played the crew of a British submarine that had made it's way up the Canal system to Brussels. We paid a visit to their boat afterwards and the ladies all remarked how gallant the crew were in helping them out of the bottom of the conning tower as they stepped out. We didn't tell them that the crew drew lots for the job of sitting at the bottom as they descended. the ladder ! I always remember one of the Officers telling us that he had had a wonderful night out the night before and had not been allowed to pay for a drink. We offered to take him back there but he could'nt remember where it was but he remembered it was called by a girl's name , "Stella " and we were so drunk we even tried to find it ! Regle

Union Jack
15th Nov 2009, 17:23
We once played the crew of a British submarine that had made it's way up the Canal system to Brussels. We paid a visit to their boat afterwards and the ladies all remarked how gallant the crew were in helping them out of the bottom of the conning tower as they stepped out. We didn't tell them that the crew drew lots for the job of sitting at the bottom as they descended.

It was always an unwritten rule in the Royal Navy that officers should invariably precede ladies down ladders, and follow them up ladders - an early exercise in health and safety, I believe!:rolleyes:

Jack

PS Knock! Knock! Who's there? Nicholas! Nicholas who? Nicholas girls should never go down in submarines ......:D

kookabat
15th Nov 2009, 22:21
I was at about forty feet and had cut my power and realised that I was too low to overshoot with the "Connie" in front of me so I ,literally, bounced it over the Constellation.

Unreal!

Next you'll be telling us something about being upside down in a Halifax over a German city or something... :)

Tabby Badger
16th Nov 2009, 06:23
Could your Submariner have been referring to the &quot;Stella Maris&quot;, which is an international organisation that provides Seafarers' Centres throughout the world? I was thrown out of one with a Merchant Navy pal sometime in the seventies. Tilbury, I think it was... The memory has always been a bit fuzzy about that night. TB

regle
16th Nov 2009, 11:16
I realise that I may have been rather obscure when I told the story about the good time that the Submariner had in the pub called "Stella". Stella Artois is probably the best known beer from Belgium and every single pub has "Stella" emblazoned somewhere on the premises. Note that I say best known and will not stray further! Regle

regle
16th Nov 2009, 11:39
See post 408. P21. Regle.

Tabby Badger
16th Nov 2009, 13:59
No Reg, not obscure at all. I lived in Belgium myself for 4 years on a posting to SHAPE at Mons. I just recalled a similar but opposite confusion on my part...

johnfairr
17th Nov 2009, 19:10
News of old chums.

I still kept in touch with Dickie Freeborne, my ITW chum and we used to explain what each of were doing in our various theatres. Dickie always wanted to be a fighter pilot, as did most of us, instead of which, he got posted to Hampdens. I gather that their losses were pretty horrific and even if the aircraft got back they sometimes had a job winching the body of the rear gunner out. It didn’t sound very nice to me. In one letter, Dickie casually mentioned that he’d a bit of trouble over Brest and had to come back on one engine, it was bit hairy. I didn’t think a great deal about it, all sorts of strange things were happening in those days, but what amazed me was that not long after there was a piece on the radio about an officer who had done the same thing as Dickie and they made a big thing of it and the chap got the DFC. I don’t think Dickie even got a thank you.

It wasn’t all good news in March. I had a letter from Kay, Derek Olvers’ wife, saying that Derek had been killed on March 15th when he was instructing on Oxfords. From what I could gather, he was stationed up at Grantham and two of them had taken off in fairly close company and they were flying into the sun, lost track of each other and collided.
I think Derek was so bad, they wouldn’t let Kay go and identify him, which rather put a pall of gloom over everything. It was nothing unusual to lose a lot of people, but when they happened to be your close friends it did make you think a bit.

By March 1942 I’d got some 170 hours on Spitfires and really, it was a most beautiful aircraft, it rarely gave any mechanical trouble and was such joy to fly. It was very delicate on the controls and it gave you such a feeling of confidence, it just wasn’t true. I must admit that when setting out for any sweep or convoy patrol or whatever, you never really quivered with worry or fright, well at least 90% of us didn’t. You got in the aircraft and just wondered how many you’d shoot down that day. In my case it wasn’t many and not for a long time, but at least you felt that you had an aircraft that could outfight anything that the Germans had to offer.


72 Sqn – April 1942 - Sweeps, more sweeps and first “Confirmed” (or not?)


In April the weather took a turn for the better and we did a lot more sweeps. I think I did sixteen all told in April, which was about twice as many as I did in March and as usual we went to St Omer, Gravelines, Le Touquet. Le Touquet was quite good, you got a fair bit of flak from there, Dunkirk, Dieppe, Boulounge and so forth and with Brian Kingcome leading you, you could almost go to sleep, particularly if it was a Wing do and Jamie Rankin was flying as number 1 of the wing. Both of them were superb pilots, had phenomenal eyesight and were as cool and collected as anyone you could imagine. You had such confidence in them, you felt that, you know, you could happily doze in your cockpit until Brian called up and said,

“Right, here we go boys!”

Naturally, no one dozed in their cockpits, we all switched our heads from side to side and in and out and I was very thankful for the silk scarf Mum had bought me. Now that’s something that may seem a bit of a line-shoot when you see pilots with silk scarves dangling from their necks, but in actual fact it was most necessary, because you had to look, obviously, right, left and backwards and the visibility back in the Spit was not wonderful and if you just had a collar and tie, by the time you’d finished your first trip, your neck was so sore you couldn’t move. So we flew without ties and with a silk scarf round, because a.) it made it easier to swivel your head without being sore and b.) if you finished up in the drink at least you could wave your white silk scarf, at least that was the idea.

It wasn’t until the 14th April 1942 that I actually fired my guns in anger, which may seem a bit strange inasmuch as I’d joined an operational squadron at the end of September 1941, but even then there were people who’d been in longer than I had who’d never fired at anything apart from a ground target. On this occasion we’d been doing a sweep over Gris Nez and we got quite badly jumped and we were flung around in all directions and I managed to find a 190 which seemed to be a bit lost, so I fired like mad at it, but being over keen, anxious and a rotten shot, I didn’t allow enough deflection and all I did was waste a lot of ammunition, but it was quite exciting to get chased round and round.

As I said before, the joy of flying a Spit is that you can outturn anything and provided you had enough petrol, and there aren’t too many of the other aircraft, you can get away with it. Anyway, I nearly ran out of petrol on this occasion and I landed at Detling on the way back, got refuelled and went back to Biggin Hill, where we’d moved to from Gravesend on March 23rd.

We were getting a lot more flak when we went across to France now, but although we saw lots of enemy aircraft, they often wouldn’t play but would hover around the outside and I can’t think why. We were quite badly jumped on one occasion on 24th April and the squadron got split up and I and my number 2, an American, Pilot Officer Fran, got chased by a couple of 190s. Now I must admit the 190 is some aircraft. To start with it’s a lot faster than a Vb, it seems to have all the ammunition in the world and they’d start firing from miles out of range, which is sometimes a bit frightening, especially when you can see all the flashes coming from the gun-ports. Anyway, on this occasion one 190 shot down behind us and my number 2, like an idiot, decided he’d take off after it. I yelled at him to come back, because there was another 190 coming down behind my number 2. By this time there was really no hope for my number 2, because the second 190 overhauled him like mad and although I tried to chase down after him, I couldn’t get within range and my number 2 was shot down which although it was unfortunate at the time, was the only occasion in the whole of my ops career that I lost a number 2, which is not a bad record.

The 190 decided to stay and fight and we went round and round in circles for a while, which was alright from my point of view because the Spit would outturn anything and eventually I managed to get a few hits on him and he decided to call it a day and beetled off towards France. Now I followed, still banging away and he started to smoke and eventually was going down almost vertically at a heck of a lick, through a cloud base of about 2000’. Well I certainly wasn’t going to go through the cloud at that altitude at the speed we were doing, so I pulled up and came home. Now when I landed at Biggin Hill, the others had come back and the discussion was of various fights and Brian Kingcome was quite pleased with me when I explained what had happened, which was afterwards confirmed by my camera-gun. He asked me if I’d seen flames coming out of the enemy aircraft and I had to admit, no, just a wodge of black smoke and the rate at which it was going down. He said, “Well I can’t see anything coming out of that, I reckon you should have a “confirmed””, which made me highly delighted so I wrote in my log-book “One FW 190 Confirmed”.

About two days later I was told that the powers that be had decided that as I hadn’t seen flames coming out of the aircraft and hadn’t actually seen it crash then I could only have a probable, which was more than annoying.

Before we went on any sweep, all pilots had to attend a briefing and on 27th April we presented ourselves to the briefing room, on one wall of which was a large map covering Southern England and most of Northern France. They’d run strips of ribbon from Biggin Hill to wherever we were supposed to be going. Well on this occasion our piece of ribbon seemed to go on for miles and finished up over Lille. Now Lille wasn’t a very popular place with us and on this occasion we were taking twelve Bostons and it didn’t take a great deal of imagination for the Germans to realise where we were going once we’d crossed the coast.

We got flak nearly all the way but very few enemy aircraft until we got closer to Lille when we saw all their con-trails way above us. Now if we were told to stay at a certain height to protect the bombers, it’s uncomfortable when you see con-trails way above you and knowing that the Germans can pick their own time to come down and knock holes in you. Well I was flying number 2 to Jamie Rankin on this day and my job was to see that he got home alright. We got jumped as we expected, there was nothing we could do about it and, I must admit, I sweated blood. The 190s would come down in batches of four, two would make an attack and whilst we were trying to dodge those, the other two would come down, whilst the first two climbed up and then came down again. Jamie would wait till the last second before calling out to break. Now we were chased from Lille back over the Channel and I didn’t fire my guns once, I was far too busy trying to keep with Jamie and trying to avoid the 190s. Again, I ran out of fuel and had to land at Detling, get refuelled, then go back to Biggin.

The following day we had quite nice sweep between Gris Nez and Calais and it was much nearer home and that’s more my idea of fun and one 190 attacked ‘A’ Flight which was being led then by “Timber” Woods who had taken over from Pete Wickham. Now “Timber” and I managed to damage the 190 but he got away and no one else fired at all.

Wiley
20th Nov 2009, 23:26
Peter Jensen's story.

During 1938, an advertisement appeared in the Australian newspapers offering applicants a chance to join the RAF on short term commissions. I applied, and so did thousands of other hopefuls. I was interviewed by a panel of Air Force officers at Victoria Barracks (Sydney) and heard no more. However, when war broke out a year later and I applied to join the RAAF, along with thousands of others. Confusion reigned, and in an attempt to get some order, in March 1940, an announcement was made in the newspapers for everyone who’d applied for the RAAF to apply again. Apparently, they’d lost all the initial applications!

Eventually, I was called up for an interview and a medical examination, told I was accepted for pilot training, given a lapel badge and told to wait for a call-up. In the meantime, I spent three hours two nights a week at the gas company’s office at Eastwood learning basic Morse code, aerodynamics, navigation and maths. The word eventually came to present myself at the Dalgety’s building at Woolloomooloo, and on 2nd February 1941, where we took the oath, handed in our lapel badges and boarded a bus for No 2 Initial training Depot at Bradfield Park.

At last, I was in the Air Force!

In due course, we arrived at Bradfield Park – a grim collection of corrugated iron buildings and a hard stony parade ground. We were issued with a uniform and other clothing and went on a life of mind-bashing lessons and square-bashing drill. It was a particularly hot summer, and combined with the inoculations and vaccinations, this made the going extremely tough. Some of the chaps couldn’t stand the pace and disappeared from sight without fanfare.

One day we were marched down to the rifle range for our first shoot with .303 SMLE rifles. We were shooting from a corrugated iron building, which was like an echo chamber. When the first men were shooting, I could feel the concussion on my eardrums and asked a corporal if there were any ear plugs, but the answer was “no”. When my time came to shoot, I plugged my left ear with the end of my handkerchief, took aim and fired. I felt as if a bullet had gone into one ear and out the other and my ears were blocked with a loud screaming noise. I finished the rounds in the magazine and stood up. I could hear nothing but the scream in my ears, and decided that my ear drums were ruptured and I was probably deafened for life. What to do? I knew that if I reported sick I would be discharged – what ignominy!! I imagined going back to Hungerford Spooner (my old employer) and saying I couldn’t make the grade! It was unthinkable, so I decided to tough it out.

After shooting instruction, we were marched back to barracks and later out to the parade ground for rifle drill. I got myself in the back row, and as I couldn’t hear the orders, I just followed the bloke in front.

For the next few days, I managed to get away with it in the class room. I sneaked glimpses of what the fellow next to me was writing and would write the same in my book. Slowly, my hearing came back, and after a week or so, I could hear reasonably well, but I told no one about the problem and hoped it would never be discovered. However, to this day, I have tinnitus and if I am ever subject to loud noises, it starts my ears ringing again.

After a month at Bradfield Park, we were marched into the drill hall and told that the musterings we had on entry had been cancelled and that we would now be re-mustered. There were three officers sitting at a table on the stage and we were told to sit on the floor and as our name was called out, we had to stand up at attention while the officers sized us up and pronounced – pilot, navigator or WOP/AG.

After a while, it became obvious how the selection method worked. The big athletic blokes became pilots, the studious, intelligent ones navigators, and the dregs were WOP/AGs. When my name came, I bounced to my feet, stood as tall as I could, puffed out my chest – all to no avail – the dreaded initials were uttered – “WOP/AG”.

The next day, we WOP/AGs were marched back to the drill hall and told that of the 152 of us, 80 were to remain in Australia for training and 72 were to go to Canada. Problem: how to sort us out, as they would like to give each person what he wished.

“First of all,” said the officer, “naturally, the married men will want to stay in Australia, so all those married, go over to the wall.”

Some of our number crossed the room.

“Now,” said the officer, “Any others who wish to stay in Australia, go over and join them.”

Several others crossed the room.

By this stage, the married chaps were grumbling amongst themselves and one called out “Why can’t we go to Canada?”

“OK,” said the officer, “Anyone wanting to go to Canada, come back here.”

Some of them returned. Numbers were counted and it was found that 80 wanted to stay in Australia and 72 wanted to go to Canada!! We were then sent home for the weekend and we “Canadians” were told to report to the Embarkation Depot on Monday.

Wiley
21st Nov 2009, 05:02
No 2 Embarkation Depot was next door to No 2 ITD, with similar buildings. Here we were kitted out in flying gear, winter uniform and greatcoat and lots of little items like a bible, ‘housewife’ (sewing and cleaning materials) and all sorts of things – including ear plugs! Time was taken up mainly with PT, drill, route marches etc. Then one day came a most memorable occurrence. Even though it was early March, the weather was extremely dry and hot, and we went on a 5 mile route march with rifle and fixed bayonet – and respirators on! If you have ever worn a respirator, (commonly, but incorrectly called gas mask), you will appreciate the difficulty. Each breath has to be sucked through several inches of charcoal and is a great physical effort. On return to camp, we stacked rifles and had to run around the parade ground several times until we were gasping for air, with sweat running down our bodies. Then we had to go into the gas chamber in groups, remove the respirators and keep running around the chamber three times before we were let out. We were puffing and panting so much that it was impossible to hold one’s breath, so we breathed in the gas several times before we got out into the air.

The gas was so-called tear gas – one of the Di-phenyl-amine-chorazine group – but it was like having a lung full of razor blades. The NCOs thought it was a great joke. As we came out of the gas chamber, they told us (in between laughter) to stand facing the breeze and breathe deeply. Most of us just rolled around on the ground with phlegm etc coming out of our mouth, nose and eyes. I was sure that a terrible mistake had been made and that we had a received a dose of chlorine. However, we all got over it in a couple of hours, but it is an experience I will never forget.

After a fortnight at 2ED, we were told we would be leaving within a week and that those living nearby could go home each night and come back in the morning ready to embark. No one would know which day it would be until the morning of departure.

Eventually, on the 21st of March 1941, we were told to pack kitbags and were driven in buses to the wharf and marched on to the good ship ‘Aorangi’. As dusk fell, we sailed through the Heads to open sea. I remember lining the rail with several others as we watched, in silence, as darkness closed in. Then one of our number, John Anderson, voiced our thoughts: “I wonder if we will ever see that again?” Unfortunately, John was one of those who didn’t. He was later killed in North Africa.

Our journey to Canada on the Aorangi was a wonderful holiday. We travelled as tourist class passengers together with a number of civilian fare-paying passengers. Some of the chaps were lucky enough to score First Class cabins, but others were in steerage. I had a Tourist Class cabin with three others, so I couldn’t complain. Apart from a parade every morning and a couple of lectures, we spent the time relaxing, reading and playing deck games, all in all a pleasant holiday. We stopped at Suva for two days, called in on Christmas Island and Fanning Island, depots of the overseas telegraph line.

After three weeks on board, we arrived at the capital of British Columbia on Victoria Island. After a route march around the island, we boarded ship and next day sailed into Vancouver harbour. We were marched straight on to a train, told that our destination was Winnipeg, and sent off, much to our disappointment at not having had any time to have a look around Vancouver. We travelled in ancient wooden carriages, but they were quite comfortable. The windows were double-glazed and the seats converted into bunks at night. Climbing the Rockies was exciting, most of us seeing snow for the first time and we had lots of fun in it at the various stops. One morning we stopped for a couple of hours at Banff and the scenery to our breath away. We also had our first sighting of a ‘Mountie’, scarlet coat and all. He was very patient as we all took photos of him, (unfortunately, of course, in black and white). Finally, we left the Rockies and set out across the endless prairies, and finally, after three days and nights on the train, reached Winnipeg, the capital of Manitoba Province.

Winnipeg was a beautiful little city of 300,000 people, and an unusual feature is that instead of clocks on the tall buildings, they have (or had then at least) dial thermometers. The day we arrived there they were registering 32 degrees F (freezing point).

After looking at the Wireless School of Tuxedo, we were given the rest of the day off so we went sight-seeing into the centre of town. While 32 degrees is quite cold, we found the worst aspect was the cold wind which blew unchecked across the vast open spaces of the prairie. We spent most of the time inside the centrally heated shops. When we decided to change shops, it was a mad dash from one to the other, being careful not to slip (or worse, do the splits) on the frozen pavements.

With summer coming on, it soon warmed up and the cold became just a memory. In its place came a worse nuisance – mosquitoes! Fortunately, our huts were well screened and there was plenty of insect spray, but parades were torture - you stood at attention while the mozzies chewed you to pieces. However, apart from the mozzies, we had a great time. Accommodation was far superior to what it was in Australia. Spring bunks with mattresses, sheets and pillows instead of a straw palliasse on an iron frame with only a grey blanket. The food was good and the huts were an ‘H’ shape, the middle part being the ablutions, with plenty of hot water for the showers.

Discipline was slack – the NCOs were friendly and used to join in with us when we played softball or cricket, not like back home where the NCOs were like paranoid bulls. The civilians were wonderful and practically fell over themselves wanting to entertain us. It used to be embarrassing when you arranged to visit one family and another would ring to ask when you would visit them again. Our five months at Tuxedo was a happy and memorable time.

One thing that really staggered me was how better educated we were compared with the Canadians, and to a lesser extent, the New Zealanders. Most of our chaps had, like me, left school at 15, after passing the Intermediate Certificate, but our standard was roughly the same as the Canadians who’d left school at 18. Our grasp on everything was far superior, especially in arithmetic. The Canucks couldn’t do any mental arithmetic. They needed a paper and pencil for everything.

In my course, there were 72 Aussies, 72 NZers and 50 Canucks, and in practically every exam, the first 10 would consist of something in the order of eight Aussies and two New Zealanders. The first Canucks would come in around 11th or 12th. From what I heard, this was much the same at other EATS* schools. (*Empire Air Training Scheme)

During the final examinations, as the results were coming out, I was leading the field, (much to my surprise). One of my mates, Alan Marriott, was right behind me until the last subject, Practical Radio, when I made a stupid mistake which put Alan out in front. Anyway, second isn’t bad!

regle
21st Nov 2009, 10:38
No need to say "Keep it up " with your record, Wiley, but it is so interesting to read of what I went through but in so different a way and to such a different set of rules. It was interesting to see how the Aussies came first when previous education came into it and I would say that this leadership quality was reproduced when it came to nationalities on the Squadrons. Certainly the first Mosquito Squadron to be formed in the R.A.F. had an Australian Station Commander, "Groupie Kyle, later Sir Wallace, and of course the venerated "Hughie " Edwards V.C. D.S.O. D.F.C. etc as Squadron Commander and later, the Governor of Western Autralia. There were also Australian Flight Commanders such as Bill Blessing . I remember several Canadian Pilots and it is true that there were many New Zealander Observers as we called them in those days ( They sported the Flying keyhole to use an euphism ! ). In my own training at I.T.W. it was always the Scots who surpassed everybody in the more celebral of the courses such as Maths, Navigation etc. I remember that there seemed to be a preponderance of "Geordies " and Canadian Air gunners and Irish W/op A.G's. Possibly the Geordie strain might have come from the traditional stature of mining communities but the rest ? Apropos that, the W/Op. A.G., in the later stages i.e. 1943 onwards, of the Bomber Command offensive , very rarely, if ever, fired a gun in anger as the nose gun was taken out as superfluous in Lancs. and Halifaxes. There was, but not often seen, a category of pure W/op.who had not received any gunnery training. Thanks a lot for an extremely interesting story and I wonder what "Health and Safety " would make of the training today ?

Wiley
21st Nov 2009, 11:43
From the Wireless School, we went to Gunnery School at a small town on the shores of Lake Winnipeg called Portage La Prairie. This was great fun, flying in Fairey Battles shooting at drogues towed by other aircraft, or at splash targets, and when the pilot got bored, we’d fly low over the shoreline, sending up ducks by the thousand. We would fire into the masses of them – you could even see tracer flying everywhere – but the ducks would fly on unconcerned. Only once did I knock a few feathers out of one of them, but it didn’t seem to worry it. It was a sobering realisation of how difficult air to air gunnery really is.

Sometimes, when the pilots really got their blood up, they would indulge in some violent aerobatics. It was great!

I really enjoyed Gunnery School, and, again to my amazement, I did well and actually topped the course. Came the great day on 29th September 1941, I was presented with an AG wing and promoted to Sergeant.

Next day, we packed our kit, and, armed with a rail warrant, set off for the Embarkation Depot at Halifax. We were allowed an extra couple of days to get there, so my mate Bill Hughes and I stopped off at Toronto, Montreal and Niagara Falls and eventually arrived at Halifax on a cold dark wet day. Winter was on the way and the warm sunny happy days of Winnipeg were well in the past.

The day after arriving at Halifax, I learned that I had been commissioned along with three others – Alan Marriott, Keith Anderson and Tom Joseph – so we left our mates and moved to the Officers’ Mess. I was sad to leave the others, but soon found out how lucky I was. A few days later, we were lined up on the parade ground and marched to the wharves and on to an Armed Merchant Cruiser named ‘Wolfe’. The ship had originally been French, and named ‘Montcalm’, but was commandeered by the British on the fall of France. (General Wolfe defeated General Montcalm on the heights of Quebec.)

The plan was that ‘Wolfe’, together with two other armed merchant cruisers, would cross the Atlantic together, but what a trip! I suddenly realised that the fun was over and that there was a war on!

The ship was Spartan, stripped for action, and while I had a cabin, as did the other Pilot Officers, the rest of the boys were in the hold sleeping on the floor! We spent most of the night hours at boat stations, continual U-Boat alarms. One of the other ships was hit by a torpedo, but we didn’t stop. Next morning, he was only a smudge of smoke on the horizon. They told us later that he limped into Belfast.

We arrived eventually in Greenock, Scotland, in a harbour full of shipping, commercial and military, with a Catalina practising circuits and splashes amongst it all!! We were marched off the ship and on to a train. After the immense Canadian trains, it appeared so tiny that it looked like a toy. It was getting on to dark, drizzling with rain, cold, miserable and gloomy – how we missed the bright lights of Winnipeg!

We were not told our destination. (We were to find out later that it was Bournemouth, but it was kept secret, as the King and Queen were visiting the ‘Empire Troops’ there that day. We cursed our luck by missing them by one day.) We rattled on all night and as dawn rose, we arrived in London, a short stop and on to Bournemouth. We had our first view of bombed out houses, even though we had seen pictures of bomb damage in newspapers and newsreels, but seeing the real thing for the first time was quite traumatic.

I can’t remember how long I had in Bournemouth, two or three weeks or thereabouts. I visited a tailor, (Austin Reed of Regent Street), and was measured for uniforms, greatcoat, caps, and purchased shoes, shirts etc and eventually looked like an officer (but didn’t feel like one). Time was spent usually at lectures in the mornings and aimlessly wandering about the town in the afternoons. I also went to London twice and each time, spent two days there. I found it a fascinating place.

About the beginning of January 1942, I finally received a posting to the No. 1 RAF base in England – Cranwell. This was an immense organisation like a small city. It housed a couple of flying training schools, a Cadet College, Officers Training College, Signals School, heaps of administrative buildings, shopping areas and God knows what else. I only saw a small part of it. About 20 of us – Aussies, NZers and Canucks were posted there to the Signals School. I think they were appalled at our lack of skill and decided we needed brushing up.

We flew in Percival Proctors, pretty looking single engine monoplanes with spatted undercarriage, and flown by Polish pilots on rest from fighter squadrons. They resented being taken off operational flying and their flying reflected this!

Christmas came and with it, the coldest winter for years. In line with the old Air Force tradition, the officers waited on the airmen for Christmas dinner. My main recollection of this event is that we poured beer for the airmen from jugs which also contained raisins! I have never seen that before or since.

johnfairr
21st Nov 2009, 12:06
Social Life at Biggin Hill – April 1942


I haven’t mentioned much about the social life at Biggin. The Sergeant Pilots were all billeted in what used to be the Station Commanders’ house which was a vast place not too far from the dispersal and I shared a room with Tommy Wright, who’d bought the radio I’d managed to pinch from Hawarden when I ran short of money, which was fairly frequent in those days. It really was a pleasant place, the mess was quite a way, but then all we had to do was ring up transport and say there were pilots waiting to go down to the mess and up would come a 15 cwt van driven by a very nice WAAF, in we’d pile, and go down to the mess. When we wanted to go back again, reverse the procedure, it was great!

All pilots were issued with a .38 revolver and a few rounds of ammunition. We used to practice now and again just in case we landed in France and had to shoot our way out. In actual fact very few of us carried revolvers when we flew, the main reason being there was nowhere to put the thing. We tried sticking it down the side of our flying boots, but it wasn’t too secure and more often than not you’d find the revolver bouncing about in the bottom of the cockpit, so we decided to give that a miss. But occasionally, in the evenings, we’d decide to do a bit of practice from the windows of the billet. We would all lean out the window and fire down at ground targets until we got some irate “erk” who rushed in from the NAAFI saying the ricochets were hitting the NAAFI, so we had to call that off.

George Malan was with us at this time and we’d become very friendly and more often not we used to fly together. (George Malan was the brother of the famous “Sailor” Malan, Group Captain, DSO*, DFC*, one of the highest-scoring pilots in Fighter Command and subsequently Station Commander at Biggin Hill in 1943.) He flew as my number 2 and was quite happy to do so on whatever trip we went on. He had a little tiny Austin 7 for which he had no insurance, no tax, and he’d pinch the petrol from one of our bowsers. On one occasion he was up in Piccadilly, parked the car up there and came out from the shop to find a policeman standing by the car. He said to George,

“Where’s your tax?”

George said, “Oh I haven’t got it, I’ve applied for it.”

“Where’s your Insurance?”

“ I haven’t got that with me”

And with that George got in the car, started up and just left, leaving the policeman standing there.

Sometimes George and I and Pete Fowler, another chap who’d come to us from a Hurricane squadron, used to pile into George’s car and do little trips to pubs, into Westerham and various places and George used to let me drive his car, it was a great little thing, used to go like a bomb, often getting up to as much as 40 mph!

The powers that be decided that it was no good pilots living in the lap of luxury, so they cancelled all our transport and provided each member of the squadron with a bicycle. We got quite used to them I suppose it kept us a little fitter than we might have been. The one good thing about them was that in the summer we used to take 12 bore single-barrelled shotguns, get on our bikes and ride all round the aerodrome chasing rabbits. George and Tommy Wright were pie-hot with a shotgun, they used pot things left, right and centre, but I regret to say I never hit a thing with a 12 bore.

Sometime earlier, Brian Kingcome had told me he’d put me in for a commission. Now at one time, if a Sergeant Pilot was commissioned, it was one way to get him off the squadron. You’d commission him and then make sure he was posted somewhere else, so the first thing I asked Brian was, would I have to leave the squadron? He said in no way, according to him I was quite a valued member of the squadron!

Wiley
21st Nov 2009, 20:40
Shortly after Christmas, I had a week’s leave and spent a couple of days in Paisley (near Glasgow) with relatives of people who lived near us in Gladesville. The only event of interest during this time was visiting a cattle auction. To get to Paisley, I caught the ‘Flying Scotsman’ to Edinburgh. This was a trip I anticipated with pleasure and excitement, but was greatly disappointed, as it was a slow trip, with many unscheduled stops, due no doubt to wartime problems. I stayed overnight at an hotel in Edinburgh and at dinner, I noticed an RAF Squadron Leader - (obviously a WW1 man, with a missing nose) – sitting near me, and when I had finished my meal, he sent the waitress to ask me to join him for a port. I declined the port, but had a coffee with him. He was a very interesting man whose passion was - (of all things) – birds. His ambition was to go to the Macdonnell Ranges (in Australia) and study the birdlife there. I think I made some stupid statement like: “I didn’t think there were any birds there.” He was probably most unimpressed.

I finished the course at Cranwell at the end of January 1942 and we were sent on leave. This time I made arrangements through the Lady Ryder organisation and went to a small village called Rieveaux whose only claim to fame was the ruins of an abbey that was pillaged by the lackeys of King Henry VIII. I was the guest of the squire, an elderly gentleman who was a colonel (Boer War, I presume). It was a fascinating place. He had a family mausoleum on the top of a hill that had the top levelled off. I actually saw one of the yokels touch his forelock as he passed the old boy. There was also a Lord of the Manor, (can’t remember the name), but he wasn’t there and the manor house had been taken over by a tank regiment, and all the once beautiful gardens had been turned into quagmires.

My next posting was to Prestwick near Ayr in Scotland. It was very hush-hush and the equipment we trained on was referred to as S.I. (special installation) or S.E. (secret equipment). It was of course later named radar. Apart from classroom teaching, we also flew in Blackburn Bothas – a nice looking twin engine aircraft, but grossly underpowered. If one engine cut out, it headed to the earth like a streamlined house brick. Luckily, our course had no prangs. Our exercises were to fly over the Irish Sea and home the pilot on to Ailsa Crag, a large rock sticking out of the middle of the sea. With our equipment, you had to be careful, because you could line up the aircraft on the target easily enough, but there was no way of knowing if it was in front or behind you! My mate Pat Morrison, a New Zealander, ‘homed’ his aircraft away from Ailsa Crag. Very embarrassing!

This period was when no one knew the dangers of microwaves and radioactivity and we worked with unshielded equipment. Fortunately, the only problem I had was that my watch was ruined. It used to do all sorts of things, including (I am sure) going backwards. I had to buy a new watch eventually.

This course lasted until the end of March 1942, and after more leave, I was posted to Hooten Park early in May. At this point, it was obvious that I was headed for Coastal Command, as they began teaching us various procedures (W/T and otherwise) related to maritime flying. We flew in Airspeed Oxfords and practised wireless and gunnery.

I left Hooten Park on 7th June 1942 for more leave, mostly in Bournemouth, where I became acquainted with friends of Pat Morrison, the Brown family, who from then until I left England became my home away from home. The family consisted of Mrs May Brown, her sister Elsie, May’s daughter Dorothy and Dorothy’s husband Jim Keep. Dorothy was in the WAAFs, so unless our leaves coincided, I didn’t see much of her. Jim was in the Army and a few weeks after I met him, he was posted to North Africa and I never saw him again until 1978 when we went on a trip to England. I was never told what happened to Mr Brown and never asked. They were a kind and generous family and were a wonderful sanctuary for me to relive normal family life. They introduced me to the Durell family, Mrs Durell, three boys – Lawrence, Leslie and Gerald – and one girl, Margaret. Mr Durell had been a civil engineer and they had spent most of their time in the Far East. Mr Durell died in Burma and the rest of the family lived on Corfu until 1938, when they moved to Bournemouth, bringing their Greek maid Maria with them. They were incredible people and I used to enjoy spending a lot of time with them. After the war, Lawrence became world famous as a poet and author – almost became Poet Laureate, (pipped at the post by John Betjeman), and Gerald became even more famous as a Naturalist and author. He was the first to start breeding programmes for endangered species.

My next posting was to No. 4 (C)OTU at Invergordon, where training became really serious. We were formed up into crews – pilot, navigator, wireless ops and gunners – and went on simulated operations. I can’t remember much of this period, so it couldn’t have been very dramatic. I left Invergordon in mid-July and after another leave, arrived (at last!) on a real operational squadron!!

461 Squadron had just been formed. It was an EATS squadron, unlike 10 Squadron, which was (and still is) a permanent RAAF squadron. Both squadrons at the time were based at Mountbatten, across the bay from Plymouth. Some personnel from 10 Sqn were transferred to 461 to get it going, then it was built up with EATS trainees and some RAF bods, mainly WOMs (Wireless Operator Mechanics). There were none of these in the RAAF, but RAF rules demanded one on each Sunderland. The commanding officer was RAF – Wing Commander Halliday – also the Flight Commander – Squadron Leader Lovelock.

When I arrived in Plymouth I was staggered – I had seen a lot of bomb damage in London and other places, but nothing like this. The whole centre of the city was just a mass of rubble, yet life was carrying on as normal on the outskirts. It was beyond description, yet everyone was going about their business as if all was normal!! What a spirit!

When I arrived at Mountbatten, I was allocated a room in an old building about 50 yards from the Mess called the Annex. I went there and went on a voyage of discovery in and around the building, finally finding the bathroom and decided to have a bath as no one else was around. I got my towel and dressing gown, locked the door and turned on the hot water. It was hot alright, but a muddy brown colour. It must have been rust in the pipes. Anyway, I had a very pleasant bath, put on my best uniform and, as it was nearing 6 PM, set off for the Mess and dinner.

The Mess was a large, imposing building facing Plymouth harbour and was side-on to the Annex. As I approached it, I saw it had a side door on my side, so I thought it would save me a long walk around the front, so I entered by it and was almost knocked down by a figure doing handsprings down the corridor. He had reached the door just as I entered. He had his cap pulled down over his ears and as he stood up, I could see his shining eyes and a large toothy grin splitting his face. There were twelve men lining the corridor cheering and yelling and laughing. He ignored me and made his way back up the corridor.

I turned to the man nearest me and said: “Who was that?”

He looked at me. “461?” he asked.

“Yes.” I said.

“Oh,” he said, "He’s your Flight Commander,” and he turned away in a superior sort of manner.

I was to find out later that 10 Squadron had this superior feeling over 461. Anyway, we showed them – we sank more U-Boats!

I was put on a crew which had already been established and had already flown operationally. The skipper was Bertie Smith, First Pilot Dudley Marrows, navigator Fred Gasgoine, WOM – Smedley (RAF). I have forgotten his Christian name. The WOPs were Les Wilson and John Gamble. The names of the fitter, rigger and engineer I have forgotten.

My job was the tail gunner. I felt pretty useless beside this experienced crew, but they made allowances and soon I became part of them and was allowed an odd turn on the wireless.

Sandisondaughter
21st Nov 2009, 22:50
Cliff, I don't think that the twelve second pilots were all aboard together


Indeed - it was one extra 'bod' in 10 of Dad's last 12 ops (so 10 people in total, one on each op). Sorry to have caused confusion! Dad's last op was to Stuttgart on 20 Feb 44 from Woodhall Spa with 619 squadron (see 619 The History of a Forgotten Squadron by Bryan Clark).

One thing Dad has often talked about is the very mixed feelings at the end of a tour. He said in a letter home 'it was certainly a relief to get off operating for a bit, but there is an unhappy side to it too. All my crew finished with me, and before you could bat an eyelid we were scattered to the four winds....You probably won't realise what it means to have your crew split up. We had been living, eating, and working together for so long, and we had gone through so much together with each man's life depending on the other one. I feel quite lost on my own now'.

Wiley
23rd Nov 2009, 04:49
On August 12 1942, the squadron had its first loss and of all people, it was the commanding officer, Halliday. The night before, we were on an op. and the WOP picked up an SOS. This was received by Group, who ordered out a search kite from 461. Halliday took off – he was the most experienced pilot and had once landed on the open sea. This time he was not so lucky and when they found the crew of the ditched aircraft in their dinghy, he attempted to land, but pranged and all the crew died except the navigator, who survived in a dinghy for five days before being rescued.

The flight commander, Colin Lovelock, took over the squadron. More recruits arrived and crews were re-arranged. Dudley Marrows became a captain and I moved to his crew as No. 2 WOP. No. 1 was a WOM from the RAF, Larry Donnelly. On 16th September, the squadron moved to Poole in Dorset.

My first flight with Bertie Smith was on 26th July, a training flight for 1 hour 10 minutes. The next flight was on 27th July, my first op., which lasted 12 hours 35 minutes. I flew 14 ops with Smith, then transferred to Dudley Marrows on 7th November and flew my first op. with him on 20th November after 12 training flights.

Life settled down to regular flying duties, mostly anti-submarine patrols over the Bay of Biscay or convoy escorts over the Atlantic, occasionally air-sea rescue searches. These became routine and nothing very exciting happened apart from an occasional sighting of an unidentified aircraft – when we ducked into the nearest cloud.

Early in January 1943, I was posted to a town called Chipping Sodbury where Parnalls had a factory producing Frazer Nash turrets, the type fitted to Sunderlands. Here I was taught the intricacies of the turrets. The course lasted only a week, but it was worth the effort.

Back to the squadron and the old routine until 17t March when I was posted to the Central Gunnery School at Sutton Bridge to do a Gunnery Leader’s Course to last two weeks. I turned up there with about 15 others, (can’t remember exactly), mainly from bomber squadrons, the intention being that we would return to our squadrons to be appointed squadron gunnery leaders. Here we were to fly in old Mk Ic Wellington bombers, with Spitfires to provide fighter affiliation.

The day we arrived we were given billets outside the station. I was billeted with a local vicar with a Canadian by the name of Town – can’t remember his Christian name. The next day, we were assembled in a room and the course explained to us. We were also harangued about safety procedures – they hadn’t had a fatal accident for six months and they intended to keep it that way. Anyone not observing correct procedures would be in trouble! We went to the parachute section and were given a combination parachute and Mae West all in one. I have never seen these before or since. Each one was numbered and we had to sign for the one we received. When I had advanced in the queue to be three from its head, the sergeant handing out the parachutes came to number 13 and he said: “No one wants that one,” and was about to throw it back when I said: “I’ll have it.” He gave me a queer look, but gave it to me and I signed.

We went out to the tarmac, where the Wellingtons (known as ‘Wimpies’), were lined up. We were split into fours and allocated an aircraft, which we boarded.

To board a Wimpy, you entered from underneath and climbed up into the aircraft through the second pilot’s position. When everyone was in, a piece of board was put down over the hole and that was the seat for the second pilot. A couple of ‘stirrups’ folded out from the sides of the hole for footrests.

The four gunners on my aircraft were distributed – one in the navigator’s position, one at the wireless, one in the crash position (at the main spar of the wing) and one (me) in the second pilot’s position.

It was a cloudy day, with a low cloud base (about 800 feet). We took off and climbed above cloud into sunshine, then an engine coughed and stopped. I wasn’t too worried – we couldn’t be far from base; surely we could return OK. We dropped down into cloud, then out and below. The first thing I saw were high tension cables in front of us. We missed them – (I don’t know if we went over or under them; I must have closed my eyes). I looked around - no airstrips; only fields, trees, then open countryside. All this time, the pilot had been talking on R/T, but unlike the Sunderland, this did not go through the intercom, so we didn’t know what he was saying to base.

I was still not too concerned and was watching how he was handling the aircraft. I noted he had seven pounds of boost on the good engine, (which was the maximum it could take), and he seemed to be calm. Suddenly he switched over to intercom and said to everyone: “Take your crash positions”, and I saw that we were only a few feet from the ground and heading for an earth wall higher than we were. (I found out later that we were over an old tidal swamp that had been walled in.) I knew that I didn’t have time to get to the crash position, so I braced myself, put my right hand on the windscreen and watched the wall coming towards us and silently called on the pilot to pull back on the stick to get us over the wall. He was a good pilot – he kept calm, held the aircraft down to keep flying speed, then at the last split second, pulled the nose up and got the nose over the wall. The middle of the fuselage hit the top of the wall and broke its back, then ploughed into the earth with a sickening ‘SCRUNCH’.

I was thrown into the windscreen, then dropped down to the bottom of the aircraft in an upright position as it skated along the earth. I remember seeing my legs being mangled amongst the geodetic structure of the fuselage – (the body was built of metal lattice covered in fabric) – and desperately trying to find a hand hold to pull myself out. After a surprisingly long time, the aircraft came to a halt and I was relieved to find I was still alive. However, my relief was short-lived, as I heard what sounded like crackers going off. I looked around and saw that the aircraft was on fire and the ammunition in the turrets was exploding.

I tried to free my legs from the wreckage, but they were totally pinned down. I looked around and where the aircraft had split open, I could see the pilot walking away. Stupidly, I said to myself: “It must have been a good landing.” (There is a saying in the Air Force: ‘Any landing that you can walk away from is a good landing.’) The pilot looked back, saw me, and ran back and started pulling the wreckage off my legs. I thought to myself: “I bet he pulls my right leg. If he does, it will come off.” Sure enough, he grabbed my right leg. I tried to stop him with my hand. He then grabbed my arm and pulled me clear of the wreck. Two other men came running up, grabbed my arms and dragged me about 50 or 60 feet clear of the burning aircraft, then raced back with the pilot to try to rescue the others on board.

I tried to crawl further from the aircraft, knowing that the tanks could explode at any second. But somehow, my limbs didn’t seem to want to work. I pulled my helmet off and ran my fingers over my head. A finger slipped into a hole in the top of my head – I pulled it out quickly.

A short time later, the pilot and the two good Samaritans came back and took me further away from the aircraft and made me comfortable with the help of a couple of overcoats. (I was shaking from head to foot with shock.) Apparently, the two rescuers were St John Ambulance men who just happened to be cycling past as we pranged.

They checked me over and told me no bones were broken, but I had concussion and lots of bruising and contusions – a bruise covered the whole inside of my right arm – and would I like a shot of morphia? I said no thanks. After some time, (maybe half an hour), the RAF Ambulance arrived. Apparently, they had got lost. The M.O. came up to me, took one look and produced an hypodermic. One of the St John men said: “He doesn’t want morphia.” The M.O. said: “We tell these blokes what they want or don’t want.” and rammed the needle into my arm. Well! I have never felt such a feeling of wellbeing as at that moment – the pain disappeared, the shaking stopped and I felt at peace with the world. Someone produced a cup of tea which I enjoyed immensely.

It seemed that of the other three gunners, one was killed – (he was in the crash position, where I should have been with him) – one had a broken back, and one, like me, had concussion etc. They started loading us on to the ambulance, and I heard the M.O. say to the pilot: “You had better come too, for a check-up.” The pilot looked at his watch and said: “No, I’ve got to get back to the station. Otherwise, I’ll miss out on lunch.” I thought: what a good idea. I started to get to my feet, saying: “I’ll come with you.” But was pushed back on the stretcher by someone saying: “You’ll come with us.” So the three of us ended up in Ely Hospital.

kookabat
23rd Nov 2009, 11:22
Wowee, there's another cracker of a story. Wiley your contributions are fantastic.

Crashing Wellingtons appears to have been not at all uncommon - Phil Smith, pilot of the crew I'm researching, survived at least two that I know of, and witnessed a third at an OTU. He was passing through Lichfield on what I gather was a joyride in September 1941, writing the following in his diary:
We landed and no sooner had we got out of the plane than we saw a Winpy starting to burn on the runway. A very nasty memory, these planes are certainly death traps if they catch alight.
The crash, on 27 September 1941, saw Wellington P9216 take off for dual circuits and landings and at 15.15 after a heavy landing the undercarriage collapsed and the aircraft caught fire. Two crew were on board - Sgt A.H.Ashwood RAFVR was seriously burnt and died later that evening - Fl/Lt F.B.Slade RAFVR went on to become a Flight Commander at 12 Sqdn Wickenby being awarded a DSO but was killed on a raid to Peenemunde on 17th August 1943. Ashwood was the first person to die in an air related accident since the O.T.U was formed in April 1941.

Training, it appears, wasn't much safer than being on operations!!

angels
23rd Nov 2009, 13:04
Here is the first chapter of my Dad's memoirs -- mainly written in 2007 -- starting from his call up.

Just as background, he was brought up in SE London. Both his parents
were teachers which Dad went on to become.

I will put explanatory notes in where necessary.

Apologies in advance for typos, blame the OCR and me!

Here goes, and I hope you like reading what life was like as ground crew. Not as exciting as JF's dad, but history nonetheless!

Joining the Royal Air Force

I joined the Royal Air Force on 15th September 1942.

My conscription had been officially delayed until I had completed my teacher's course. I went off to Bedford Station, where we were taken by lorry to No.2 Recruitment Centre, RAF Cardington. That is the airfield where there is the enormous hangar in which the airships were built; including the R101.

We were kitted out, had various medical examinations and aptitude tests for suitability for the trades that we had chosen.

The technical trades required a high educational standard and scientific knowledge. I wanted to be a Flight Mechanic and I was accepted for this.

Whilst there I was surprised to meet Eric L*****, he had been a student with me at Shoreditch Training College and he too was selected to be a Flight Mechanic; we stayed together for almost six months.

We were taken by troop-train to Skegness for our Basic Training. It was late summer and the weather was good. Our basic training comprised marching, formating and doing arms drill. We lived in commandeered houses in various roads. There was no furniture, but in each room there were iron beds, each with a wooden cabinet beside. Eric and I had the downstairs front room.

In the afternoons we had to go on cross-country runs; that I quite liked, I had done cross-country running at school and always did well. We had to run around the fields at Wainfleet, behind Skegness. On the way I used to pick up potatoes and carry them in my vest. I used to roast them in the kitchen during the evening.

At 1100 our squad always seemed to be outside the local café, where we broke ranks and went in for tea and sardine sandwiches. Our main meals were taken at the Seacroft Hotel.

This was a six-week course and as part of the passing out tests I had to jump and pull myself up onto the roof of an air-raid shelter, I could never do this, but no one seemed to mind!

At the end of the course we had a 48 hour pass and I went home to Mottingham. We had to report to RAF Cosford, for the Flight Mechanic's course. This was a large permanent station, on the A41, near Wolverhampton. The camp was separated from the airfield by the railway line. There were wooden huts, a parade-ground and several hangars.

Lessons were held in a large hangar, teaching was done in small groups around parts and engines. The notebooks that we kept and our learning was of a high standard, everyone was most conscientious.

The hangar is still there and it is now used as an indoor sports stadium.

Sometimes we went to learn on actual aircraft. Several were very old. There was a Westland Wallace and a Cleveland Ohio as well as the more modern planes. We had to practise swinging the propellers, starting, running and checking the engines. It is now all part of the R.A.F. Museum.

The course at Cosford lasted sixteen weeks and beside the technical training we had many other activities. Every Saturday morning we had military training. We used to go on the rifle-range for target practice, the .303 Lee-Enfield rifle had a real kick into one's shoulder.

Before I went into the R.A.F. I had an air-rifle that I used for target practice in the garden. We also had a .22 rifle and ammunition that we kept in the roof at home, in case of invasion, so I could shoot quite well. We had bayonet practice and we also learned to throw live hand-grenades.

After 1300 on Saturday we were free until Monday morning, unless we had to go on church parade. The huts were each equipped with about twenty bunk-beds. I always liked to sleep in a lower bunk.

Sometimes we would walk to Albrighton, that was the nearest village. Through Eric, we got to know a family in Dudley Road, Wolverhampton. Every weekend they would entertain a few servicemen for an afternoon and evening, including an excellent supper. We were all musical and we would play the piano and sing.

We would catch the trolleybus back to Wolverhampton Station and go back to Cosford Station on the last train, It was always packed with tipsy airmen and WAAFs!! One had to be in camp by midnight.

There was a military band at Cosford. They would practise in the band hut on Thursday evenings. As I played the clarinet, I decided to see if I could join them, I went in to see the Warrant Officer bandmaster, He asked me to play the note, upper C. I did so and I was in!

In retrospect it was a wonderful experience. It is quite transporting to be playing in a large group and making a wonderful sound. The enthusiasm of the northern brass players was almost indecent. We played marches ready for church parade and practised selections from musicals; Showboat, White Horse Inn, etc.

I was embarrassed and proud to be given a bandsmen's badge, that I had to wear on the right arm of my jacket. I can understand why orchestral players accept a low salary, though they are very intelligent and gifted. It must be a wonderful life making music.

There were even more advantages to being in the band.

Because we had to play for church parade every other Sunday, we were given a thirty-six hour pass for alternate weekends. I used to go home every fortnight.

On one occasion we had to play at a Group Captain's funeral. We had to play the Beethoven and Chopin funeral marches all the way to Albrighton church. On the way back we played 'Colonel Bogey' and I felt this was inappropriate!

Actually it is quite difficult to play when on the march. You have to watch your dressing, keeping level with the players on either side. The music is on a small card that is held on a clip on the clarinet.

Whilst I was at Cosford, the government sponsored a Coastal Command week, The aim was to raise money from the public to buy aircraft; a Spitfire cost £5,000. Every evening, we had to play at the Odeon, Halesowen, for the half-hour entertainment between the main films. I remember we always started the programme with 'Anchors Aweigh'. It was very stirring.

At the end of our course, we were tested. I passed and became an A.C.1.

What is an AC1?? - Angels

Blacksheep
23rd Nov 2009, 13:28
Aircraftsman 1st Class

Third rung on the eight rung ladder in those days. Next rank was Leading Aircraftsman which was the lowest 'command' rank equivalent to Lance Corporal.

Tabby Badger
23rd Nov 2009, 16:29
That's interesting, Blacksheep. Was LAC really considered a command rank? When I joined in 71 the lowest rungs were: Aircraftman (AC) no trade training, Leading Aircraftman (LAC) - generally on completion of initial trade training and under supervison, Senior Aircraftman (SAC) -after a year's service on passing the promotion exam or passing trade training with a distinguished pass and expected to be able to work without supervision, Junior Technician (JT) for the technical trades following further trade training or ex-apprentice. The first 'command' rank was Corporal. TB

Fareastdriver
23rd Nov 2009, 18:20
IIRC it was the 1964 Trade Structure the changed the ranks a bit. Brilliant Henlow cadets would graduate as Junior Technicians and they had changed the rank identification from the inverted chevron to the four blade propellor.
Very embarrassing the first time I saw one.. A brand new J/T came along. I saw his four bladed propellor and I thought that he was in the Air Training Corps.
"Nice uniform the ATC has got now," quoth I.

Ouch!!!!

Wiley
23rd Nov 2009, 21:13
I spent three weeks in Ely Hospital. My main memory of that is being dosed up on the new drug – sulphanilamide. When they sewed up my leg, they left a drain pipe hanging out of it. It would start to heal and I would go off the drug and my leg would swell up and I’d go on the drug again.

At the beginning, I couldn’t sleep too well – I would start to drop off and I would hear the ‘scrunch!’ as the aircraft hit the ground, and I would be wide awake again. However, I gradually regained normalcy and after three weeks, I was transferred to Littlport Convalescent Home.

This was a pleasant time. I was in a ward with four or five other airmen from different squadrons flying different aircraft and we spent many hours arguing over religion, politics, the merits of different aircraft and anything else we could think of.

I had my twenty-second birthday there and celebrated it like any other day – flat on my back.

Later, I learned that during my convalescence, two other prangs happened at Suttonbridge, one, like us, a lost engine during takeoff and the other during fighter affiliation when a Spitfire ran into a Wimpy. All in all, nine pupils, including my room-mate Town, and three staff pilots killed and three pupils injured. It certainly ruined the station’s safety record.

After two weeks there, I took my first tentative steps, albeit with a walking stick, and then, after a few days, I was walking without aid, but with a pronounced limp. I went for a medical check and expected to be posted back to the squadron, but to my dismay, I was sent to Loughborough Rehabilitation Unit. There, I had lots of physiotherapy, exercises, swimming etc. and finally convinced the authorities that I could walk without a limp. I finally got my posting back to the squadron, plus a couple of days leave.

On my way back to the squadron, I stayed a couple of nights with my friends, the Brown family, at Bournemouth, and that morning, about 10 a.m., there was an air raid on the town by several FW190 fighter bombers. Up to that point, Bournemouth had not had many air raids apart from a couple of bad raids early in the war, and the locals had become quite blasé and didn’t bother going to shelters when the alert sounded (which was often, as the bombers constantly raided Southhampton).

It was a lovely warm sunny morning. I was in the lounge room - (the others were in the dining room talking to neighbours) – when the windows started rattling. I went to the window and looked out to see a FW190 popping cannon shells down the street. All I could think of was “glass!!”, and found myself hard up against the opposite wall. (I must have jumped back in one bound.) I raced into the dining room where there was a ‘Morrison’ shelter, (a table made of plate steel). The only one in the shelter was Bonzo the dog. I was about to dive in and join Bonzo when I realised that the others were sitting around chatting. I yelled: “Raid! Get in the shelter quick!” But they wouldn’t believe me. Anyway, the raid was over and the air raid alarms began sounding the alert – a bit late!

I went outside and was staggered to see plumes of smoke going up in all directions. It was a bad raid, with many people killed and injured, and yet I had not heard one bomb go off, and neither had my friends and others I spoke to!

As I looked around, I noted that one plume of smoke came from the direction of the home of the Durrells, so I set off to find out if they had been hit. As I got there, the ARP (Air Raid Precautions) had the area cordoned off, but they let me in, where I found that the house behind theirs had received a direct hit. Their house was OK apart from smashed windows on that side, and the occupants, Mrs Durrell, the two sons, Leslie and Gerald, along with their Greek maid, Maria, were unhurt but badly shaken.

There were lots of candles burning in the house, so I asked Mrs Durrell why it was so, and she explained that when they realised their close escape, Maria had lit a candle to her patron saint and they thought: “what a good idea!”, and lit every candle they could find in the house. They were most irreverent people, had no time for religion, but they reckoned it did no harm, and you never know – it might do some good!

During my absence, the squadron had moved from Poole to Pembroke Dock in Wales. I arrived there on 1st June 1943. On arriving, I found that a couple of changes had been made to the crew. Larry Donnelly, our WOM, had been sent on a pilot’s course, and I had been made 1st WOP. Les Baveystock had been commissioned and sent on a Captain’s Course - (he ended up on 201 Squadron) – and we had a new WOP, Horrie Morgan.

Our aircraft was W6077 – letter ‘U’ – and my first flight was an A/S (anti-submarine) patrol down the Bay of Biscay on the 5th of June 1943. This lasted 13 hours 20 minutes. The next trip was two days later and it lasted 10 hours 45 minutes. (We were recalled early as the weather was closing in and we diverted to Mountbatten.) We flew back to Pembroke Dock the next day.

Things were beginning to heat up in the Bay and we were flying constantly. Occasionally, we would sight suspicious looking aircraft, but there was usually some cloud we could duck into – (we called it ‘life insurance’) – but no U-Boats were sighted.

That is, until 30th July 1943.

angels
24th Nov 2009, 10:39
Thanks Blacksheep. I should have read a sentence further!

Wiley - Note Hooton Park and opinion on Bothas!!

The Gentleman Fitter.

I was now a fully trained Flight Mechanic, Aircraftsman 1st Class. I was posted to No.11 Radio School at Hooton Park, on the Wirral in Cheshire.

Eric was drafted to the Far East, to a maintenance unit, east of Calcutta.

I must have arrived at Hooton in the dark, because next morning when I looked out, there was a line of aircraft that I did not recognise. They turned out to be Blackburn Bothas.

There were only two stations with Bothas, this one and the other at the training school at R.A.F. Lossiemouth. The Botha was originally designed as a torpedo-bomber for the Navy. It was a strong aircraft, but was basically underpowered. The torpedo was carried in a bomb bay down the left-hand side of the fuselage, when it was released the aircraft nearly rolled over. The Bothas had suffered numerous accidents and were relegated to training and ultimately target towing.

http://i686.photobucket.com/albums/vv223/harlickbalham/Blackburn_B-26_Botha.jpg


At Hooton Park they were used to train aircrew for Coastal Command. The aircraft were fitted with a primitive radar system, with a small round green screen with blips on it. It was called A.S.V., (Air to Surface Vessels), and with it B.A.Bs, (Blind Approach Beam System). They would fly out over Liverpool Bay and the Irish Sea, to search for shipping, to get responses and then try to use B.A.Bs for landing back at Hooton.

Twice a day, lunch-time and evening we had to fill the aircraft with fuel, (840gallons), and top up the oil on each side (22 gallons). They were a high-wing aircraft and having crawled out of the top of the cockpit on to the mainplane, someone had to hand up a 4 gallon can of oil to you. Quite often the handles came off the tin and the whole lot crashed to the ground.

The petrol was pumped from a bowser into the wing-tanks. Some evenings I would wait for hours for the bowser to come. I think bribery took place to persuade the tractor driver to come to our aircraft first.

Every morning we removed the engine side-panels, checked the pipework and signed the aircraft log-book (Form 700), for the Daily Inspection. We would start the engines, warm them up, then take each up to take-off power and check the propellor pitch change. We would keep them idling until the pilot arrived, he would then sign acceptance in the log-book.

As the aircraft was designed for naval use, it had a Coffman starter; these made starting easy. It fired a cartridge that pushed a piston forward that engaged and turned the engine. If the engine did not start however, you had to put your arm up inside the engine, to turn to the next cartridge, the pipework was hot. Technically one could pull a lever in the aircraft to do this, but they usually did not work.

I flew in a Botha several times in the bomb aimer’s seat by the pilot, sometimes in the navigator’s seat and once in the turret. It was a well-built, all-metal aircraft, but was noisy at take-off. With the windows open, the tips of the propellors were only about six inches from one’s ear, I think that is why I have tinnitus today.

After a month or so several Avro Ansons were delivered. These were easier to maintain than the Bothas, they were low-wing and the engines were level with your chest. The aircraft were much easier to fly and were much safer, they were nicknamed, ‘Faithful Annies’.

http://i686.photobucket.com/albums/vv223/harlickbalham/anson1.jpg

They did have some disadvantages, however. They had a starting handle that had to be turned to start the engine, after the engine started, it had to be removed. On the starboard engine, you had your back to the fuselage and it was difficult to escape after the engine had started, you had to crawl back under the wing in the slipstream.

When the engines had to be restarted after lunch and were still warm, they could be difficult and required a lot of winding, this could be exhausting. The brakes were worked from a cylinderof compressed air that had to be filled before every flight. (My Dad got a hernia from all this cranking which he didn't have operated on until he was 50.)

When the aircraft had taken off, the wheels had to be wound up by hand and this was hard work. One also had to be careful to avoid the large aerial system that was fitted at eye-level for the radar system.

We had one day off in ten. On my day off, I had a long hot bath in the morning, then dressed in my ‘best blue’ and went into Chester. I had lunch in the restaurant at Brown’s department store, there was a little orchestra playing there, it was all very pleasant.

In the afternoon I would look into Rose’s camera shop, (still there!) and browse in the bookshops. I would then hire a boat and row up the river Dee for a mile or so.

In the evening I went to the theatre, where there was always a variety show, After that I would catch the train back to Hooton.

The radio section built little radios, (illegally?). I was asked to make the cabinets at two pounds each. I was quite keen to do this as my service pay was only six shillings a day, two pounds two shillings a week; so one cabinet was almost one week’s pay. I cut the plywood in the billet and put the glue on the stove and everyone complained about the smell.

When the fire in the hut stove was needed, instead of using paper and wood, we would use the Coffman starter cartridges to light the coke. The pellets in the cartridge would burn furiously, but they made a lot of smoke!

After a few months I was made up to a Leading Aircraftsman and as an L.A.C. I was sent on a Fitter 2 E’s course, This was an engine-fitter’s course, I never discovered why we had a ‘2’. The course was held at Innsworth, a permanent station, on the road between Cheltenham and Gloucester. There was no airfield.

Here we were in small groups and practised taking engines to pieces and reassembling them. Our first week was spent doing practical metalwork. The first job was scraping the faces on two hollow castings, so that when they were bolted together they were airtight.

The second job was making an ‘U shaped gauge with a 1” square that would fit into it, It had to be accurate to within one thousandth of inch. I did rather well at this and scored 84%. I was top of the entry of 180 airmen. Not bad, eh?

When it came to the verbal and practical examination on engines, at the end of the course, they took me first and gave me a terrible grilling. I only scored 78% overall and I think this was a fix!

johnfairr
24th Nov 2009, 19:44
Royalty visits Biggin Hill - April 1942


King George VI paid us a visit one day when normally we wouldn’t have flown; it was nice and bright but there was a terrific wind and it was an awful job taxiing. In fact you couldn’t taxi without an “erk” on either wingtip holding the aircraft down. Anyway we all paraded on the perimeter track and because of the wind we had to wear flying helmets which made life a little difficult if you were trying to talk to anybody. Brian Kingcome would come along the row and he’d shout something at the King saying “This is Pilot Officer Bloggs” and the King would say something and ask the pilot something, who didn’t know what he’d said, but he’d shout something back. Well when it came to my turn, I imagine the King asked me how many I’d shot down so I shouted “One” at him, thanked him and that was that, but quite honestly, what he’d said, I hadn’t the slightest idea.

As I said the weather would normally have been too bad for us to take off, but because KGVI was there, we had to show willing so we took off, eventually did a sweep across France, nothing happened and we all came back, but we had an awful job landing. All of the groundcrew were parked down one end of the runway and we each had to make a wheel landing, which wasn’t very good and then the groundcrew would grab a wing and get us back to the dispersal.

There were several pressmen and photographers with the King that day and apart from taking photos which appeared in The Telegraph, the pressmen came and had a chat with members of the squadron and when they found out that George was “Sailor” Malan’s brother, they wanted to make a big write-up, but George wasn’t having any, he just disappeared, he couldn’t stand anything like that.

When the photos were printed in the paper, lo and behold, there I was, right in the front, shaking hands with the King and it wasn’t long after that that we had a visit from King Haakon of Norway and when we knew he was coming, some of the lads came up to me and said,

“Get your hand ready, Robbie, the man’s coming!”

Anyway, we lined up and were introduced again and lo and behold, again, when the cameras took photos, there am I, shaking hands with King Haakon.

NB, Both of these pictures have pride of place in my dining room - JF.

Wiley
25th Nov 2009, 05:06
30th July 1943
An early morning takeoff on a T3 patrol - that is, pick up the Scillies, then in a straight line to the Spanish coast south of Cape Finisterre, a coast crawl to Finisterre then straight back to the Scillies. It was a beautiful day, just outside the 3 mile limit of Spain, we could see people on the beaches, the water was sparkling and blue - how we envied them. Even in the aircraft it was warm - I had my jacket off and sleeves rolled up. (We kept strictly outside the limit because one day when we strayed in a bit, the Spaniards had a shot at us with a coastal gun. Boy, it was close!)

On our way back, just after leaving Finisterre I was on the set and intercepted a sighting report from another aircraft. It was near us, (grid co-ordinates FKJE2O2O — funny how things stick in your memory), so we changed course and came upon three U-boats on the surface, with 3 other aircraft circling - a British Liberator, an American Liberator and a Halifax.

As we came on the scene, the British Lib attacked and the U-boats opened up. Each boat had a battery of four 20mm cannon aft of the conning tower (called the ‘bandstand’), and a single 20mm cannon each side of the conning tower, with self-destroying shells timed for (I estimate) 1,000 yards. What a barrage!! — it looked like a brick wall. The Lib broke off the engagement and continued circling.

I thought: “Well, that precludes us.” Ours was an early Mk II kite with a single pan-fed Vickers G.O. gun in the nose turret. (Later versions had 2 Brownings in the turret plus 4 fixed Brownings.) We certainly weren’t equipped for a head-on attack. I reckoned our role would be to home in the sloops I knew were nearby.

Much to my dismay the klaxon went to run the depth charges out!!

I thought: “We can’t get through a barrage like that. The skipper’s mad.”

The voice of the skipper, Dudley Marrows, came on the intercom to Jimmy Leigh, the first pilot: “We’ll take the port one, Jimmy,” —

Then Jimmy came on: “OK skip,” - (pause) – “Why not go diagonally across and get the lot in one go?”

I thought: “My God, we haven’t got one maniac on board — we’ve got two!”

Then Dudley came on: “One at a time Jim,” - (pause) – “Get ready to take over if I’m hit.”
Then we were into it, attacking from a very low altitude - around 60 feet - to minimise the effect of the other two U-Boats’ heavy fire. Violent evasive action, shrapnel rattling on the hull like hail with incessant loud bangs as pieces of shrapnel were picked up by the props and flung against the hull. It was too thick even for Dudley. He broke off to port, and as he did so, saw that the Lib had taken advantage and had attacked again. Dudley continued the turn and bored in behind the Lib.

The Lib was hit and turned away smoking badly, but by now we were in to about 600 yards and all the guns turned on us. “Bubbles” Pearce was in the nose - he only had 100 rounds - and held his fire to 400 yards then opened up and swept the decks of ‘our’ U-boat. As low as we were, (about 60 feet), we just cleared the conning tower and straddled it with seven depth charges. It must have been blown apart. We turned around again and flew over to verify the kill. There were about 25 to 30 men struggling in the water, so we dropped them one of our dinghies and took photos.


http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj318/seewhy49/AttackonU4611.jpg
U 461’s attack on U-461

http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj318/seewhy49/U461sinking3.jpg
The depth charges exploding

http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj318/seewhy49/U461sinking4.jpg
Survivors of U-461 in the water

By this time the Halifax had bombed another U-boat from about 4,000 feet - out of range of their 20 mm’s - and it (the boat) was going around in circles blowing smoke with the crew jumping into the water, each with a one man dinghy inflating around him. (It looked like a mass of flowers bursting into bloom.)

We turned to the last U-boat, and as we bored in, Dudley was surprised to see splashes all around it. He looked around and saw the sloops had arrived, so he decided he’d leave it to them, so he pulled out and we took stock. We had collected a couple of shells, but no real damage. The only problem was fuel. All the combat had been done in rich mixture, and we had barely enough to get home. So we set course for home.

Half an hour later - another U-boat! Dudley went straight in with our last depth charge, hoping to catch it unawares, but they were waiting for us. Again, the mad evasive action, the shrapnel, then we were hit, on fire, and the kite filled with smoke. But what I didn’t know at the time, the controls had locked and we were heading straight for the U-boat! Dudley yelled to Jimmy and together they pulled on the wheel and just managed to clear the conning tower, the depth charge was jettisoned and we prepared to ditch. While this was going on Bubbles had put the fire out with an extinguisher - (the fire was in the bomb release gear). Then Dudley found he had accidentally pushed the lever to engage the autopilot. He flicked it out and the kite responded again. Again we assessed damage, again the kite appeared OK - but fuel was very low.

We headed for home again, throwing out all surplus gear in order to lighten the old kite, and made it to the Scillies with about a pint of fuel left in the tanks. There were no refuelling facilities there, so we refuelled by bringing four gallon drums to the aircraft by launch, passing them through the wardroom and galley, up the stairs to the top deck, out the astro hatch on to the wing and pouring the fuel into the tanks.

When we got back to the squadron, poor old ‘U’ went straight up the slip for inspection. They found a large lump of main spar had gone - (if the shell had been a couple of inches higher it would have gone into a tank) - so our faithful old kite was pensioned off and we were issued with ‘E’.


http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj318/seewhy49/U461crew.jpg
The crew of U 461 the day after sinking U-461

angels
25th Nov 2009, 11:49
When I got a weekend pass from Innsworth, I used to visit my parents who were evacuated with the London schoolchildren at Tredegar, South Wales.

On the Saturday lunch-time I would cycle to Gloucester and leave my cycle in the yard of a pub just by the station. I then got a train to Newport where I changed to the train up the Sirhowy Valley.

I always bought a quart of cider from the N and took it for my father. On my return, as no trains ran on the branch line on Sundays, I had to catch a bus down to Newport and that went at two o’clock in the afternoon. It then took two hours to do the twenty miles and I still did not get back to camp until nearly midnight.

When we had to stay in camp for the weekend there would be a continuous card school going on. We would go off for meals and it would still be going. It was always pontoon at sixpence a go.

One day when I was alone in the billet I decided to play a little tune on my clarinet. Suddenly the door opened and in came the sergeant who had the room at the end, near the entrance. He was not concerned with us on the fitter’s course.

He said that he played the violin. He was brilliant and could play like Stephane Grappelli. He then found a pianist and a drummer and we played jazz in the NAAFI in the evenings. I got ten shillings a nIght.

Sometimes, I went to the Spa Orchestra concerts that were held in Cheltenham Town Hall. I always sat in a box, up on the right hand side.

On one occasion, during a Beethoven Symphony, the ball end flew off the tympanist's drumstick. It bounced down the staging and landed at the conductor's feet!

Whilst the remainder of the entry were having their tests, I was parked in the Administration Office. It was full of filing cabinets and there was nothing to do, so I started to learn to use the typewriter that was there.

After the Fitter's Course, I returned to Hooton Park. it was the spring of 1944. We still had to work on dispersal to get the aeroplanes flying and we also carried out maintenance inspections on the Ansons in the hangar.

After the inspections were finished, sometimes I would go on air-test. The main runway ran parallel to the Manchester Ship Canal. As we took off we could see the Liberty Ships and Eastham Lock, where they entered from the River Mersey.

The pilot would fly the aircraft out to sea. We would shut down and restart each engine in turn and then wc would go into a dive and pull out, to see that it all stayed together. Dad used to tell me that the pilots would always take the erks up after work on a plane. They felt it gave the groundcrew added incentive to do a good job!!

The wing-tips would bend up about a foot. Sometimes we would fly up the coast of the River Dee estuary and look out at the expensive houses at Neston, with swimming-pools in the gardens.

On one occasion we flew over Birkenhead and up the coast to Southport. I was with an Australian pilot. Suddenly he got out of the cockpit and said, "I'm fed up with this, you fly it. I'm going up the back for a fag." So I had to take over!

He obviously thought that I could handle it and that he would be quite safe. I had control and after a quarter of an hour or so he came back and complained that I had climbed 400 feet. I had not noticed it!

All the aircraft had landed by midday and we had them shut down and chocked. The planes for the afternoon flights would be parked up near the hangar and not out on dispersal. The dispersal park was about half a mile away, it was the large area of grass between the main runway and the Manchester Ship Canal.

After lunch we were supposed to report back to the hangar at 1315 to see the blackboard for the afternoon flying detail and to restart the aircraft that would take off about 1400.

Sometimes I was a bit late arriving back; the Warrant Officer decided to take action. If he was upset about it, I think a quiet word would have been sufficient, as in the evening I quite often had to wait until 2030 to get the last aircraft refuelled.

I apologise for telling this story with such relish!

Unfortunately for him, he chose the wrong day to strike. Unknowingly, he picked a day that I was actually early! On the way into the hangar, I stopped and talked to one of the airframe sergeants. I then went into the storeroom to get some spark plugs and copper wire; so I did not get down to my designated aircraft until about 1330.

Soon afterwards, an officious little corporal arrived; he said I was on a charge of being 'absent without leave, between 1315 and 1330.' I asked him quite politely if he was absolutely sure about this. he said that 'Chiefy' Scott had ordered it. Three other airmen were charged at the same time.

The next day, at 1200, we were marched into the C.O's office, "Left, Right; Left, Right," etc. We stood in a line before the C.O., the Warrant Officer and the corporal stood to one side.

The charge was read out and the C.O. asked what we had to say. I immediately spoke up and explained that I was on duty for the whole time in question; that I had entered the hangar at 1310, spoken to Sergeant McMullen (what a stroke of luck!) and then gone to the store and that when I was at the aircraft the corporal came and charged me.

The sergeant was sent for and he corroborated my story. The C.O's moustache began to droop and he shouted, "Case admonished!" Actually, he should have said, "dismissed."!!

After we had been marched out, those involved got a 'rocket'. I suspect that the other three airmen probably were late, but they got off as well.

Life returned to normal and after the afternoon flights had departed we would get into the cockpit of an unused aircraft and have a little sleep in the sun.
After a while the sergeant would cycle round and waggle the ailerons on each aircraft, this would make the control column move about and it would wake up the sleeper.

One day I did not wake up and unbeknown to me everyone was suddenly detailed to go to see a 'V.D.' film. My absence was noticed and when I went back to the hangar there was no one there, but chalked on the board was a message saying that I had to report to W.O. Scott.

This was tricky. I knew that the Warrant Officer lived in a house outside the camp and that he usually cycled off home about ten minutes early. So, I came back to the hangar about ten minutes to five and knocked on his office door.

There was no reply, he had gone home.

Blacksheep
25th Nov 2009, 12:01
Was LAC really considered a command rank? Until 1951, Leading Aircraftsman was not a "command" rank in the sense that they could issue a Form 252, but they were supervisory within their trade group. In 1951 AC1 and AC2 was abolished, making LAC effectively the lowest trained rank and from then until 1964 Trade Groups 1 to 4 had Technician ranks with the Warrant rank being called Master Technician. Junior Technicians came between the newly created Senior Aircraftsman and Corporal and wore a single "upside down" stripe.

Technician ranks were supervisory within the trade group but were not "command" ranks. It was possible for a Corporal Technician with his upside down stripes to be "promoted" to Corporal and reverse his stripes to the familiar 'point at the bottom' orientation. Upon qualifying as a Sergeant Technician he would put sew his three stripes on with the point upwards and though senior to a Corporal Technician, continued to hold the "command" rank of Corporal. A Corporal could, in theory, order Sergeant and Chief Technicians about, though I never saw one that was brave enough to try it. ;)

That was the confusing state of play when I joined, but as an Aircraft Apprentice I had no need to work out who was junior or senior to me or who could or could not give me orders: I was so low in the grand scheme of things that I could be ordered about by anyone, including the NAAFI girls. (As a Brat, apart from the bandmaster "Chiefy" Bailey, the only person who ever spoke to me nicely was an ex-Brat Air Vice Marshal that I bumped into on the train).

angels
26th Nov 2009, 09:52
In the break time, next day, I was having a cup of tea in the storeroom, when W.O. Scott came in. He came up to me and he was very annoyed! He asked me if I had seen the chalked message on the blackboard. I said that I had and that when I had knocked on his door at ten minutes to five he had gone home.

He went very quiet and then he said slowly, "Just because you got away with it once, don’t think you run the f*****g Air Force!’

Soon after that I was posted overseas!

It maybe doesn't come over hugely in Dad's notes, but he always maintained it was W.O.Scott that got him posted.

At the medical examination it was discovered the I had a left inguinal hernia., this was probably the result of swinging propellors. I was sent to the R.A.F. hospital at West Kirby for an operation. I have to admit that I was petrified.

Anyway, it was repaired (not properly it wasnt! It had to be re-done in the 70s) and I was kept in hospital for ten days. I was then sent for three weeks convalescence. It was at Lord Leverhulme’s house at Thornton Manor. Lever Brothers owned the soap factory at Port Sunlight. He had a splendid mansion, with an extensive garden and a lake.

We slept in a little ward that had been specially built on the side of the house. There were about a dozen patients and a ward sister who was in charge of us.

Whilst there I was with another airman who was a very good artist. We went to Liverpool, dressed in our hospital blue uniforms and bought canvasses, brushes and paint. We spent the sunny days doing paintings of the house and garden.

My friend was much taken with the giant rhubarb-like plant that grew by the lake. He did several paintings of it. There was also a small boathouse by the lake and in it were several old wood and canvas canoes. I asked Lord. Leverhulrn's daughter if I could repair one and use it.

She said, ‘Yes’. So, I could then paddle round the lake in the afternoons. It was very peaceful and pleasant. In the billiard-room, there were paintings on the wall and there was a small one by Constable, It is interesting that we had so much freedom and were trusted to go anywhere.

Lord Leverhulme would appear sometimes. He was deaf and he had a deaf-aid that was as large as a gas-mask box with a pair of earphones. We always greeted him and said, ‘Good morning.’

Whilst I was there, I painted a self-portrait. The sister was very impressed with it and asked me if I would paint a portrait of her daughter. Unfortunately, I went overseas, so this could not be.

My memories of Hooton Park are of filling aircraft late in the evening, then cycling to the church hall at Childer Thornton where there was a canteen serving tea and jam on toast.

WAAF flight mechanics were sent to work with us. This necessitated a modification of behaviour and language among the airmen!

I became friendly with a WAAF, Brigit H., whose parents were German Jews and had escaped from Nazi Germany. After the aircraft had taken off, we would sit on the grass by the canal and talk about music and Mozart.

I was always very careful with the engine work that I undertook. I was always clean and tidy. I was the only fitter with the skill and confidence to do the silver soldering on the copper pipes for the instruments.

They called me, ‘A Gentleman Fitter’.

As you've probably gathered, Dad really enjoyed his time up north.

Now we move onto a different chapter.

Wiley
28th Nov 2009, 01:55
Post script to the sinking of U 461 by U/461
On Tuesday 3rd June, 1986, my wife Rosemary, Silvia Marrows and Harry McIver and I arrived in Munich to meet Wolf Stiebler, the captain of U461.

On the flight to Munich, I was beset with not a little trepidation - how does one greet a man whom you once did your damnedst to kill? However, I need not have worried. We recognised each other immediately. His handshake was firm, his smile was genuine.

"Peter," he said, "We last met in the Biscay!" and laughed.

We all got on wonderfully well. Wolf spoke reasonable English, Silvia spoke German quite well, and as Harry and I had spent the previous 12 months going to German classes once a week, we could communicate quite well. Wolf could detect - and got great amusement from - our Australian accent.

http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj318/seewhy49/AWM19882.jpg
Dudley Marrows (captain of U/461), Wolf Stiebler (captain of U-461) and Peter Jensen, Australian War Memorial, 1988

In our discussions with Wolf, he gave his version of what has been described as the greatest battle of the war involving U-boats. U461, U462, and U504 left Lorient on the evening of 29th July 1943. As senior officer, Wolf was in charge of the group. He ordered that they cruise on the surface all night and rendezvous at a point in the Biscay next morning.

U461 and U504 made the rendezvous, but U462 was missing. They stayed on the surface as long as they dared and Wolf was about to give the order to submerge when they saw flashes against the rising sun. It was U462 signalling with his searchlight.

They sailed back to him to discover that he had been submerged all night and had flat batteries. Using his searchlight had flattened them further, so it was impossible for him to submerge.
Wolf had to make a decision. He knew to remain on the surface during the day was dangerous. So should he stay with U462 and protect it, or submerge and leave it to its fate? He decided to remain surfaced, and was soon spotted and the battle began.

Our depth charges broke U461 in two, something on Wolf's clothing caught, and he was dragged down to a considerable depth before he was released and came to the surface. We had seen a Halifax bomb U462 and saw the crew abandon the boat and had assumed that it had been hit. Apparently this was not so. The bomb had missed and the crew had merely scuttled the boat.

We dropped one of our dinghies to the survivors of U461 (the crew of U462 all had one-man dinghies) and Wolf and the other survivors swam to it. They put three or four wounded men into the dinghy and the rest stayed in the water, holding on to the edge of the dinghy.

The sloops now arrived and U504 submerged. The sloops began depth charging about 800 to 1000 meters from the U461 survivors. According to Wolf, the men in the water suffered excruciating pain. They pulled themselves out of the water as far as they could but, (in Wolf's words), his stomach was forced into his chest and his eyeballs felt as if they were being forced out of his head. He honestly thought he was dying.

Wolf is very bitter over the whole affair. As he put it, he sacrificed two good boats and two good crews to save a boat which merely scuttled itself.

Silvia asked him if he had a good crew. "Yes," he said simply, "the best!"

After all these years it still rankles with him. He has never joined the U-boat association, but is a member of the "Cape Horners" (those who have rounded Cape Horn under sail).

kookabat
28th Nov 2009, 23:41
an hour was the limit in a turret, as no one can keep the concentration of searching for longer than that
Now that's interesting. Bomber Command gunners, as far as I can tell, remained in their turrets for the duration of their operations - 10 hours or more in some cases. That must have taken some stamina!

Wiley
29th Nov 2009, 00:01
During the next month, we did only one operation, on 26th August, lasting 12 hours 50 minutes, then, on 3rd September, another op. on another crew’s aircraft that had just come out of the hangar after major maintenance work. However, due to a broken H/T plug, (probably broken during maintenance), the op. was aborted and we returned to base after 4 hours 20 minutes.

For the next week, we did some fighter affiliation with Beaufighters and Mosquitoes, and went to Wig Bay and ferried a new Sunderland back to the squadron. Then, on 10th September, we flew an op. that lasted 9 hours 25 minutes, being recalled early due to weather.

On 14th September, we took over our new aircraft No. EK578, letter ‘2E’.

‘E’ was a lovely aircraft, with absolutely no vices. She was five knots faster than ‘U’. We were very happy with her, but unfortunately, as with ‘U’, she was very sparse on frontal armament, which we didn’t like one little bit. The FN4 tail turret with 4 Brownings and 1,000 rounds for each gun was the main armament, and was very good apart from a long and vulnerable hydraulic pipeline from one engine which powered the turret and gun-firing mechanism. The mid-upper with 2 Brownings was a problem as it had a nasty gremlin - the links of the disintegrating ammunition belt had a habit of jamming in the chute and stopping the guns. We worked on this problem and hoped we had fixed it. The nose turret still had the single Vickers G.0. gun with 100 round pans, the changing of which was a slow and laborious task.

We decided something had to be done. We installed an American .300 Browning in a ball mount under the nose turret. It was a nice little gun, belt-fed with a 1,000 round magazine and a good rate of fire, but very limited in its field of fire. A G.0. gun was put at each galley hatch, and - (Dudley’s idea) - another G.0. gun at the first pilots’ window. This was only a scare gun and the pan was filled with 100% tracer.

16th September 1943
Another T3 patrol, a first light takeoff, down to Spain, plenty of cloud - (that meant life insurance). Spirits were high. An uneventful coast crawl, then at Finisterre, a request from the skipper to the navigator: “Course for home,” - always a welcome sound over the intercom. However, as we progressed the cloud began to dissipate, then finally disappeared. Our high spirits also disappeared, as we had a long way to go, and all in tiger country.

I had been on the set since takeoff and was relieved by Bob Webster. I went down to the galley. I’d had nothing to eat since our aircrew breakfast before takeoff and was hungry as a hunter. Pierre Bamber, the rigger, had cooked a big dish of baked beans and there was still a lot left, even though I was last to have lunch - so I ate the lot!

I looked on the roster and saw that Bunny Sidney in the tail was due for a break, (an hour was the limit in a turret, as no one can keep the concentration of searching for longer than that), so I went down and relieved him.

I commenced searching, and before long, located something dead astern, slightly above the horizon. It was, I estimated, 17 miles. You can see an aircraft as a dot at about 10 to 11 miles. Beyond that, you just “know” – it’s hard to explain. I reported to control and George Done, (the navigator), hopped up to the astrodome, but couldn’t see it. I was instructed to keep an eye on it and report. Gradually, a dot became visible, then it split in two, then three, four, five, and finally 6 dots were clearly visible dead astern.

Dudley looked for cloud, there wasn’t any, so he opened the throttles and began to climb. We had a saying when things looked dicey: “What we need is more height.” Slowly but surely the dots got bigger and bigger, became aircraft, and eventually I was positively able to identify them as what we knew they would be – Ju88s.

The 88’s began to divide. Four started coming up on our starboard and two on our port. I noticed also that the leader on the starboard had a glass nose, obviously the fighter controller. This meant that they were not just a group of fighters looking for easy pickings, but obviously a well trained and experienced group. (We’d been told that recently the Germans had declared the Atlantic number one priority and were bringing some of their best squadrons from Russia.)

We prepared for battle. The depth charges were run out and jettisoned; Pierre went up to the .300 in the nose; the two galley guns were installed and manned by Bunny and Ivor Peatty, and Jimmy put in his scatter gun.

We checked everything over and over - guns, ammunition, turrets, sights - as the 88’s flew alongside about 1,000 yards out. We sized them up; they sized us up. I followed the four on the starboard with my turret until they were gone from view, then I calculated that the first attack would obviously come from the starboard. We would turn into it, and the attacker would break away from the starboard quarter, so I sat and waited.

I didn’t have long to wait, I heard George over the intercom: “They will start from starboard skip. Ready to turn starboard... ready to turn starboard... - GO!” A wild diving turn. I heard cannon shells raking the fuselage, and there he was, as I predicted, receding into the starboard quarter, his engines puffing black smoke as he throttled back, a perfect no deflection shot, an air gunner’s dream.

I said: “Dead Junkers 88,” and lined up the turret. At least I tried to line up the turret, but it was dead as a dodo. What luck! The hydraulic line to the turret had been severed in the first attack! By this time the others were attacking. The sky was full of white puff balls from the self-destroying shells which had missed us, black crosses flashing across my line of vision, our aircraft twisting and turning to George’s instructions from the astrodome. I had a small handle with which I could rotate the turret, so I did this as best I could and by firing the guns by hand. I sprayed tracer around the sky every time I saw a black cross, but it was pretty hopeless.

Suddenly there was a lull. The 88’s pulled back and took stock. It seemed that the scatter gun had them a bit perplexed, something they hadn’t struck before. George came on the intercom: “All positions report.”

“Tail to Control. Turret U/S.”

“Mid upper to Control. Both guns stopped.”

“Nose to Control. All OK.”

“Thank God for that!” said George.

Bubbles in the mid upper managed to get one gun cleared. Then it was on again.

regle
29th Nov 2009, 14:40
Yes, Kookabat (file://\\kookabat), ten hours was possible but my two longest were Milan and Cannes, (Marshalling yards), both around nine and a half hours. Berlin was always between eight hours to eight and a half, Hanover six and the Ruhr, five and a half hours. I think that the horrendous "headwinds" raid on Nurenberg in 1944 would have been well over the ten hours mark but over ninety of our bombers would not have completed it. The gunners would remain in their turrets for the duration of the flight without any question. "The price of safety is eternal vigilance".
I have been enjoying the rest that has been given me by the rivetting descriptions of other fields of warfare. How fortunate we are to be able to read them. Thank you all, they are read with such interest and my admiration for the quiet courage shown is unbounded. Regle

Tabby Badger
29th Nov 2009, 18:31
Friday March 31st 1944 The Nuremberg Raid - South African Military History Society - Journal (http://samilitaryhistory.org/vol043lf.html) TB

kookabat
29th Nov 2009, 21:59
My great uncle (467 Sqn navigator) was on that Nuremburg raid - his logbook records 8.35hrs for the trip.

His pilot (S/Ldr DPS Smith) counted 30 burning aircraft between Aachen and the target!

His longest trip was to Munich 24 April 1944 - 10.05hrs. I believe this one routed via Italy to keep the defences guessing - he records 1900 miles as the distance flown.

Wiley
30th Nov 2009, 02:25
I lost all track of time. Dudley was throwing the aircraft around like a Spitfire. My ammunition bins hadn’t been designed for such treatment. They broke away from their mountings and the tops burst open with the force of the ammunition being thrown up. As a result, the belts twisted and stopped the guns. I kept clearing the guns and turning the turret as best I could, hoping the 88’s wouldn’t realise the turret was U/S. Once they did they would begin stern attacks and that would be it.

The poor old kite started to show signs of wear. Practically every attack we collected a few shells and bullets. (Each 88 had one 37mm and 2 x 20mm cannon and 2 machine guns.) We lost the port inner engine and poor Pierre in the nose collected a 37mm shell that blew him and his gun back into the wardroom. It also put the nose turret out of action, and Dick Criddle lifted Pierre on to a bunk and attempted to dress his wounds.

However, it wasn’t all one-sided. Fortunately, Bubbles was able to keep his gun going and used it to telling effect. I saw one 88 smoking badly and losing height rapidly. I’m sure he never made home.

I never thought it possible that a Sunderland could survive the evasive action Dudley put it through. My ammunition belts were twisting and squirming around the turret like snakes. It had got to the stage where I could not clear a gun. Then our port outer was hit.

The klaxon went for ditching. I centralised my turret, swung out into the body of the aircraft and in accordance with correct procedure - (tail is always first to report). I reported: “Tail to control. Vacating turret,” and was about to unplug my intercom when Dudley’s voice came on: “Stay there. I can hold height.”

What a quandary! It is impossible to get yourself into the FN4 turret. Someone has to push the door shut behind you. Anyway, all my guns were stopped and the turret U/S, and what’s more, I was a long, long way from my crash position, so I disobeyed the order and set off on the long walk.

What a shambles! The hull was like a colander – full of holes – and there was oil everywhere from busted hydraulic lines. Everything movable was being tossed hither and yon, and a lot of fixtures and stowed equipment had broken loose and was being tossed around as well.

I made my way down the catwalk being thrown from side to side, then up in the air, then down with a bump. I climbed up the steps at the mid upper, where Bubbles was still hammering away with his one gun. I remember being surprised that he still had ammunition left, but he was conserving his ammunition and making every shot count. The 88’s were armoured like a Sherman tank, but he was still beating off their attacks. By this time his was the only gun left operating out of the eleven we started with.

I remember crawling past the turret on my way to the bulkhead which led to the bridge when I began to fly up towards the roof. I grabbed at something, anything, which happened to be an engine inspection ladder, which was lying loose. The ladder and I floated around for about three seconds, then were dashed to the floor.

I finally made it to the bridge. Bob Webster had lost half his nose – he had blood all over his face. He yelled at me that he had screwed the key down. I looked at the gauges on the transmitter - it was dead. I gave him a thumbs up and sat down in my crash position. I wondered why it was so draughty and noisy and looked up. Apparently when the klaxon had gone to ditch, George had jettisoned the astrodome, as it was also the escape hatch, and he was now head and shoulders out in the slipstream calling instructions to Dudley. I don’t know how he wasn’t thrown out.


(The following photographs were taken by the crew of the command Ju88 of the Luftwaffe squadron that shot down E/461.)

http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj318/seewhy49/E461shootdown4.jpg
E/461 on very short finals, about to ditch. Cannon shells, apparently (very accurately) aimed at the one remaining operating engine, can be seen impacting the water immediately in front of the starboard wing.

Finally, even the skipper had to admit defeat. We lost the starboard outer engine, and no way could even our wonderful 'E' hold height on one engine. The klaxon went again, Bubbles vacated his turret, Pierre was passed up to the top deck, we all jammed into our crash positions and held our heads and braced for a shock that didn't come. Dudley put it down as lightly as a moth on a petal. Unfortunately, our port float was only hanging on by one strut, and it was wiped off. The wing tip dug in and the kite heeled over with the nose dug in and the port wing under water to the inner engine.

We went through the ditching procedures that we had practiced so often. Nose gunner out first, then Pierre gently passed up through the hatch, a couple more, then all our gear, dinghies, radio, pigeons, cans of water, pyrotechnics, rations, first aid kit, etc. etc. Then one by one, we took our turn up and out on to the wing, all under the critical eye of Dudley, who was watching as if it was just another exercise.

Every now and then the kite would give a lurch as if it was about to turn turtle. We called on Dudley to come up, but no, he made a last inspection of his aircraft, checking that we had everything, looking for anything else that could be done. He appeared once at the astro hatch and passed up half a loaf of bread he had found in the galley. "You missed some food," he said sternly. Then he was gone again.

"Come up skip," we called. "She’s going under."

But still he continued his inspection. Then, when he had convinced himself that everything that could be done had been done, he finally and reluctantly abandoned his ship.

angels
30th Nov 2009, 12:31
Wow!

Some more of Dad's stuff follows. No attacks, thank heavens!

Going overseas

Soon after release from hospital, I went on embarkation leave and then had to report back to Morecambe. We were put out into boarding houses with rather sparse furniture and our landlady could only cook baked beans!

We spent a week or so there, We had inoculations against many diseases, including Scrub Typhus. We were issued with tropical kit, complete with a 'Bombay bowler', this was a large helmet, rather like the ones that the Royal Marines bandsmen wear.

We were transported to Liverpool Docks where we embarked on the 'S.S. Stratheden'. It was a modern 'P&O' liner.

http://i686.photobucket.com/albums/vv223/harlickbalham/Dadsboat.jpg

We sailed that evening up to the River Clyde. Over the next day we were
formed into a large convoy. We sailed north of Ireland and out into the Atlantic Ocean for about a week.

The officers, nurses and sergeants all had the cabins. We were stationed on '0' deck. It was below the water line, just level with the door to the airlock in the engine room. Every once in a while the door would open and a Lascar (??) would come out, with a devasting blast of hot air.

There were large fixed tables, with twelve airmen at each, six on each side, on fixed forms. There was a plate rack on the wall at the end. Every night we had to tie up our hammocks on hooks in the ceiling. It was so arranged that they were interlaced. The whole area was completely covered with hammocks, all packed like sardines in a tin.

The widest part of the hammock was level with the two narrow ends of other hammocks on each side. So we ate and slept in very limited and dim surroundings. There would have been no chance if we had been hit.

German submarines were a hazard. No lights were shown at night. It was said that a cigarette glow could be seen at two miles. Rubbish was tipped overboard once a day, so that the track of the ship could not be followed.

We were detailed off for work in the mornings. I was lucky and was one of four people drafted as a baggage handler. We were responsible to the Purser. There was a little office, down in the depths of the ship, right in the prow. You could feel the crash as the boat hit the waves. All the officers cases were stacked there, but in fact no one wanted their deep-sea baggage.

We did the paperwork for the Purser and he was very happy to sit with us, drink tea and recount his yarns. Then, one day a nursing sister arnved and wanted her bag; we were all most surprised. Luckily it was on the top.


In the afternoons, we had Urdu classes and after that there would be Bingo at threepence a go. There was also a raffle to guess how far the ship would travel that day, it would have been between 250 and 280 miles.

One day the Atlantic was extraordinarily calm, it was just like the surface of a mirror and there were shoals of flying fish leaping out of the water. During that night we sailed at speed through the Straits of Gibraltar and into the
Mediterranean Sea.

We sailed straight through the Mediterranean Sea, we passed near to Malta but did not call in. We arrived at Port Said and waited until a convoy of ships was ready to sail south.

Egyptian hawkers in bum-boats came up to the side of the ship and were trying to sell handbags and leather goods, They operated a bucket system whereby money was lowered, the goods were put in the bucket and it was pulled up.

We then went through the Suez Canal. There were some dhows, but there was just sand on either side. Along the way were a few landing-stages, there was one at El Qantara and another at El Ballah, then there was one at Isnrniliya.

There was considerable activity there as we passed at about midday. There were people in the swimming-pools and it was quite a little holiday resort. Ismalliya is about half-way through the canal, that then opens into Lake Timsah and then it continues through the Bitter Lakes, we carried on through to Suez.

After a brief stop, we went on down the Red Sea and round the corner to Aden. Aden was a staging-post for shipping going to India and the Far East. We tied up there for a couple of days, but could not leave the boat -- not that one would want to.

In the bay there was just a quay and a few warehouses. There was a road that went at an angle, straight up the hill to some bungalows at the top. It was about the most desolate place on earth. There were spiky, barren mountains in the distance. At the time, I thought that that was how the surface of the moon would be.

We took on fuel and supplies and continued to Bombay.

By now it was getting rather hot and there were strict instructions about acquiring a tan and avoiding sunburn. We spent a lot of time on deck or leaning on the ship's rail watching the sea go by. This was our fourth week at sea and we were anticipating landing.

When we arrived at Bombay, we had to queue for hours with all our kit, just shuffling along towards the gangway. Whilst we had been at sea the wind was quite cooling, but when I got off and stood on the quayside, the heat was unbelieveable.

For several days we were at the transit camp at Worli. It is on the coast on the outskirts of Bombay. Whilst there I used to go off to see the sights, including the Gateway to India, This was a large stone arch built to honour King George V. and Queen Mary, on the occasion of their visit in 1935. It looked rather like the Menin Gate at Ypres.

In the evenings, we would visit a local open-air restaurant. We had egg, chips, steak and onions, This was really scrumptious after the meagre rations on the boat. Although the evenings were relatively cool, the pong from the sea was really awful.

I was then posted to Calcutta. We left by special troop-train from the main station in Bombay. It was very primitive accommodation, the seats were wooden racks, as were the pull-down beds; the windows had slatted shutters, to let the air in and keep marauders out.

forget
30th Nov 2009, 12:48
Brilliant stuff. :ok:

Every once in a while the door would open and a Lascar (??) would come out....

Lascar, though rarely used now, was once the name used to describe a sailor or militiaman from the Indian subcontinent or other countries east of the Cape of Good Hope, employed on European ships from the 16th century until the beginning of the 20th century.

angels
30th Nov 2009, 13:13
Forget - Thanks for that. Never heard of them.

I assumed it was the OCR mucking up!

regle
30th Nov 2009, 14:41
Lascars was a very common word to be heard all around Liverpool in the the "Thirties". It was by no means derogatory but described the multitude of Indian seamen to be found around Liverpool. They were all referred to as Lascars irrespective of race or creed. I am sure that Cliff has heard the expression many times. Apropos "expressions", I remember that the Liverpool thirties equivalent of "cool" was "Gear.". Does anyone remember that. ? "That's a gear belt that youse got". To give an example.

Ah ! The "Stratheden" ! What memories that brings back ! I have already told the story, in an earlier thread, of when I was flying for Air India in 1948. I was in a nice boarding house in Bombay on New Years Eve 1948 with my pregnant wife and two small children and we were all having a drink with the other guests which included the Captain of the "Stratheden". He used to leave his Wife in Bombay when he called there on the way to Australia and then would pick her up from our Pension when he returned on the return voyage. Remember Alex Guinness in "The Captain's Paradise ?" He said that he was leaving for England the following day and I said " I wish that we were going with you ". It was the time of the partition of India and it was virtually impossible to get a place on a boat to England as so many were fleeing the country. The Captain said to me "If you mean that I can take you tomorrow." That was it ! It was just before midnight. I cleared everyone out ; we started packing feverishly. The next morning I sold my beloved Packard convertible for £50, bought three huge tin trunks in Colaba causeway and we were all on the "Stratheden" when it sailed on New Years day from Bombay. It was the last word in luxury and the children were spoiled rotten by the crew and passengers. We ate like Royalty after all the wartime rationing and a year of curries and we have never forgotten the "Stratheden" and the fortnight that we spent aboard before docking in a miserable , cold, grey Gravesend and East End of London.
It was straight on to the "Berlin Air Lift " for me. Those were stirring times. Regle

Wiley
30th Nov 2009, 21:01
All this time the five remaining JU88's had been circling and watching. They had scattered a few cannon shells in the water around us just as we ditched, but had then pulled off and circled. (We found out later that under the Luftwaffe scoring system, the last pilot to hit a downed aircraft is credited with the kill, so each of them kept shooting at us in turn right up to the point we ditched, as each pilot wanted to be credited with the kill.)

http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj318/seewhy49/E461shootdown11.jpg
E/461 crew inflate dinghies immediately after ditching

It seemed as if they had been waiting for Dudley's appearance, because as he got up on the wing, Mr. Glass-nose peeled off and bored in towards us. We all looked up at him and Dudley said: "Sorry, I can't do anything more for you, boys. All I can say is, if he shoots, jump."

I reckoned this was good advice, so I stood at the leading edge of the wing between the fuselage and inner engine and watched him. If I saw gun flashes, I was going to jump. But there were no gun flashes. He swooped low over us, waggled his wings in salute, and then they were all gone, with only a small sea bird flying around us crying in such a mournful tone. I looked at my watch. It was 55 minutes from the start of combat. I estimated that the combat had lasted 40 to 45 minutes.

It had seemed like an eternity.

We organised ourselves on the top of the aircraft and the steeply sloping wing as best we could and counted our blessings. The fact that no-one had been killed was amazing luck, and we had all our emergency gear and three dinghies intact. The adrenalin was still pumping through our systems and we all went through a period of high elation and (I suppose) temporary madness. I started it – I shook my fist at the departing Ju88s in mock bravado and shouted “Come back you cowards and fight like a man!”

Much laughter, and one of the crew said “Cut it out, Pete, he might hear you and come back.”

And so it went on for ten minutes or so. Then Ivor Peatty said: “Look at this, chaps – I nearly got my DSO.”

We looked. Across the front of his trousers was a deep cut from a piece of shrapnel, straight and clean as if it had been cut by a pair of scissors.

“DSO?” was asked, perplexed.

“Yes,” he said, “Dickie shot off!”

More loud laughter.

http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj318/seewhy49/E461shootdown9.jpg
E/461 listing

The skipper sized up the heavy seas and the slowly sinking aircraft and decided to abandon the poor shattered carcass of the old kite. One of the small dinghies was launched with most of the gear, then the other small one with Pierre, Jimmy Leigh, and Ivor Peatty, plus some more gear. Then the big 6-man dinghy was launched, and the rest of us jumped into the sea and clambered into the dinghy. We tied the three dinghies together and drifted rapidly away from the aircraft.

We had hardly been drifting more than ten or fifteen minutes when a muffled report came from our store dinghy and it deflated. We frantically pulled it in by the rope, but most of the stores were lost. We searched the casing for the puncture and found a rip about three feet long, obviously a cut by a piece of shrapnel. It was impossible to repair, so we let it go after rescuing what gear we could. We had only just absorbed that tragedy when the other small dinghy deflated. Another long, unrepairable rip, and it also was abandoned. Pierre, Ivor and Jimmy were helped into our dinghy. Pierre's wound dressings, which had been kept dry in the small dinghy, were now saturated. The salt water in his wounds must have been causing excruciating pain.

Our elation had gone - only one dinghy left. How long would it last, we wondered? We checked what gear we had left - some 2 star red pyrotechnics, a flame float; a can of water and packet of emergency rations each; a case of Verey cartridges - (but the pistol had been lost, so they were jettisoned). We still had the dinghy radio (Gibson Girl) with the aerial, the kite for flying the aerial, the rocket for sending the kite up, the pistol for shooting the rocket. However, no cartridges for the pistol. It seemed we had lost almost every critical thing we needed.

I found one of the pigeon containers, opened it up and pulled out the pigeon. It had drowned. I was about to throw it away when Dudley said: "Keep it. We'll eat it later."

I looked at the poor bedraggled creature and wished I hadn't had so many baked beans for lunch - then promptly brought them all up. I put the pigeon under my feet.

Andu
1st Dec 2009, 07:22
Peter Jensen mentions the the U-boats using 'self-destroying shells' set for a particular range. Does anyone know, was this a development that preceded proximity fuses? Did the Germans later use proximity fuses on their AAA? I seem to recall that they came into use on the Allied side around 1942. (Among the first times they were used, the battle for Guadacanal?)

angels
1st Dec 2009, 12:01
Oh! Calcutta

The journey to Calcutta took four days and we did not get off the train. It was about one thousand two hundred miles. I remember that I commandeered a large tin of beetroot that I kept under the seat.

We were issued with wheat-crackers and I used to get out the tin and fork out a beetroot to eat with them. I was quite upset because as we left one station, a small boy ran alongside the train for quite a distance, in the hope that I would throw him a biscuit and I couldn't.

We went through Nagpur -- about half-way. Every time that the train came to an incline, the engine would conk out, we would wait about twenty minutes while it belched out plumes of black smoke and when it had got up steam again, we would proceed.

When I arrived at Calcutta, I was drafted onto a civilian maintenance unit, No.4 C.M.U. at Dum-Dum. It was a very strange posting. Dum-Dum was an aerodrome used by U.S. transport aircraft.

Dakotas would fly daily six- hour trips ‘over the hump’ to Chungking, carrying vital supplies to China.

Also on the site were two hangars and these belonged to the
Tata Aircraft Company. Inside, civilians were rebuilding Spitfire wreckage. In one corner of the yard there was a selection of old Spitfire wings and fuselages. In the other hangar they were reconditioning Rolls-Royce Merlin engines.

There was a sort of production line going, but for various reasons each rebuild proceeded at a different rate. I did not really know what I was supposed to do, the Indians worked on the aircraft. I did fit a rudder one day, although I was an engine-fitter.

There was an Indian AID inspector (Air Inspection Directorate). He asked me for advice continuously, that was fair enough,though he was supposed to know all these things.

I said earlier that I thought my examination after the fitter’s-course was a ‘fix’. If I had got 80% I would automatically have been made a corporal instructor, but they did not want any more instructors, so I was given 78%.
I was still top of the Entry and this could be why I was sent to 4 C.M.U.. I could look after the R.A.F’s interests, check the quality of the work and watch for any faults.

There was also an airframe-fitter and when the wings had to be joined to the fuselage he would ream the bolt-holes and fit the tapered-bolts himself, because it was so important.

Coolies sat in the shade of the hangar-doors, but would come in to lift the wings when required. When the aircraft were pushed out onto the tarmac, I would give them a very thorough inspection and I would list all the things that were faulty. I would not sign for them until they had been corrected.

There were several aircraft out on the tarmac waiting to be put right. The ignition-harness was connected to the wrong plugs on one engine. There was a crossed olive (??) in the pipework of another.

I was not very popular, but our pilots would have to fly them. (In conversation, Dad told me he came under intense pressure to pass crap aeroplanes as serviceable. He knew they were desperately needed, but he refused to compromise on safety.)

The camp where we lived was across the main road from the hangars. There were a few ‘bashas’ just like the ones in, ‘It Ain’t Half Hot, Mum’, on the TV. They were beside two rather stagnant ponds and some palm trees.

We had wooden-framed beds with sisal-string woven across, they were called ‘charpoys’. We also had mosquito-nets to sleep under; there were little harmless geckos that lived on the walls; they ate any insects that were about.

The inside of the hut was always clean and tidy, there was a sweeper who came round regularly. The ‘dhobi wallah’ took our clothes to be washed; the ‘char wallah’ brought his urn round with morning tea. The ‘moochi’ mended our shoes. There was a little cookhouse where the ‘babu’ would fry eggs and put them in a bread-roll for our supper when we came back at night. We were always smartly dressed in khaki-drill trousers and a khaki-drill
jacket despite the heat of the day.

The main road outside went down to Calcutta. There were always huge carts, heavily laden with jute and drawn by two oxen, proceeding slowly down the road to the mills. Anywhere where an animal had died by the roadside, a great cluster of vultures would spend several days devouring it.

About two hundred yards down the road were the H.M.V. recording studios. Several of us were allowed to play there in the evening. There was sheet-music and instruments. We formed a small orchestra and the C.O. supported us. Luckily, the studio was heavily soundproofed with thick red velvet curtains! We always cleared up very carefully and always said ‘goodnight’ and
‘thanks’, to the ‘chokidar’, when he locked up.

On my day off, I would go down into Calcutta, I used to walk along the main street, known as Chowringee, go into Firpo’s restaurant and have a large glass of lemonade with a ball of ice-cream in it. It was heaven!

I also went to the art-shop round the corner in Dhurumtolla St., I bought a sketch-book and pencils there and later used them! (Quite a few of Dad's sketches have survived, they haven't been scanned yet.)

Trams carried people up and down the road, all hanging on where possible, there were rickshaws, crowds and traffic, it was chaos. On the other side was a park and to the right there were Government buildings. There was a plaque on the wall at the site of the ‘Black Hole of Calcutta’. I also visited the Botanical Gardens. They were on the other side of the Hoogly river.

A ferry-boat went down the river, there was a landing-stage at the gardens. There they had the largest banyan tree in the world. It covered about two hundred square yards.

Although we always ate thick-skinned fruit and washed it in ‘pinki pani’, (that was permanganate of potash crystals dissolved in water), I caught dysentry. I was sent to the 47 Indian General Hospital in Calcutta. There I had to have a rather undignified examination and I was then put on a medicine
containing bismuth and iodine.

After about a fortnight, things improved and I was sent for convalescence to the Loretto Convent. When I ultimately returned to 4 C.M.U. I discovered that in my absence I had been posted to 124 R.S.U. (Repair and Salvage Unit) at Imphal.

It did not bother me excessively. I would not liked to have stayed at Dum-Dum for a long while although it was an interesting experience.

angels
2nd Dec 2009, 11:37
Up the Jungle!

My journey up into Burma started at Howrah railway station in Calcutta. The troop-train left in the late afternoon and it went north up the Ganges delta. Much of the land was flooded paddy-fields. The railway then turned to the right and went along the north bank of the Brahmaputra river until somewhere near Sylhet. The track then ended and we all got off.

By now it was about midday on the next day and we were taken across the river by a ferry-boat to join another train. There was no station, the track just came down across the red sand to near the water’s edge. There was a train waiting, we boarded it and off we went on the last stage of the Assam Railway journey to Dimapur.

We spent the night at the transit camp there. The next day we continued by 3 ton lorry to Kohima; the road from Dimapur to Kohima climbed over 5,000 ft. Each road-section to Imnphal was about 90 miles and was a day’s journey. After staying the night at Kohima, we went on to Imphal the next morning. As we left, we stopped and walked up Garrison Hill to see the site where the
Japanese advance was finally halted.

The battle for Kohima took place in the mountain rain-forest around the town and ended at the District Commissioner’s tennis court. The road to Imphal was cut and our troops there were surrounded in a box. The Japanese committed a whole division to take Kohima and make for the railhead.

Their lines of communication were too stretched, they had no food and hoped to capture some on the way. Kohima was defended by about 500 men of the Royal West Kent regiment supported by an Indian artillery unit to the rear. They were besieged for about a fortnight.

Around the District Commissioner’s bungalow there was open trench warfare and hand-to-hand fighting. It was as bad as the Battle of the Somme in the First World War. The bungalow was demolished and the combatants lobbed hand-grenades at each other across the tennis-court. Finally a tank was winched up the hill and this was the deciding factor. The Japanese retreated and the road to Imphal was reopened.

I have gone into some detail about the battle of Kohima but it was the turning point of the war and that is where the War Memorial is now. On the epitaph it says, ‘WHEN YOU GO HOME, TELL THEM OF US AND SAY, FOR YOUR TOMORROW WE GAVE OUR TODAY’.

http://i686.photobucket.com/albums/vv223/harlickbalham/kohima_memorial.jpg


As we walked up the hill a mongoose ran across the road, it is the only one that I have ever seen. There was debris, mud and shallow graves. The trees were all blasted-off with shattered trunks about two-feet high. It looked like a battlefield of the 1914-18 War.

I arrived at Imphal and joined 124 R.S.U. It was a tented camp beside an airstrip. Once again, an American unit were operating C47, Dakotas, flying supplies to the war-zone in Burma and on to Chungking, in China.

The American unit had an open-air cinema and a P.X. shop where I used to buy Chesterfield cigarettes. The town of Imphal was just a crossroads with a few corrugated-iron buildings and an open air market.

After a few days, I was organised to go on detatchment to Tanzu. It was an airstrip just across the Burma border and about eight miles from the Japanese lines.

Again, we set off in a three tonner. On our previous journeys we always had Indian Army drivers and maintenance crews, this time we had R.A.F. drivers. The first part of the journey was across the Imphal Plain, about 28 miles to Palel, then the hill country started.

The Chin Hills were completely covered in forest, the road was extremely dangerous, cut into the contour lines, down into one valley and up and over the next range of hills, for about sixty miles.

There was no edge to the road and some lorries came off and ended up 2,000 ft. below. We could see the wreckage down in the valleys as we drove along. Tank and boat transporters also used the road, What an awful line of communication to fight a war!

Tamu was a cleared stretch of jungle. There was a grass runway and a small clearing, where the aircraft were parked that needed repair. In the trees nearby was the fuel dump. There were many 50 gallon drums of 100 octane petrol. I used to wash my jungle green clothes in petrol!

Also on the strip was an R&R unit, (Refuel and Rearm). They dealt with the incoming planes. We lived in tents amongst the trees, between the runway and a stream. Along the side of the strip were anti-aircraft guns, manned by Indian soldiers.

About this time the Hurncane 2Bs. were replaced with Thunderbolt 2s. Unfortunately they could not bomb the enemy positions accurately enough, though they were a good strong fighter, with so much room in the cockpit.

The tactics were that our troops would call up the aircraft to bomb a Japanese position and then immediately rush it. The Thunderbolts had to be allowed too much distance and the enemy could recover before the attack.
The immediate view forward in a Thunderbolt was restricted by the large radial engine in the front.

So, out came all the Hurricanes again and some had to be made airworthy.

The first job that I was directed to was a Hurricane that had had one of the two engine-blocks replaced; there were six cylinders in each block. The engine would start, but it would not go faster than 800 RPM. I suspected that the valve-timing had been wrongly set, so I readjusted the drive-shaft and it then went up to its full power, 2,450 RPM. The corporal was not happy that I was right and that I had fixed it straight away!

Another job that I remember, was dealing with the filler-cap on a drop-tank full of petrol and still on the aircraft. It was cross-threaded, jammed completely. I had to hammer it, keeping my fingers crossed all the time!

One day a Hurricane landed that had its engine sump completely shot away. It was red-hot because it had lost all the oil, but the engine was still going. We got the pilot out, he was from No.1 Indian Air Force Squadron, based at Palel. We waited for the engine to cool before we moved it away.

On another day a Thunderbolt landed with its brakes on; it immediately turned over as soon as it touched the ground. We rushed to it to extricate the pilot, he already had his pistol out of its holster, ready to shoot himself if the aircraft had caught fire.


lasernigel
2nd Dec 2009, 13:02
Angels I have been in contact with Regle, as my Uncle Fred was a Blackpool lad and I thought he might have remembered him from 177 ATC sqn at Squires gate.
He did join up as a pilot and did his initial training in Canada on Havards, then on to South Africa for Hurricane conversion. Obviously later than some of the other contributors to this thread.
As your Fathers story is now approaching Burma that is where he met his untimely end to a short life as most brave young servicemen did at 21yrs old.
He was with 42 Sqn based at Tuliha, the Sqn was there from July to November 1944. He was shot down on a mission to bomb a bridge on the 21st Oct 1944.
His parents were told the usual, missing, missing presumed dead and finally after the war presumed dead.
His remains were not found until 1956 by the War Graves commission searching in the jungles of Burma.
His is buried in Taukkyan war cemetery. RIP

Everyone keep up the stories it makes better reading than most books on the subject.:ok:

regle
2nd Dec 2009, 15:14
I was sitting at my computer with Dover Castle looking me straight in the face and I thought back to a similar grey day in December 1956 when I was a Captain in Sabena and flying in the European Sector. I was qualified on D.C.3's, Convair 240 and 440, D.C.4 and D.C.6's, all of which were flying in different capacities in the sector. It was quite a problem as when you were "En Reserve", you were practically certain to be called out as not everyone was qualified on all the types. The situation was very unpopular as you had to keep up with all the different emergencies and, indeed, it was of the utmost importance that you remembered which type of aircraft you were flying if an emergency did come up. The situation was soon phased out but it was probable that you were still called upon to have at least two different types on your licence at the same time. I mention all this just to give you something to compare with things as they are now.

Anyway it was Dec 22nd. 1956 and I was scheduled to go to London in the afternoon on a D.C.6., turn around there and then back to Brussels. As this was my first flight as a Captain on D.C.6's I was being "Lache'd" on the route by my Chief Pilot, Peter Dils. Lache (I can't find any accents , grave or acute on this keyboard ) was the term meaning released or checked on that particular route but it is pronounced "lashay" and means "let loose. ". The weather was very dicey and there was fog already at London. By the time that we had done all our checks and were going out to the aircraft , Heathrow had closed down completely as had all the alternatives except Manston. I said to Peter that it was certain that we would have to divert so was it worth going ,as Brussels was also closing in rapidly and there was no hope of picking up the return load of passengers from Heathrow.? "Press on " was the reply. "All these passengers are hoping to get home for Xmas and Manston will stay open and anyway they've still probably got Fido !". This I very much doubted but he was the Big Chief so off we went into the wild blue yonder.

By the time we got over Dover there was a stack over every available beacon and it was dark by the time that we got down having been numbered about twenty three to land when we arrived overhead. To say that it was chaotic would be the understatement of the year. We were told to taxi to the nearest dispersal point available and to cut our engines and await further instructions. There were aeroplanes from every company in Europe going in opposite directions and no way of getting passengers off aircraft and no "Groups" available for ground power.

We found a vacant dispersal and cut our engines and we waited and waited and waited.. The batteries were nearly flat and I was standing with Peter Dils at the open rear door when he said "Right, Reg. You stay here and I am going to go down the emergency rope and see what I can do to get these passengers off." With that he got the rope out of it's compartment , threw it out then grasped it and disappeared out into the pitch black night. There was a muffled thud and then the scent of roasting flesh wafted up to the plane and that was the last that I saw of him for two hours.

Eventually an R.A.F. truck, complete with ladders and helpful airmen (Manston was still an R.A.F Station.) armed with torches managed to get the passengers off , no mean task with elderly people being carried down ladders. The baggage was left until a further contingent of RAF took it all to one of the Hangars where everyone, hundreds of them, were gathered. Customs had given up. They purchased the entire bar from one of the Air France planes then locked themselves in and left everyone to sort out the baggage. This had been dumped into the center of the Hangar with very little attempt to keep it in it's seperate stacks. There were no trolleys and people were picking up their suitcases and trundling them away and waiting by the roadside for the buses and taxis that were eventually coming out to the scene of chaos.

There was a representative eventually from Sabena there and we were talking when there was an announcement from a chap who was using a "Loud Hailer" as a means of getting some information over. "Would any one from the Sabena aircraft please go at once to the Guard room"
I managed to find my way there where there were two S.P.'s waiting. " We found this chap wandering around the Airfield" they said and there, lo and behold , was Peter Dils cut, still bleeding and very dazed and barely comprehensible. " He says he's a Sabena Chief pilot." said one of the S.P.'s "Can you identify him ?" I was sorely tempted, but it was not the time for Brirish humour. He obviously needed medical attention. What had happened, we later found out was that the D.C.6 had recently undergone one of it's normal ground checks and one of the ground crew had zealously greased the brand new and rather stiff "escape rope" that had been installed...hence the scent of Roast meat. Peter had been knocked unconscious and had come round not knowing where he was and had been wandering around Manston for two hours.
We were taken to London by car next day and the whole crew flew back in a D.C.4 as passengers and I was told that I was "Lache"..on London . Not one complaint was received from any of the sixty odd passengers and Peter and I remained good friends. And Manston did not have Fido any more. Regle.

johnfairr
2nd Dec 2009, 19:56
This thread has become an instant "page-turner" and I feel it would be best if I left any further instalments from my father until after we have heard how the WOp/AG from Wiley eventually makes dry land and how the father of Angels sorts out the Hurri-Bombers and Thunderbolts in SEAC.

I hope most readers will understand that continuity is key to any story-telling.:):)

Army Mover
2nd Dec 2009, 20:48
I've found every one of these posts absolutely fascinating, it is almost as if I was there with them. It would be nice to think that anybody with an interest in military aviation could read them in the years ahead; any chance that the central story threads could be grouped together in the History & Nostalgia section?

To all of the posters, thank you. :ok:

Wiley
2nd Dec 2009, 23:18
We organised ourselves as best as eleven men can in a six man dinghy. We sat alternately on the edge and inside the ring with our legs and feet bunched up in the middle, trying to keep Pierre's poor shattered leg on top. Pierre sat inside stoically, occasionally coughing up blood. Then he started complaining - about his watch, which had got water into it and stopped. "I paid a tenner for it," he said, "and look at it - not worth two bob now."

After a while I could not stand it any longer so I said: "Pierre, if you cut out your whingeing, I'll buy you a new watch when we get back to base."

He looked pleasantly surprised at this, and I must admit that later he kept me to my promise. Anyway no further mention was made of his watch.

I looked across at the man opposite me and was surprised to see a strange face, also that he had a pale blue RAF battle dress on. He noticed my perplexed look and solemnly held out his hand. "John Eshelby," he said.

I took his hand. "Peter Jensen."

I remembered then that our engineer, Lance Woodland, had gone to hospital for a minor operation and obviously John had been detailed to replace him. He had not come to briefing with us, but had gone straight to the aircraft and had been sitting in the engineer’s position all the trip. He had just joined the squadron and this was his first trip. What an initiation! I then introduced him to the rest of crew.

I must admit that the incongruity of the situation did not dawn on any of us until some time later.

My watch was the only one that was still going, and one of the crew, I can't remember who, kept asking me the time (as if it was of any consequence). After about the sixth or seventh time I began to get annoyed, and at the last request I said somewhat brusquely: "It's exactly five minutes after the last time you asked."

Dudley, who was sitting next to me dug me in the ribs. I came to my senses and carried on in a changed tone: "I can assure you the pubs will be closed by now," and hoped that no-one had noticed my aberration.

So we sat, as immobile as possible, frightened to move in case the fabric of the dinghy was damaged and our last link with life would go. The wind blew the waves into whitecaps. We were tossed up on top, then down into the troughs. Every now and then a wave would curl over us then drop on top, filling the dinghy. I welcomed this in a way as I had a small plastic beaker and was in a ‘leaning-forward’ position. I would scoop water out from between the mass of legs and feet on the bottom of the dinghy and pass it to someone in an upright position who would empty it out and pass it back. By the time I had the dinghy fairly empty, another wave would break over us and so I was kept busy and did not have time to think.

Dudley tried hard to keep our spirits up. At one stage, he called on George to sing. I can still see George, sitting on the edge of the dinghy, a huge foam-capped wave behind him, giving out a rollicking "Oh, a life on the ocean wave, a life on the rolling sea!" in his magnificent baritone voice.

Darkness came.

"George," said Dudley, "Give us a lecture on astro-navigation."

Again, George complied, but somehow none of us could concentrate too well.

The moon came up and with it the wind dropped. The sea became a gleaming, greasy series of rolling hills. I suppose I hallucinated a bit, for at times I was convinced that I was on the moon. I found it hard to grasp that we must only have been a mile or two from where we had ditched.

Time became meaningless, we could only wait until daylight to try to fly the aerial kite, so we sat and waited.

It was the longest night I have ever known.

Suddenly, it must have been about 4 a.m., we heard an aircraft. George fished a 2 star red out of the bag that hung over the side and handed it to Dudley. Dudley pulled out the pin - and nothing happened. Obviously the water had got into it. The engine noise faded away and our hopes with it.

"Give me another one George", said Dudley. "I'll keep it ready."

George handed over another 2 star red.

A few minutes later another aircraft, or maybe the same one and he was investigating something, maybe us. We all had switched on our Mae West lights, but they were very dim. Anyway, it was an aircraft, and Dudley unscrewed the cap of the pyrotechnic and pulled the pin while we all held our breaths. What a sight! Two beautiful red stars shot to the heavens and we cheered.

The aircraft turned and swooped towards us, we could see the outline of a Catalina against the sky. He came down almost to wave-top height and switched on a searchlight. He was a ‘Leigh-light Cat’ that hunted the U-boats at night.

I had a sudden panic, as often in these circumstances, in the excitement of finding survivors in a dinghy, the crew in the aircraft forget to wind up the trailing aerial and the survivors end up being killed by the aerial weights. I yelled "Hold your heads!" But I needn't have worried. They had wound in their aerial.

The Cat stayed with us until dawn, circling, losing us, searching, finding us again. As dawn came we saw that there was no cloud cover and our hearts sank. Tiger country was no place for Catalinas in broad daylight. With no cloud cover, the 88's would have had him for breakfast, so we naturally expected him to leave. But to our eternal gratitude, he stayed, still circling and obviously homing something on to us - but what?

At about 9 o'clock he signalled us with his Aldis Lamp: "Must go, short of fuel; help coming at 1000." Then he turned away and was soon lost to sight, and once again we were alone except for the same small sea bird that had been with us from the time we had ditched.

Our spirits dropped to zero.

angels
3rd Dec 2009, 13:54
Our food was Australian dehydrated mince, carrots and vegetables; this came in very large tins and was dropped by air;it was then reconstituted in boiling water, We were also given small purple pineapples, these were inedible.
(For my Dad to say something was inedible, it must have been inedible!)

At night we used to light a brazier and open tins of Heinz soups, which we would warm up and eat with biscuits. Whenever I open a tin of Heinz soup now, the memories come back to me.

Breakfast was porridge, bread and marmalade, with oleo margarine, almost liquid because of the heat. We were frequently issued with a large mug of rum and a tin of 50 Players cigarettes.

We used to wash and bathe in the stream that we had dammed up. Judging by the large footprints that were left overnight, we knew that a very large cat also used it; we thought it was probably a jaguar.

When we washed there we got covered with leeches. They would stick onto the skin and swell up as they sucked your blood. They were removed by holding a burning cigarette near to them, they would then fall off without leaving their little tube in the skin.

Nevertheless, where that did happen, they quickly became infected ulcers and when they healed they left scar tissue on the ankles. One of our party would rub metal polish into his ulcers, so that when they were bad, he would try for medical repatriation.

I have subsequently suffered with ulcerated ankles all my life. (Both Dad's were covered with scar tissue up to the knee. His ankles, as he says, were ulcerated and gave him particular trouble until the day he died. He only complained very rarely.))

One airman was repatriated, it was the result of a distressing accident that I actually witnessed. That afternoon, I was working on a Spitfire, replacing a rocker-box cover. There was another Spitfire, about twenty feet away, that had had work done on it, but the engine would not start.

A group of people gathered round it. Suddenly it did start and it immediately went straight up to take-off power. The throttle-control had a pin left out and it could not be shut down. The aircraft was on its chocks, the tail went up and the nose dipped down.

As the wooden propellor hit the ground, the blades started to break up and the engine went even faster. The fitter jumped out of the cockpit and slid down the wing. A large splinter of broken propellor went into his leg. He should have flicked the switches down to cut the engine, but it was all over in about twenty seconds. The shock upset him mentally and he was repatriated.

The R&R unit and the anti-aircraft guns had already been moved forward to Kalewa. We repaired the aircraft that were left and dumped any wreckage in a clearing that we called 'the graveyard'. Dacoits (bandits) set fire to the remains of the fuel dump.

While I was at Tamu, I always had my Sten gun at the ready. It had a clip on magazine with about 30, 9mm. bullets in it. It could be fired from the hip or shoulder, as a machine-gun or on single shot. I used to go into the jungle, to practise firing it; it was a more useful weapon than a rifle in those conditions.

About the second week of March 1945, we returned to Imphal. We spent a few days at Imphal and because I was an engine fitter, I had to spend the evenings minding the 'Meadows'. This was a lorry that had a car engine driving a generator in the back. It supplied a rather dim electric light to each of the tents.

A week later we were sent as a small detatchment to Thazi. This was an abandoned airstrip past Tamu.

Off we went again with the lorries loaded with tents and tools, down the dangerous road and up over the mountain ranges. When we arrived there, there were four aircraft parked near the end of the runway, I can only remember the Mosquito and a Beaufighter because I worked on them.

I changed the oil-cooler on the port engine of the Beaufighter. The Mosquito had a damaged elevator and after a replacement had been fitted, I used to 'run up' the engines. The thermometer in the cockpit read 140°F, inside temperature and 120°F outside, that was hot!

You could feel the hot air in your lungs as you breathed, that was a few weeks before the onset of the monsoon. Because it was so hot, we used to work from six o'clock in morning to 2 p.m.. We would then rest on our beds for the afternoon.

I kept the felt around my water bottle damp, so that the evaporation would cool the water inside. We always had to put sterilising tablets in the water before we drank it. We also had to take Mepacrine tablets to prevent
malaria. One day a small scorpion was behind my case lid, when I
shut the case, it stung my hand, but it was not serious.

Thazi was a more open area, there was no thick jungle and there was a village nearby, with houses built on stilts to avoid the monsoon flooding. There were several temples and the Burmese walked about quite freely.

One day a badly burned airman was brought in from Kalewa, there was a nursing orderly with him and they stayed overnight until a plane took him out the next morning.

What had happened was that he had to drain the water condensation from the bottom of the fuel tanks on a Warwick. It was a transport aircraft and there were little taps under the wings. It was dark, so he took a hurricane lamp to see what he was doing.

It was a disaster, he opened a tap and the whole aircraft caught fire. I have recently read of another Warwick being burnt out. Did the same thing happen? It is very rare for aircraft to catch fire on the ground.

A pilot came to fly out the Beaufighter. He did one circuit and landed again. The propellor constant-speed unit needed adjustment, then while it was standing at the end of the runway, the heat of the sun caused the inflatable raft to burst out of the wing and it had to be repacked. It eventually got away.

We went down to the Meiktila area on the 18th. of May 1945. There were two, three-ton lorries and a wrecker; that was a lorry on which there was a crane and winch. Unfortunately we only had one qualified driver, so two people had to learn pretty quickly.

We went south, down the road to Kalewa. That section of road was covered in bitumen and we moved along at a good speed. We stopped to look at the burnt out Warwick and then crossed the River Chindwin on the Bailey bridge.

Wiley
3rd Dec 2009, 20:23
We wondered what the ‘help’ was. We knew that Captain Walker's sloops were about 100 miles from us when we were shot down. Say they had contacted them at 5 a.m., assuming a speed of 20 knots, they could be with us at 10 a.m. I found later that we had all done that sum, but no one dared mention it. It was just too much to hope.

The sea was running in a huge oily swell. The dinghy was riding up and down like a cork. Then once, after a particularly high wave, as we dropped into the trough, Bunny said in a quite matter of fact tone: "I don't want to raise your hopes chaps, but I think I saw a ship."

No one spoke, but as the dinghy lifted again, eleven pairs of eyes looked in the direction Bunny had indicated, and there they were! - five anti-submarine sloops under the command of Captain F. J. Walker C.B., D.S.O. and 3 bars.

How we cheered!

However we weren't out of our difficulties yet. We held George in a standing position and he waved the bag that had held the pyrotechnics. But they couldn't see us. They reached a point about five miles from us and began searching. After a while, a Liberator arrived, obviously at the request of the ships, and he went to a point about five miles the other side of us and began a search.

We knew from experience that in a broken sea like this, even a large ship is hard to see from the air. A dinghy is impossible. So what to do? Use up the last of our precious pyrotechnics, or should we keep them in reserve, just in case?

Dudley made the decision. "Activate the flame float," he said.

Our one and only flame float.

George pulled out the pin and dunked it in the water. A heart-stopping few seconds, then it flared out with billowing smoke. We had to let it go in case it damaged the dinghy. But it did the trick. The Lib came over, waggled his wings, then left for home. The sloops then came over. They lowered a launch and some matelots brought it over to take off our wounded.

Pierre was carefully handed over to them then they insisted on taking Bob. He protested that he was alright, but they reckoned that anyone with that much blood on him must have been hurt. He finally went with them. Another launch towed us to the side of HMS Starling, which had a Jacob's ladder over the side, and one by one we clambered up, again under the critical eye of Dudley who wouldn't leave the dinghy until he had passed up everything that was left of our gear.

http://i275.photobucket.com/albums/jj318/seewhy49/Rescue1.jpg
E/461 crew about to climb Jacob’s Ladder onto HMS Starling

I found that I could climb the ladder OK but when I tried to lift my leg over the railing, I found it wouldn't move. I made a couple of ineffectual attempts, then a couple of matelots stepped forward and lifted me over and stood me on my feet. My knees buckled and I grabbed the railing, but pretended I was only looking down at the dinghy bobbing in the sea below us.

When we were all on board, Captain Walker stepped forward and introduced himself and welcomed us aboard. When he discovered we were the crew of U/461, he could hardly contain his glee. They still had some of the wreckage and bits and pieces of U461 on board, and later, he gave all of us some bits with a large part on which the ship's carpenter had affixed a plate to commemorate the sinking of U461 by U/461.

However before anything else could be done there was an important matter to attend to. Much to our surprise, 'E' was still afloat, and the ships went over to her. The tail was still pointing defiantly to the sky, the fin and tailplane well clear of the water and the tail turret - my turret - shattered by a 37mm shell.

"Do you have any secret equipment on board?" said Captain Walker.

"Yes," said Dudley.

"Then we'll have to sink it," said the Captain, and they threw a depth charge, which landed near poor old "E".

There was a mighty turbulence, then a water spout as the depth charge went off.

As the sea settled down, 'E' was still there. To us, it seemed a terrible indignity after all the poor old girl had gone through.

Captain Walker looked at Dudley, probably read his face and said: "We'll leave it."

We stood silently at the rail as we sailed away and left our faithful, magnificent 'E' to find her own way to the bottom of the sea.

We had a most pleasant cruise on the good ship Starling and Captain Walker was a most genial host. The officers among us - Dudley, Jimmy, Ivor, George and myself, had all our meals with the captain in his cabin. The N.C.O.'s went to the Petty Officer's mess and were placed on the rum ration - except of course for Pierre, who was installed in the sick bay. The flotilla was cruising in the Bay in the hope of being attacked by the new German glider bomb. (They had a cinematographer on board whose job it was, in the event of an attack, to stand on the bridge and film the bomb as it came in!)

We were not at all disappointed that the Germans failed to keep the appointment.

Just for our entertainment, the Captain put on a simulated U-boat attack. The whole flotilla sailed at full speed, dropping depth charges from the stern and throwing them out with their hedgehogs. The turmoil in the sea was unbelievable! I often wondered what that bit of entertainment cost the British taxpayer.

The ships turned and traversed the same area hoping to find some fresh fish for dinner, but surprisingly, there wasn't even one.

Fortunately for us the flotilla was due to return to its base at Milford Haven a day or two after picking us up, so again, we heard "course for home" and again felt that mixture of pleasure and relief and the rise in our spirits.

On the way into the Haven, the Starling pulled into Pembroke Dock and dropped us off at our own doorstep. I still remember the feel of the solid, steady land under my Feet. It felt good.

We were debriefed at the Ops Room, and the debriefing report, (Form Orange), was endorsed by the Station Commanding Officer: "An example of what can be done by a well-trained and disciplined crew."

The Squadron Commander added: "Concur."




...................................CREW of U/461...............CREW of E/461
Captain........................D. Marrows.......................D. Marrows
First Pilot......................P.C. Leigh (Jimmy).............P.C. Leigh
Second Pilot..................P.E. Taplin.......................I.V.R. Peatty (Ivor)
Navigator......................J.S. Rolland.....................W.G. Done
Engineer.......................G.M. Watson (Paddy)........J.T. Eshelby
Fitter ...........................A.N. Pearce (Bubbles).........A.N. Pearce
Rigger............................F. Bamber (Pierre)............F. Bamber
1st Wireless Op...............P.T. Jensen.....................P.T. Jensen
2nd Wireless Op ............H.H. Morgan...................R.L. Webster
3rd Wireless Op...............R.L. Webster...................P.R. Criddle (Dick)
Air gunner.....................D.C. Sidney (Bunny)...........D.C. Sidney

angels
4th Dec 2009, 11:24
Central Burma

Myingyan, Meiktila and Kinmagan.

We proceeded down the east side of the Chindwin. The road was unmade and just at that time the monsoon started. The rain was torrential and in a few minutes the whole road had become a quagmire.

The lorries were getting stuck as the wheels sank in, we had to keep pulling them out using the winch and cable. At one stage I could see the ground starting to crack away under a back wheel. I shouted, 'Drive on, drive on for heaven's sake', or something like that....

The lorry was driven forward and the section of road slid down the bank and into the Chindwin.

The route then turned inland and we drove through the jungle for fifty miles. I was most surprised that the area where the Chindwin joins the Irrawaddy is like a desert, just sand that has been deposited over the years.

We crossed on the ferry and went down to the airstrip at Myingyan. There were several active Thunderbolt squadrons there, but all that I remember is the colossal din made by thousands of bullfrogs in the waterlogged trench behind our tent. It was deafening, we could not sleep.

Meiktila was the place where the last stand was made by the retreating Japanese army and it was a fierce battle. The area where our tents were, at the north of the main airstrip, was covered in unexploded mortar shells.

There was also a defence trench that was still full of dead Japanese troops, complete with their equipment; all shot full of holes.

I found a dead Englishman, I cut off the lower of his identity discs and reported it. I remember his name, as it was the same as one of my forebears; he had been in the Tank Corps.

There were many unusable aircraft abandoned there. There was a Hurricane, a Harvard and several Mosquitoes, the plywood covering of the wings had warped and buckled in the hot sun.

Whilst at Miektila main, I had to work on a Westland Lysander, it was the only serviceable one left in Burma. It was painted black, it had a ladder fixed to the side and it was used for dropping and picking up spies.

It was very battered, but a replacement engine had been fitted. I had to fit a new fuel pump to it. It was very difficult as there was only about six inches of space between the back of the engine and the bulkhead where the pilot's
instruments were. I could not see what I was doing and I had to put my arm up and do all the fitting by 'feel'. I eventually got it fixed, it was started up and all was well.

I flew around the area several times in a Harvard and took photographs of Meiktila Lake. Sometimes I used to swim in the lake, out to the little island that had a temple on it. There was an open-air cinema on the camp and every night, before the film started, they played Glenn Miller's, 'Moonlight Serenade'. Whenever I hear it now, it brings back memories. (He would have to walk out of any room where it was playing).

I have mentioned earlier about the problem of the lack of forward-vision in the Thunderbolt 2s. When they were landing and the tail dropped, they would sometimes come off the edge of the runway, just missing oil drums and other equipment. I always kept well out of the way.

One day one Thunderbolt landed on top of another one. The propellor of the top one cut the fuselage of the under one into slices about one foot thick. The propellor ended up stuck in the port wing. The tip of the propellor just cut into the throttlebox by the pilot's left hand and apart from a cut thumb,
he was otherwise uninjured. It could well have been a dreadful accident.

(Dad took a photo of the aftermath of this accident. It's not scanned yet. IIRC He's standing by the planes grinning, with his thumbs up. I vividly remember this photo as you can see Dad's ribcage poking through his skin quite clearly.)

We then moved to Kinmagan and by now the monsoon was at its height. The whole area was flooded to a depth of 18 inches, as far as the eye could see. It was like living in a large lake. We walked and lived in the water, up to our knees.

There was a mess-tent and the water was almost up to the top of the forms that we sat on. Our tent was also flooded, of course. I had a box, on end, on which I kept my boots. I put bricks under the legs of my bed and when I got in, I would look underneath and if there was 2" clearance between me and the flood water, then all was well. I also had my rifle and Sten gun
in bed with me! This lasted for about three weeks and as the
flood receded, life returned to nornal. (Surprised he didn't mention this was the second time he got a sting from a scorpion. He didn't shake his boots out one monring).

One day a Dakota wanted to land. People tried letting off red Verey flares, but they were all wet and would not fire. The aircraft landed and then ploughed two troughs, about one foot wide and one foot deep, right up the length of the runway.

Peasant women subsequently filled up the trenches with bakets of soil, carried on their heads. A few days later, the C.O. of 47 Squadron decided that they would fly the Mosqitoes off.

People were muttering that they thought it was too soon. Although it was still drizzling, they were started up and they taxied, one behind the other, down to the further end of the runway. The first one opened up and as he was just getting the tail up, the aircraft slid off off the strip and into the
bog-land where the undercarriage broke off.

The second aircraft started his run and exactly the same thing happened. After the third aircraft came to grief, the C.O. decided that, 'flying was scrubbed'. (You can imagine how happy the ground crew were that they had to put the Mossies back together.....)

One morning I was alone in the tent alongside the runway. I think that I was probably the Duty Crew! (I believe it was a Sunday). There was nothing happening, all was quiet. I had a little fire going and I was busy making drinking-glasses out of old hexagonal gin-bottles, I would partly fill the bottle with engine-oil, then I plunged a red-hot poker into it. The sudden change in temperature would cause the glass to fracture cleanly at the oil level. I undertook this service for the officers, free of charge!

Anyway, whilst so occupied, someone came up to me and told me that the war was over -- I did not believe him, but of course it was true. Soon after this, the whole unit was moved to Rangoon.

(This refers to VJ Day. Dad said VE Day meant nothing to him. He didn't even hear about for a couple of days. I was surprised (I still am) at his low key mention of the end of the war. Indeed, he had to rack his memory for exactly where he was on VJ Day. One theory I have about his lack of enthuiasm was he was still in some danger. Many Japanese refused to believe the war was over and fought on for some time. You'll see evidence of this later in his memoirs when his plane was shot at in Burma.)

A squadron of Dakotas arrived, they were duly loaded and off we went. I flew in one that was overloaded with tents and fire-extinguishers. There was just a space for me, lying on top of the tents, where I could see out of a window.

According to my log, the journey took 2½ hours. We landed at Hmawbe.

Caractacus
4th Dec 2009, 19:32
I don't suppose there are many replies to this thread because 21st chatter seems so trivial in comparison. So, all I will say is that this is the very best of Pprune and I have read the board daily since 1996.

Keep it coming chaps!

Wiley
4th Dec 2009, 21:20
WOP/AG Peter Jensen. Instalment 14

Post script to the sinking of U 461 by U/461

On Tuesday 3rd June, 1986, my wife Rosemary, Silvia and Harry McIver and I arrived in Munich to meet Wolf Stiebler, the captain of U461.

On the flight to Munich, I was beset with not a little trepidation - how does one greet a man whom you once did your damnedst to kill? However, I need not have worried. We recognised each other immediately. His handshake was firm, his smile was genuine.

"Peter," he said, "We last met in the Biscay!" and laughed.

We all got on wonderfully well. Wolf spoke reasonable English, Silvia spoke German quite well, and as Harry and I had spent the previous 12 months going to German classes once a week, we could communicate quite well. Wolf could detect - and got great amusement from - our Australian accent.

In our discussions with Wolf, he gave his version of what has been described as the greatest battle of the war involving U-boats. U461, U462, and U504 left Lorient on the evening of 29th July 1943. As senior officer, Wolf was in charge of the group. He ordered that they cruise on the surface all night and rendezvous at a point in the Biscay next morning.

U461 and U504 made the rendezvous, but U462 was missing. They stayed on the surface as long as they dared and Wolf was about to give the order to submerge when they saw flashes against the rising sun. It was U462 signalling with his searchlight.

They sailed back to him to discover that he had been submerged all night and had flat batteries. Using his searchlight had flattened them further, so it was impossible for him to submerge.

Wolf had to make a decision. He knew to remain on the surface during the day was dangerous. So should he stay with U462 and protect it, or submerge and leave it to its fate? He decided to remain surfaced, and was soon spotted and the battle began.

Our depth charges broke U461 in two, something on Wolf's clothing caught, and he was dragged down to a considerable depth before he was released and came to the surface. We had seen a Halifax bomb U462 and saw the crew abandon the boat and had assumed that it had been hit. Apparently this was not so. The bomb had missed and the crew had merely scuttled the boat.

We dropped one of our dinghies to the survivors of U461 (the crew of U462 all had one-man dinghies) and Wolf and the other survivors swam to it. They put three or four wounded men into the dinghy and the rest stayed in the water, holding on to the edge of the dinghy.

The sloops now arrived and U504 submerged. The sloops began depth charging about 800 to 1000 meters from the U461 survivors. According to Wolf, the men in the water suffered excruciating pain. They pulled themselves out of the water as far as they could but , (in Wolf's words), his stomach was forced into his chest and his eyeballs felt as if they were being forced out of his head. He honestly thought he was dying.

Wolf is very bitter over the whole affair. As he put it, he sacrificed two good boats and two good crews to save a boat which merely scuttled itself.

Silvia asked him if he had a good crew. "Yes," he said simply, "the best!"

After all these years it still rankles with him. He has never joined the U-boat association, but is a member of the "Cape Horners" (those who have rounded Cape Horn under sail).

Wiley
5th Dec 2009, 21:00
For his efforts, Dudley received a DFC for sinking the sub. and a DSO for the combat with the Ju88’s. Pierre Bamber and Bubbles Pearce were both awarded the DFM.

Dudley had now completed his tour of 800 operational flying hours and was posted to Mountbatten to a desk job in the ops room. Pierre was in hospital having shrapnel removed from his legs and was finally invalided home.

Jimmy Leigh took over the crew as captain and we were posted to Carew Sherrington for an A.P.C. - (Armament Practice Course). This lasted a week and we then returned to the squadron.

For some time, Coastal Command losses in the Bay of Biscay had been giving H.Q. concern, and when we were shot down, they stopped all patrols on the eastern part of the Bay. Then shortly after we returned to the squadron, they gave the OK for a T3 patrol to test it out – and who did they pick? Us, of course!

4th November 1943.
It was with some trepidation that we embarked on this patrol. The saying ‘third time proves it’ was on all our minds, but unspoken. Another first light takeoff on a T3 patrol! I would rather have stayed in bed.

Fortunately, there was plenty of cloud – (good old life insurance) – even as we set course from Finisterre. However, as we progressed, I began to realise that we were approaching the position of our previous battle, and not far from the location where we had sunk U-461. I was having these unpleasant thoughts when suddenly, George the navigator jumped up onto his table and had his head in the astrodome. (I was on the wireless.)

My heart missed a couple of beats. I switched on the intercom in time to hear the mid-upper say “They look like 88’s to me.”

I called the skipper and asked if he wanted a signal? “Yes,” he said, “bash out a 465 quick!”

I said: “How many?”

He replied: “Four.”

I switched on the transmitter, raised Group and bashed out “465 – 4,” with our position, got an acknowledgement from Group, then got back on the intercom to find out what was happening.

It appeared we had just flown out of cloud to find ourselves in the middle of a group of four Ju88’s. Jimmy had woken up before the Germans, and had turned back into the cloud. We never saw them again.

We all relaxed and tried to get back to normal. George started to compile a coded message for me to send to Group with details of the incident. I sat back waiting for the message and tried to calm my nerves. When the receiver came alive, I grabbed my pencil and started writing. The Morse came through, slower and clearer than usual, starting with about 10 or 12 callsigns, then a coded message. The strange thing was, our callsign was not included.

I called Jimmy. “Skip,” I said, “Group is calling every aircraft in the bay, but not us. The message is in code.”

Jimmy replied: “Get George to decode it.”

I handed it to George, who decoded it with the SYKO box. When he finished, he said: “I can’t understand it. The message reads to proceed to a position where four U boats have been reported. The position is 30 miles behind us.”

I suddenly went cold. I grabbed my log and looked at the last message – 465-4. I should have sent 487-4. (465 meant U boats, 487 meant enemy aircraft.) I just wasn’t thinking straight. When Jimmy said 465, I just sent it! What a mistake. I had to correct it before more harm could be done, so using plain language, I sent to Group: “Last message, cancel 465, substitute 487.”

There was no response from Group for four or five minutes. Then came the same slow Morse, all the previous callsigns: “Resume patrol.”

I couldn’t believe I could have done such a thing and wondered what the outcome would be. It must have gone around the base like wildfire. When we landed and moored up, a dinghy came alongside, and when we opened the aircraft door, the dinghy driver poked his head inside and said: “Who sent 465?” with a big grin on his face.

At debriefing, they told us that the Navy had been expecting a new wave of U boats to set out from the Channel ports, and when they received our signal, they said: “This is it,” and orders had gone out to the ships to get steam up, M.P.s were sent around the pubs to get matelots back to their ships – altogether a big panic.

The next few days, I had to put up with quite a bit of leg-pulling. I was called ‘465 Jensen’ and other uncomplimentary remarks. Then finally the Signals Leader came up to me and said the C.O. wanted to see me.

“What for?” I said.

“Don’t know,” he said, "probably that 465.”

With sinking heart, I went to Wing Commander Douglas’ office, knocked on the door, went in, saluted and said: “You wanted to see me, sir.”

He looked up, puzzled. “Did I?” he said.

“Yes sir.” I replied, and stood there.

He looked more puzzled. “What for?” he said.

I thought this was a bit funny, but might as well make a clean breast of it, so I said: “I assume it’s about the 465, sir.”

His face lit up and a broad grin crossed his face, to be suddenly replaced by a serious frown. “This is serious,” he said.

“Yes sir,” I said, “serious.”

He continued: “You know you scrambled the whole British fleet in the south of England.”

“Yes sir,” I said.

“You know M.P.s were sent around to all the pubs, sending sailors back to their ships.” He paused, savouring the thought, “Just imagine, all those drunken sailors, rolling back to their ships.” It was just too much. His face broke into a broad grin again. With a great effort, he wiped it from his face. “You know you should have sent 487, don’t you?”

“Yes sir,” I said.

He was beginning to get the smile back on his face again, I noticed. “You won’t do it again, will you?”

“No sir,” I said.

By this time, he was having difficulty keeping a straight face. “Dismissed.”

“Thank you sir.”

As I closed the door and walked down the corridor, I heard an unsuppressed laugh somewhere behind me.

Wiley
6th Dec 2009, 20:08
Over the next couple of weeks, the memory of the 465 signal gradually faded from squadron memory. As winter approached, the cold, wild weather made flying difficult, and even when moored, the flying boats had to be constantly guarded and protected. There always had to be at least two of the crew on board day and night. Refuelling especially could be a nightmare, especially at night. Also, re-arming with depth charges or ammunition for the guns had to be experienced to be believed.

I remember one dark and stormy night, we had landed after a long patrol. It was pitch black, the wind was blowing hard and the moisture in the air couldn’t make up its mind whether to hail or sleet. The skipper and the navigator went ashore for de-briefing, leaving the rest of us to get the aircraft ready for takeoff the next day. (It was requirement that the aircraft be fully refuelled and re-armed by the crew immediately after landing.)

I had the job of topping up the oil tanks, so I climbed out on the wing with a small torch. I started with the starboard inner engine, opened the panel covering the oil tank cap, and with the aid of the torch, read the dip stick. I pulled up a cord that was attached to the oil pipe from the refuelling barge below, put the nozzle into the oil tank and called: “Oil on,” and oil started flowing into the tank. When the tank was full, I called “Oil off,” and when the oil stopped flowing, I replaced the cap and panel and carefully stood up holding the nozzle close. It was pitch black, a bitterly cold wind blowing, hard-laced with hail and snowflakes, the aircraft was bucking – and then I started to slip. I couldn’t keep my feet. I went down on to my knees, switched on the torch and found that the oil line was still oozing oil and the oil was running down the front of my battledress, over my flying boots and the rubber soles couldn’t grip the oil-covered wing. I expressed my deep feelings into the wind, and finished up topping up the oil in the other three engines on my knees.

One of my most memorable experiences happened on Christmas Day 1943. On Christmas Eve, a signal was received from a 228 Squadron Sunderland. They had sighted a mystery ship, possibly a blockade runner. And so it turned out to be. Then a short time later, a signal was received from another Sunderland from 201 Squadron, (captained by Les Baveystock, who, for a short time, flew as our first pilot during our Poole days). The positions were close together and the question was – were there two ships, or did one aircraft have the wrong position?

Both aircraft were told to check their positions, but the 228 Squadron aircraft was never heard from again – obviously, it had been shot down. The panic was on. Les was told to shadow his ship, and when the Navy was called, all they had on hand was an old WW1 cruiser that had been converted to a minelayer. It was sent at full speed – about 12 knots! – to the area.

Jimmy was told to prepare for take over from Les Baveystock when he had to leave to refuel. We all went to bed to get what sleep we could.

We assembled at 4 a.m. for briefing. It was the most diabolical briefing I had ever attended. There were two blockade runners, and the Germans were desperate to get them into port. They had sent out eleven destroyers, (Narvik and Ebling class – modern ships with heavy armament), two Sperrbrekkers (flak ships), and there was intensive air cover of Ju88’s.

I thought: “Great! But what’s the cloud like?” Les had reported good cloud cover, but when the Met. man came on, he said he predicted a clear sky – no cloud! The last word was from the Operations Officer, whose comforting remark was: “There will be a Mosquito standing by at St Athan, but don’t bother calling him. You’ll be way out of his range.”

We were a quiet bunch walking down to the jetty, each with his own thoughts. To make matters worse, we weren’t flying our own aircraft. For a reason I can’t remember, we were told to take another one. This was something we didn’t like, as every aircraft is different and you become used to your own – you become comfortable with it.

It was to be a first light takeoff and dawn was just breaking as we slipped moorings and started towards the flare path. Then George Done the navigator came on the intercom to Jimmy and said: “There’s good light, Jimmy. Why not take off down river?” This was surprising, as I had never heard a navigator advise a pilot before.

Jimmy said: “Good idea. There’s a lot more water,” and proceeded to take off.

We had just got airborne when there came a loud banging noise. I looked over to the engineer’s position to see red lights flashing. This was all I needed. I grabbed my seat cushion, put it against the transmitter, sat on the bench, back against the cushion, feet on the piece of armour plate behind my position, in a crouch, with my head in my hands – and waited to hit!

In a wonderful example of airmanship, Jimmy brought the aircraft down on the water so softly that I didn’t know we were down. How fortunate that George had made his suggestion. If we had taken off on the flare path, we would have ended up in the township of Neyland, and if the depth charges had gone off, there wouldn’t have been much of the town left.

The panic was really on – we had to get airborne within 20 minutes or the op. would have been classified as an operational failure, and someone would have to be blamed for it. The Engineering Wing Commander came running down, a greatcoat over his pyjamas, determined it wasn’t going to be pinned on him. He came aboard with a couple of erks, who climbed up on the wing, opened the nacelle and found the trouble – the petrol line to the carburettor had been disconnected.

A big relief for the Wingco! He immediately blamed us. “Must have been one of the crew milking petrol out of the tank.”

This was loudly denounced by Bubbles, as it was not our aircraft.

“Well,” the Wingco said, as he nervously looked at his watch, “it’s all OK now. Get airborne.”

Bubbles and Joe Taylor stood their ground. “I want the other engines checked.”

“As far as I’m concerned, the other engines are OK,” said the Wingco.

“As far as you were concerned, the port inner was OK before we took off,” said Bubbles and Joe.

There was a moment’s silence as the two factions faced each other. Then the Wingco tried a new tack. He turned to Jimmy: “I am ordering you to take off,” he said.

What a responsibility for a young man, with ten lives plus his own at risk and with a job to do that he knew was dangerous for all involved. To his credit, he didn’t hesitate. “I’m taking off,” he said. “Who’s coming with me?”

We were all near the end of our tours and the experience of the immediate past had us all with a dose of the shakes, but when your skipper asks, what can you do? One by one, we said OK, as much as we would have all liked to go ashore and back to bed like the Wingco.

So off went a very relieved Wingco and his erks in the dinghy as we prepared for takeoff.

We started the engines and I switched on the R/T and requested permission for takeoff. We took off – down river again! – did a circuit of the base, then the navigator gave the captain a course to steer. The captain took up the course and I leaned over to switch off the R/T and change to W/T when I heard a faint voice on the R/T. I switched to intercom and asked the captain to do another circuit of the base, as base could be calling us. Sure enough, as we got into range, the voice came calling us.

I replied, and the message came: “Return to base, sortie cancelled.”

What a relief! We had Christmas dinner after all!

The drama unfolded over the next few hours. Apparently, the Navy had managed to get two cruisers into position and didn’t need us, and a battle took place which led to a magnificent victory by the Navy. They suffered no damage, but on the German side – disaster! They lost the blockade runners and their valuable cargoes and several destroyers. (I don’t know the exact number.)

Icare9
6th Dec 2009, 20:27
All these new contributors are rivetting stuff, so please, please carry on!!
Just to interject a little background:-
23 Dec 1943 - 28 Dec 1943: Destruction of Brest and Bordeaux Flotillas
On Christmas eve 1943 HMS Glasgow left the sanctuary of Horta to intercept a blockade runner, the Alsterufer. This blockade runner was sighted by a Sunderland flying-boat aircraft on 27th December and it was eventually sunk by bombs dropped from a Liberator bomber. In the meantime a signal was received aboard Glasgow that enemy warships from the German Bordeaux flotilla were at sea to protect the Alsterufer and that five ships might be encountered. On 28th December 1943 several "targets" were picked up on the cruiser's radar screens and at 1330 hours the enemy were engaged. During the course of the action, in which HMS Edinburgh also participated, three enemy destroyers were sunk with an additional four put out of action. Two crew members from Glasgow's ship's company died in the action and were buried at sea with wreaths made from the Christmas tree which had been intended for use at a children's party at Horta.

Hope that helps put the loss of the 288 Squadron Sunderland into context. They stopped at least one blockade runner and caused the loss of several powerful German warships.

regle
7th Dec 2009, 09:19
This Forum should be running as the daily feature in a good newspaper so that the truth of what actually happened in so many different theatres of the war could reach a wider public. I note the thread that runs through so many of the fascinating, different tales and that is how often makeshift equipment, inferior weapons and stupid higher orders are overcome in the face of vastly superior ,well equipped modern enemy forces by the sometimes desperate tactics of quick thinking and ingenious methods. Not always , alas. I wonder whether we shall ever learn. ? Regle

angels
7th Dec 2009, 11:27
Rangoon

Hmawbe (the ‘H’ is silent) was an airstrip 28 miles north of Rangoon. The other runway was at Mingaladon, this was about 8 miles north of Rangoon and it is now the modern airport.

They assembled most of the remaining Hurricanes and Harvards at Hmawbe and we had to get them serviceable. One plane needed a replacement generator and I knew that there was one on an abandoned aircraft at Meiktila. I offered to go back and get it. You know what they say, ‘Never
volunteer for anything!’

I usually had Sgt. Harrap as a pilot; we took off on the morning of 25th. of August 1945 in a Harvard and flew north. The weather was absolutely foul.
We flew by compass above the clouds for about an hour, then we descended to look for the bend in the River Sittang. As we were flying along at 600ft. above the jungle, I heard a metallic bang on the port mainplane and there was a hole.

We had been hit!

The pilot had his helmet on and I thought that he might not have heard it. We had no intercom., so I gave him a poke in the back with a screwdriver! I pointed to it and he saw it, he waggled the ailerons to check that they still worked.

We proceeded on our way to Meiktila and reported the incident when we arrived. A squadron of Thunderbolts were sent out to bomb the area. Dad also told me that a load of 'brown jobs' had to go out into the jungle to find the stubborn Japanese and bring them in. Dad was not flavour of the month with them as obviously it was quite dangerous.

I stripped out the generator and put it in the locker of the Harvard, behind my seat. I then went to lunch.

We took off, to return in the afternoon and on the way back the weather was even worse. There were storm conditions, the aircraft was all over the place and the canopy leaked like a sieve. We were lucky to make it.

Whenever I flew over the jungle, I used to have an emergency kit; a knife, a little box of ‘K’ rations, chocolate and a pair of socks.

Going to Meiktila to get parts from the abandoned aircraft was deemed to be a great success and a list of parts for a second visit was prepared. However, I developed yellow jaundice, Hepatitis; (disease of the liver).

I was sent to the military hospital in Rangoon. Apart from the fact that I was not allowed to eat eggs, I received no treatment and gradually I got better. It was all reasonably comfortable as there were electric ceiling-fans and there was a little open-air cinema in the garden at the back.

When I had recovered and was convalescent, I used to go for a walk around Rangoon in the afternoons. The centre of the town was very ‘British Colonial’, with wide roads and impressive stone buildings. It could have been Whitehall.

I visited the Yacht Club and the boating-lake, but the main attraction in Rangoon is the Shwedagon Pagoda. This is all gold, several hundred feet high and it dominates the town. It is covered in gold leaf and gold plate with a large ruby on the top! It looks quite stunning in the sunshine and is in the centre of a raised village of temples, approached by a stone staircase.

Blacksheep
7th Dec 2009, 13:53
During the course of the action, in which HMS Edinburgh also participated... An error. Edinburgh was sunk in the Barents Sea in May 1942 while famously carrying a load of Russian gold. The next HMS Edinburgh in commission was the Type 42 launched in 1983 and still in service. The other cruiser engaged with Glasgow was the light cruiser Enterprise. In the action the two cruisers sank three and damaged four out of eleven German destroyers.

Icare9
7th Dec 2009, 15:38
Thanks Blacksheep. I had seen reference to HMS Enterprise elsewhere but the source had Edinburgh, which I thought more likely (not realising it had been sunk until you pointed out about the Russian gold) and thought if I put in Enterprise, we have Star Trekkies joining in!

Union Jack
7th Dec 2009, 16:05
.... but the source had Edinburgh, which I thought more likely (not realising it had been sunk ....

"She", please!:ok:

Jack

Wiley
7th Dec 2009, 21:16
On the 29th December, we were on patrol and sighted a lot of wreckage as a result of the naval battle, including a lifeboat containing 35 German survivors. We took a photograph, which was printed in ‘The Western Mail’ on 11th January. The boat was so full of survivors, they were all standing. It was a typical Biscay winter’s day, stormy and dull with thick low-lying cloud – life insurance. We kept just under the cloud, ready to duck back in if danger threatened. I was in the tail turret. Someone saw the lifeboat and the skipper decided to investigate. He told all turrets to keep a watch-out, and we left the safety of the cloud and down we went towards the lifeboat. I swung my turret from side to side, searching the space above us – it was not unknown for the Ju88’s to use survivors (even German) as decoys. However, there was no problem. We took photographs and went back to the safety of the cloud.

Later on, the skipper told me that as we swooped over the boat, I swung my turret towards the boat, and apparently, the survivors thought we intended to shoot them up, and all the men swayed over to the other side of the boat. As there was standing room only, there was nothing else they could do. He said it was like a paddock of wheat being blown by the wind.

I often wondered what happened to them. Hopefully, they were picked up by a British ship and made prisoners of war.

(**I understand that the name of one of the blockade runners was the ‘Alstrerufer’, [possibly ‘Alsterufer’], and that the survivors Peter’s crew saw made it to Spain, for they mentioned after making landfall that the only aircraft they saw whilst in the lifeboat was a Sunderland, [almost certainly Peter’s]. )

In a letter written to the editor of the Coastal Command and Maritime Air Association** newsletter in 2008, Peter says in part: The battle had good coverage in the English press, and I well remember one newspaper reporting the great victory of so many enemy ships sunk for no casualties on our side. The loss of the 228 Squadron Sunderland with eleven men didn’t rate a mention. What did they call us? – ‘The Cinderella Service’? It should have been ‘The Forgotten Service’.

(** the CCMAA website is well worth a look)

With Peter’s mention in his letter of the men of Coastal Command calling themselves ‘The Cinderella Service’, I thought this poem by the late Sqn Ldr Tony Spooner DSO, DFC, AE was appropriate to insert here.

No Spotlight for Coastal

“Bombers or Fighters?” his friends used to say
But when he said “Coastal”, they half turned away
Yet Coastal’s patrols which traversed the Bay
Forced the U-boats to dive for most of the day

With the U-boats submerged for much of the day
The convoys ploughed on, midst the salt and the spray
While the men on the ships did silently pray
That his plane would appear; both to circle and stay

When his plane did appear; to both circle and stay
Then the Wolf Packs held back; wholly robbed of their prey
And the convoys sailed on in their purposeful way
And the seamen reached port where their loved ones did lay

“Fighters or Bombers?” his friends used to ask
“Coastal”, he said, his face a tired mask
“Though not in the spotlight where others may bask,
We’ve a tough job to do and I’m proud of the task”



Our next operational sortie was on 2nd January 1944. The weather closed in at PD and we were diverted to Poole. We went ashore and as I was signing in at the Officer’s Mess, a pilot looked at what I was writing and said: “461 Squadron? Did you know Dudley Marrows?”

I said: “Yes, he used to be my skip.”

He then asked; “Were you with him when he was in the drink?”

I said: “Yes.”

“Well,” he said, “I’m John Cruickshank and I found you.”

I held out my hand and shook his vigorously. “John,” I said, “I don’t know what a life is worth, but I reckon it’s worth a beer,” and I bought him one.

For the rest of January, we flew fairly constantly in very poor weather. Patrols would sometimes be cut short with a signal to return to base, or diverted to Poole or Mountbatten, then next day, a transit flight back to PD. In between time, we did some bombing and gunnery practice and an air test to check out a suspect engine fault.

On 3rd February, we did a patrol of 13 hours 20 minutes, and as I had now completed my 800 hours operational flying, I was taken off ops and awaited a decision on what was to constitute my ‘rest’ (as it was laughingly called).

For a couple of weeks, I stood in for the Adjutant while he went on leave. My main recollection is of issuing clothing coupons to the aircrew NCOs. (The real Adjutant was parsimonious in this regard, and the boys made the most of my liberal tendencies.)

I did one last trip with the old crew on 14th March – 1 hour 30 minutes on radar training – then on 17th March, set out for Alness in an old aircraft with a scratch crew to begin my ‘rest’.

pzu
7th Dec 2009, 21:37
Quote

“Well,” he said, “I’m John Cruickshank and I found you.”

I held out my hand and shook his vigorously. “John,” I said, “I don’t know what a life is worth, but I reckon it’s worth a beer,” and I bought him one.


Question

Would that have been 'Cruickshank VC'??? (though not till mid 1944)

PZU - Out of Africa (Retired)

Wiley
7th Dec 2009, 23:00
pzu, the John Cruickshank in Peter's story was a Catalina pilot, as was the John Cruickshank VC you refer to ( John Cruickshank - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Cruickshank#Military_service) ), so there's a very good chance you're right.

If Peter's remarks about his staying over the downed Sunderland crew in 'Tiger Country' until well after first light and leaving only when forced to do so by his fuel state are anything to go by, his actions on the night he won the VC were by no means the first time he displayed that degree of bravery.

For those readers with no experience of air/sea rescue, it probably needs to be repeated here that a dinghy, (let alone a lone survivor in the water), is very difficult to see in anything but a pond-like sea state. Even after you've spotted it, it's extraordinarily easy to lose sight of it, and once you've lost it, unbelievably difficult to locate it again. So along with their incredible bravery, the Catalina crew's high degree of expertise should probably be acknowledged here.

angels
8th Dec 2009, 10:05
Darjeeling

After my illness, I was offered two-weeks sick-leave, clear of a week’s travel out and a week to return.

I decided to try to visit Darjeeling. It was quite an undertaking and one was not supposed to travel there unless there was an address to go to. I did not have one, but I took a chance that I would find somewhere to stay when I got there.

I asked for transport and got a flight on a Dakota going to Calcutta. It flew up the coast of Burma and Bengal; over Ramree Island, Akyab and Cox’s Bazaar. As we approached Calcutta I could see a large brown mushroom cloud in the sky, just like an atomic bomb. It was smoke and dust from a population of over nine million.

We landed at Alipore, South East of Calcutta and quite near the centre of town. That evening I caught the overnight train to Siliguri, the town at the foot of the Himalayas. The first part of the journey was over the flooded area of the Ganges delta. At about eight o’clock the next morning I arrived at Siliguri and had breakfast in the station restaurant. I then crossed the platform to the narrow gauge railway and joined the little train to Darjeeling, that was to climb 5,000 ft. in fifty miles and take five hours. It is said to be one of the great railway journeys of the world.

It was most interesting in the way that it gained height. It went round and round in circles, climbing all the while, then when it got to a section that was too steep, it would rise in a series of ‘Z’ shunts, There were sections of line, about 300 feet in length with catch-points at each end. The train would go forward over the points and then travel in reverse up the next section and over that set of points. Then it would rise up the next section going forward. This went on for about six sections, up the sheer face of the mountain.

Two men sat by the front buffers of the engine and they would drop sand onto the line, so that the driving wheels would grip.

Before the train turned inland, the views over the Bengal plain were quite stunning. The first stop was at the highest point (5,200ft.) at Ghoom station. I got out and went to the toilet.

Whilst I was in there a voice said, ‘Hello Bill’, it was a sergeant from 4. C.M.U. at Dum-Dum. We spent the rest of the journey in enthusiastic conversation.

The train then descended 200 ft. over a few miles to Darjeeling.
I reported to the transport office and was offered a stay at the Hodges household, at the top of the hill. I was very lucky, it was splendid!

I was a bit concerned because an Indian lady was detailed off, to carry my case up the zig-zag path to the top of the hill. She carried it on her back with the aid of a head-band.

The bungalow and garden were on the top of the ridge with fine views over Kanchenjunga, the third highest mountain in the world at 28,208 ft. It was covered in snow and appeared to be just across the valley, though of course it was many miles away.

Mr. Hodges was a retired gunsmith, He and his wife had lived in India all their Jives and had retired to Darjeeling.

Darjeeling was one of the Indian hill-stations, where the British would take a break from the heat down on the plains. The climate was rather like Britain, with cool frosty nights and warm sunshine during the day. As I have said, the views of the Himalayas were terrific, but one could see even morefrom Tiger Hill. Makalu and also onto the top of Mount Everest. The OCR has mucked up here. Basically I think Dad climbs Tiger Hill)

That same morning the Aga Khan and his wife were there. He was old and been pushed up in a wheelchair!

There were several paying guests at the Hodges household, There was
(OCR muck up again)-

Her husband was the harbourmaster at Visagapatam, a port down on the Indian sub-continent. There were two or three other airmen who were were on individual amounts of leave and there was also the Hodges’ niece, Rosemary.

The evening meal was held around the large table inl the dining-room and it lasted quite a while. It was a very dignified affair and we all sat around with Mr. Hodges at the head of the table and his wife at the other end. There was polite conversation and ???

We were served by the bearer and we usually had some form of curried meat and rice. This could be followed by ice-cold pomegranate. After the meal I would sometimes go to the Bagman CIub that was about half-way down the till!. There was a bar, table-tennis and sneaker ??.

It was always warm inside, but outside there would be a frost. Unfortunately, the atmosphere was always thick (??

The guests all got on well together, sometimes in the afternoon we would play Mahjong together in the bay window of the dining-room. It was played with little Chinese tiles.

Some afternoons we would go to the cinema in the town that showed English films. The lndian projectionist could not read English arid he often got the reels in the wrong order.

In the mornings, I would walk round the market, I bought a good length of tweed material and sent it home to my sister. I also walked a mile or so down the road to the Happy Valley tea plant-atioa. I saw the tea being processed and had a small chest of it. sent horne to my parents. My stay in Darjeeling was quite wonderful.

I returned down the narrow gauge railway, then down the main line to Calcutta. I got a Dakota flight back to Rangoon and found out my unit had moved on to Singapore.

I waited at Hmawbe for a flight going south. Ultimately I was taken to Butterworth, that is an airstrip opposite Penang Island. I stayed there for a few days. I visited Penang and on the ferry coming back at night, the sea was (??) .... it was caused by fluorescent organisms in the sea.

After a couple of days I flew the last section of the journey to Singapore.

Many years later when I was working in Asia I went and took pictures of places Dad had been to and sent them back to him. Of course, most places had changed beyond all recognition, but stuff like the funicular railway on Penang were just the same. The Darjeeling chuffer still runs.

Also, it's amazing that the RAF were so generous with their sick leave arrangements. I remember Dad saying he had seen some wonderful sights, "and I was paid 7/6 a day to do it!"

forget
8th Dec 2009, 10:25
I visited Penang and on the ferry coming back at night, the sea was (??) .... it was caused by fluorescent organisms in the sea.

Your Dad will be referring to the green phosphorescent glow in the ferry's wake. Quite stunning between Penang and Butterworth. I've got the T Shirt :)

Union Jack
8th Dec 2009, 12:21
There was a bar, table-tennis and sneaker ??

Wot, no snooker?:)

Angels - VMT for sharing this wonderful record with us.:ok:

Jack

angels
8th Dec 2009, 12:35
Mr Jack - I think you have it, sir!

Cheers.

cliffnemo
8th Dec 2009, 14:41
Like Reg I have been sitting back (having a rest) and reading the extremely interesting contributions of Angels, Johnfair, Wiley etc. Particularly Angels posts covering ground staff. However, we still require a Navigator , a Bomb Aimer, and (wishful thinking ?) a member of the Luftwaffe. I did follow up an excellent suggestion of Regle’s and emailed the German Embassy , but no results so far. Surely we have at least one reader in Germany , who could supply email addresses of Luftwaffe ex servicemen’s associations. I am prepared to type a request in English, email to that reader, who could interpret and pass on. If any one in Germany would like to post on this thread or to P.M me they would be more than welcome. To P.M me click ,USER CP above, click control panel. Click send new message (I hope)

in military aviation could read them in the years ahead; any chance that the central story threads could be grouped together in the History & Nostalgia section?
An excellent idea Armymover, but collecting collating and typing would be a very time consuming job. I do know that one or two people who have P.Md me have extracted and printed sections, they may be willing to help ?Any offers ?

With regard to the A.C1, AC2. L.AC. Discussion, I stand to be corrected, but, as I understand it these were trade classifications with L.A.C being the highest trade classification the R.A.F could award. The titles A.C1 and L.A.C (leading aircraftsman) were awarded according to marks achieved in the trade exam. Therefore an L.A.C. engines could be as equally skilled as a ‘Chiefy’ engines
As an example , after the war finished , I and many others were posted to R.A.F Kirkham on an equipment assistant’s course. Most of us were uninterested and on examination, narrowly scraped through as A.C1s

cliffnemo
8th Dec 2009, 14:59
Your Dad will be referring to the green phosphorescent glow in the ferry's wake. Quite stunning between Penang and Butterworth. I've got the T Shirt.
Hi FORGET.
A fantastic sight. I saw the same thing when 'steaming' out of the River Ribble one very dark night . 'Me mate' said the organism was called Noctiluca.

Wiley
8th Dec 2009, 19:49
It was sad experience to leave the squadron which had been my home for only 20 months, but which had delivered such experiences as I would never have thought possible, to still be alive when so many others had not been so lucky - (some on their first patrol!) – seemed somehow unfair. But you closed your mind and wondered if you would be next. My recollections of the long lonely patrols gradually faded, to be replaced by the photographic-like memories of sudden unexpected events, like once, we came upon a windjammer in full sail! We went down for a good look – it was obviously old and in poor condition. The sails were yellow and patched and it had an air of sadness about it. We took photos, and when we reported it, the Intelligence people were surprised and intrigued. Nobody else had seen it!

I often wondered who it was. Where from? Where to? Could it have been the Flying Dutchman - or Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner? (Pull yourself together!!)

Another time, on the infamous T3 patrol, we were doing a coast crawl up the coast of Spain. We were three miles out from the coast in accordance with international law. I was in the nose turret doing my search for U-boats and aircraft, (knowing that the Spaniards would be reporting everything to the Germans), and I noticed that ahead was a neck of land sticking out from the coast perhaps half a mile or so. Naturally, I expected us to follow the coastline out to sea, but to my surprise, we kept course and cut across the invisible line, putting us within the three mile limit. When we had progressed for a short distance, I heard the first pilot (then Jimmy Leigh), who had been scanning the coast with binoculars, say over the intercom to Dudley: “There’s a great big gun on that point – and it’s pointed at us.”

How funny. What a joke, pointing a coastal gun at an aircraft!

I swung my turret over to starboard to look in that direction just in time to see a puff of white smoke emanate from the gun’s position, then, to my horror, I saw in the middle of the smoke, a small black dot, and as I watched, the dot gradually became larger and faster as it headed in our direction, then it suddenly flashed past only a few feet ahead and slightly above us. I don’t know if it was my imagination, or did I really hear the ‘swish’ as it passed us?

I had been mesmerised as I watched the shell coming at us, but then, as it passed, I came to life. (I didn’t have my helmet on at the time, but was wearing ear phones with a mouthpiece dangling in front of me.) I frantically groped for the mouthpiece, finally found it, switched it on and yelled: “They’re shooting at us!”

This woke everyone up and the skipper turned out to sea as fast as he could.

I often thought what good shooting that was. Fancy hitting an aircraft with a coastal gun – and how disappointed the gun crew must have been that they had missed.

We continued our patrol, and a few miles north, we passed a Halifax flying south well within the three mile limit. I wonder if they had a shot at him too?

The flight to Alness was uneventful, except that while we were airborne, the weather closed in and we were diverted to Oban, where we were stuck for four days until the weather cleared at Alness. My main recollection of Oban was a notice on the Officers Mess noticeboard which read: ‘The meteorology officer would like to advise all those persons who have inquired that the large yellow object seen in the sky last Tuesday was a natural phenomenon known as ‘the sun’.

We left Oban on 23rd March 1944 and flew up the Caledonian Canal (strictly forbidden, but a lovely scenic flight) and after a 45 minute flight, landed at Alness.

cliffnemo
9th Dec 2009, 11:02
FROM TODAY'S FACEBOOK ON PAULA'S PAGE. We are still remembered in Ponca City,


Paula K. Denson
Friends of Marland's Grand Home, Ponca City, Oklahoma
Organizations - Non-Profit Organizations
This is a 501-c-3 not for profit group dedicated to the restoration and maintenance of the 1916 home of Ernest Whitworth Marland, also known as E.W. Marland. This oil baron was responsible for finding oil in northern Oklahoma and brought beauty and culture to the prairies of Oklahoma.
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Paula K. Denson
Paula K. Denson Here is my official website for No 6 British Flying Training School. Many men from the UK and other areas trained in my hometown during World War II so if you are interested in military history, you gotta see this site! There is also information there about Ernest Whitworth Marland, tenth governor of Oklahoma, and the... estate he owned in Ponca City during the 20s, 30s, and 40s. It is very entertaining reading. I am proud to say I am the publisher of this book. If you have questions - just ask!
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Paula K. Denson | Ponca Prairie Press
Paula K. Denson | Ponca Prairie Press (http://www.pkdenson.com)
The Royal Air Force in Oklahoma: Lives, Loves, and Courage of the British Air Crews Trained in Oklahoma During World War II
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Paula K. Denson
Paula K. Denson
I give credit for the web design to my nephew, Kevin Carmack. Really great at designing! Thanks, Kevin
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C.f Leach
C.f Leach
And I give credit to Paula for a factual. accurate, and informative description of our life at the Darr School of Aeronautics
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johnfairr
9th Dec 2009, 19:03
72 Sqn – May 1942 and a trip to Bentley Priory


In May, the weather got better and better and we were kept quite busy. We did a number of sweeps, here, there and everywhere and after I’d landed from one, feeling a bit shakey, I was told to go and see the doc for a medical, prior to my going up for my commission. So I got on my bike, went across to the hospital, saw the doc and I found that I couldn’t hold my breath long enough to keep the mercury stuck up the tube. So Doc White, who was an awfully nice chap told me that if I put my hand over the tube and held my cheeks in while I was blowing, I could hold the mercury up there for weeks on end. So I did that, and he passed me as absolutely fit and all was well. I could never understand why, if I was flying as a Sergeant Pilot and coping alright, I had to have a medical to prove that I could do the same thing as a Pilot Officer!

I was told to report to Bentley Priory, where Leigh-Mallory would interview me. (Air Vice Marshal Trafford Leigh-Mallory, was, at that time, Air Officer Commanding 11 Group, Fighter Command, having previously, during the Battle of Britain, commanded 12 Group. He was promoted to Air Chief Marshal and later killed in an air crash in the French Alps in 1944 whilst en route to take up his appointment as Air Officer Commander in Chief. South East Asia Command). I was put in an interview room where I met two or three other chaps that I’d seen before and where I learnt how Pat Lust had been killed when the wing came off his Spitfire. I was shown in to see Leigh-Mallory and stood in front of his desk. He had all the details of my career in front of him and he said,

“Ah, I see you’ve had to use your parachute. Did you come out alright?”

And I said, “Yes, thank you very much”

“And you’ve done 22 sweeps, but haven’t been lucky enough to destroy any German aircraft?”

So I said, “No, so far I’ve done 46 sweeps, got one destroyed, one probable and one damaged”

Anyway, he seemed to think that was alright and I was shown out and went back to Biggin Hill.

Early in May we were given a job of top cover to a wing that was escorting a squadron of bombers to Caen. Now top cover is not a bad job, you’re not as restricted as you are if you are giving close escort where you have to stick with the bombers and make sure nothing comes through. But with top cover, the idea, obviously, is to keep anything off that is likely to come down and there’s normally far more chance of having a shot at something. ‘B’ Flight were a man short and so I was flying with them and being led by Flight Lieutenant Hugo Armstrong, an Australian, and it was always his section that got bounced, wherever we went and this day was no exception. We got jumped by four 190s, somewhere near Le Havre, and they did their usual trick of two coming down followed by a further two and we were going round and round and having shots here and there and it got a bit hairy and eventually I finished up very close to the deck. Having got there the only thing to do was to belt home as fast as possible as there was no future in trying to climb up from the deck to get height again, you were a sitting duck. I could hear Hugo calling out,

“Keep turning ‘B’ Flight, keep turning ‘B’ Flight”

and I was weaving like a so-and-so, right down on the deck and suddenly I found I was being chased to by two 109Fs and we went round and round in the Channel at nought feet. Eventually one of them cleared off, I presume he got fed up with the roundabout, and left me with one, still going round and round and eventually I managed to get a shot at him, mainly because the Spit can outturn anything and the next thing, there was a great splash and he’d gone for a Burton, so I continued on and eventually got to Tangmere, running very short of fuel, just as the wing was lined up ready to take off. I explained that I was a little short of petrol so they kindly gave me permission to drop in first before the others took off.

It was whilst I was there, getting refuelled, I was chatting to a few Sergeant Pilots who were loitering about that I learnt that Jack Ranger, who had been with me at Kidlington, and been posted on Beaufighters, had been killed in action.

Towards the end of May, the squadron was doing a sweep over Dieppe and Faixcombe (?) and Tommy Wright was flying as my number 2. We spotted a couple of 190s about 1000’ below us, in a beautiful position for us to bounce them, but unfortunately, at that particular moment my engine was hurling out oil all over the place and smothering the windscreen. I couldn’t see forward at all and could only just see out the side so I had to call up Tommy and say,

“Forget the bounce, get me home”.

So I flew home as gently as possible, with Tommy weaving behind me, cursing the fact that we’d missed this lovely chance to bounce. Anyway, we got back to Biggin Hill and I had to formate as well as I could on Tommy Wright and he led me down to the runway and I managed to land all right, though I wasn’t at all popular with my groundcrew because the aircraft was literally smothered from front to back in black, horrible oil. There was only one good thing about it and that was that at that particular time, we had some ATC (Air Training Corps) cadets on the aerodrome and they were delighted to do any little job and consequently they got the job of washing down my aircraft, which saved a lot of hard work for my groundcrew.

On 31st May we did a sweep to Dieppe, which normally wasn’t too much hassle, but on this occasion we met umpteen enemy aircraft and the squadron had a fair old time. I managed to get one 190 destroyed and one damaged, but our squadron really had a very good day. I think a lot of it was due to the fact that the Jerries were slightly upset over the fact that the night before they’d had a “Thousand Bomber Raid” over Cologne and they were doing their best to see what damage they could do us in return.

Wiley
9th Dec 2009, 21:05
Alness was a large, busy station and (naturally) conditions were rough compared with an operational squadron. I was billeted in a fibro building called ‘the Annex’. There was a bathroom, but with about a dozen other residents, it was usually more convenient to go to an ablutions block nearby. When we arrived, they had run out of wood for the hot water system, so I dispensed with the unnecessary convention of a shower for a couple of days, but finally, had to do something, so I had a cold shower. Even though it was Spring, it was still quite cold – (snow was still on the ground) – and a bitter wind blew through the shower block. It was not the most comfortable shower I have ever had.

However, my old roommate Smithy had also finished his tour and arrived, so we again shared a room and he managed to scrounge a small electric heater. So we used it to warm up a bucket of water and had a ‘bath in a bucket’ on alternate days until the hot water system started up again.

The Officer in Charge of Signals Training was a Squadron Leader Osborne, and because of my rank, (now a Flight Lieutenant), he saw a way of cutting down on his work by splitting his department into two and creating a ‘Signals Flying Training’ and putting me in charge. I was given a pokey little office near the slipway and a staff that varied between six and twelve. My job was to allocate signals instructors for the aircraft that were flying each day.

To make life a bit difficult, I was also put in charge of distributing to the Australians on the station, goodies sent by the Australian Red Cross. (This didn’t entail much work, as we didn’t get many goodies, usually just cigarettes and tobacco.) I was also put in charge of a group of huts holding trainee NCOs. I had to inspect them regularly. However, life wasn’t bad.

It was a rule at the station that when an instructor flew, he had to have 12 hours off before he could be detailed again to fly. Sometimes, if the weather was good, I had trouble finding someone who hadn’t had the required 12 hours off since he’d last flown, so quite often, I had to allocate myself for flying.

One day, I started to allocate two instructors for an early morning takeoff the next day, but no one was available. I put it to the staff for someone to volunteer, but no one wanted to go, and after a bit of cajoling, a Canadian volunteered. He had just been advised that he was about to fly back to Canada in a few days and was waiting for the posting. I said to him that one aircraft would take off just ahead of the other and which one would he like? I would take the other one. He said he didn’t care, so I allocated him No 1 and I took No 2.

Next morning, still dark, the two aircraft taxied to the flare path, No 1 requested permission for takeoff, which they received. I heard them report they were airborne, then I requested permission for takeoff and we were down the flare path and into the air. I hear the pilot report that there was a fire ahead. I went to the bridge and saw a bright fire on the ground.

We completed our exercise, and on return, learned what we had feared – the No 1 aircraft had pranged, with all on board killed.

I often think of that poor family. Their son had finished his operational flying and would be home in a few days, then to get the dreaded news. Again, my luck had held. Why hadn’t I allocated myself to the No 1 aircraft?

The summer came to Scotland. Smithy and I used spend one day a week off (usually Sunday) riding our push bikes around the countryside admiring the scenery. Then one day, we thought up a scheme to improve our rations. (The food in the Mess was very poor, and portions very small.) We peddalled out of town and called in on a number of farm houses, asking if they could sell us some eggs. We ended the day with a couple of dozen eggs and were the envy of the Officers Mess. We gave a few away and used the others by having them cooked in the Mess and added to our normal breakfast.

Next Sunday, we set off again, but decided to be more selective. The previous Sunday, we’d had a very good reception at one of the farms called ‘Achnaclough’, Gaelic for ‘Valley of the Stone’ – (it was set in a valley that had a monstrous rock in the middle of it). So we decided to make it our first port of call. To our delight, we were greeted like old friends and invited into the house for tea which included piklets – (which they called Scotch pancakes) – with butter and jam. When we left, they gave us a box containing four dozen eggs! We insisted on paying for them, which we managed to do after much protesting.

From then on, we visited them on most of our free days. They were a very friendly and generous family, consisting of an old couple – the man was crippled by rheumatism and sat by the fuel stove all day – and a son Duncan and daughter Flora, both in their mid thirties. They had a few black-faced sheep, some poultry, and grew a few acres of wheat.

We enjoyed going there; it was a home away from home. We sometimes did a bit of work – chopping wood, fixing broken doors etc., and one day, helped stacking the stooks, but mostly, we would borrow their shotgun and tramp around the area shooting at anything that moved – ducks, wood pigeons, pheasants, but mostly rabbits. One day, when we returned with a couple of rabbits, they made us a rabbit pie. Scrumptious!

Knowing these people made life liveable and there was little we could do in return. Sometimes we would secrete a small bottle on our person and go to the bar in the Officers Mess and order double whiskeys each, then surreptitiously pour the whisky into the bottle and order more until the bottle was filled and take it to them. (This was strictly against mess rules.)

Once we invited Flora and Duncan to a Mess function – can’t remember what it was for, but it was a happy affair. Duncan eagerly got stuck into the whisky and later in the evening, he declared to all and sundry that he was going to rise for Bonnie Prince Charlie: “Light the fiery beacon on the hill,” he called, “and throw the Sassenachs back over the border!”

I can’t remember how we got them back to the farm, but next morning, we cycled to the farm wondering what sort of reception we would get from the old lady. However, she was friendly as ever – but she didn’t know where Duncan was. We finally found him sleeping it off in a hayloft above one of the outbuildings.

Time passed; winter approached; the temperature dropped. The winter of 1944/5 turned out to be a particularly cold one. We obtained more blankets for our beds. I had five blankets under me, seven on top, then my dressing gown, rain coat, greatcoat and bedspread. I would wake up in the morning aching with the weight of the bedclothes. Riding a pushbike on the frozen roads was difficult. Even trying to steer could start a wheel-slip, which invariably led to an ignominious spill.

One day, I said to myself: “What the hell am I doing here?” So I applied to return to Australia.

With my job was the authority to allow my staff 24 hours leave – but no more. One of the English chaps, a Londoner, was always at me to let him go to London for a couple of days, but I wouldn’t let him. Finally, as the weather was so bad that there was very little flying, I said OK, but arranged it so that after a couple of days, I would send a telegram “Extension of leave granted”, which might (or might not) fool the Military Police.

Unexpectedly, my posting home came only a week or so after my application, so with great glee, I started packing up my gear and made arrangements to travel to Brighton, the embarkation depot. Before I could leave the station, I had to visit every department and have them sign that I had handed back every piece of equipment that I had on loan.

I was doing the rounds of the station getting all the signatures when I came across someone I knew slightly and he said: “They’ve been calling you on the Tannoy to go to the Guard House.”

I said: “Do you know why?”

He said: “No, but there was a mention about a bloke that the MPs have picked up in London without a leave pass.”

I said: “Did they, by golly!”

I then raced around, got the final signatures, raced back to my room, collected my gear, raced to the railway station, hopped on the train and kept all my fingers crossed until I reached Brighton. I never did hear why I was wanted at the Guard House, and what’s more, I don’t want to know.

I arrived in Brighton, found my hotel and was there about a week before embarking on the ‘RMS Rangitiki’ for the voyage home. The ship was crowded and conditions were bad, but apart from being quarantined at Colon (Panama Canal) because some children on board had measles – (we had some wives and children on board) – the trip was uneventful.

We were allowed ashore in Wellington NZ, our first time ashore since leaving England, and arrived in Sydney Harbour on 25th March 1945, to find that during the trip, I had been promoted to Squadron Leader.

We went first to Bradfield Park and then were sent on indefinite leave – all we had to do was go to Bradfield Park once a week to pick up a ration of beer and cigarettes or tobacco. The latter I gave to Dad and my brother.

After a few weeks, so many airmen had returned to Sydney, they had to get rid of some of us and I was posted to Ballarat for a so-called ‘refresher course’ – re-labelled by the cynics a ‘refreshment course’, which was not wrong. The base was full of ex-operational aircrew with nothing to do except party all night and nurse hangovers all day. I was there only two or three weeks and returned to Sydney for discharge.

My four years overseas was perhaps the most memorable and dramatic period of my life. Many memories come back so clearly it’s as if they happened yesterday, like the heart-clogging fear as tracer and 20mm puffballs come arcing towards you, or when the ground comes rushing at you and you know there is no flying speed left in the old kite to avoid a prang.

On the other hand, a lot of memories seem so unimportant, but somehow have impressed themselves on your brain forever, like a first light takeoff, still dark when we board a Fairmile to take us out to Angle Bay where our boat is moored. Another crew is with us, the two aircraft to take off one after the other; it is summer time, the weather quite balmy, and we all stayed on deck. As we left the wharf, the first golden finger of sunlight peeped over the horizon. One of the other crew was lying back on a hatch cover and quietly, in a soft, pleasant voice, he started singing:

Beyond the blue horizon
Waits a beautiful day.
Goodbye to things that bore me
Joy is waiting for me.
I see a new horizon
My life has only begun.
Beyond the blue horizon
Lies a rising sun.

We all listened to the song, accompanied by the muted throb of the engine, in silence. The whole scene seemed to fit the circumstances and our mood. At Angle Bay, we transferred to dinghies, then on to the aircraft, and as we prepared the boat for takeoff, and during the patrol, the tune kept running around in my head.

Four years. Not much out of a lifetime, but as someone said at a reunion: “I couldn’t do it again, but I wouldn’t have missed it for quids.”

cliffnemo
10th Dec 2009, 10:39
WOP/AG Peter Jensen. (final) Instalment 18

WELL DONE WILEY.

Thank you for an excellent story, and all your hard work .
Much appreciated by all of us..

angels
10th Dec 2009, 11:48
And ditto from me Wiley

Hope you don't mind, but I'm putting in Dad's experiences post the war as well. Don't worry, he gets de-mobbed in 1947! Also, there are various OCR troubles as well, apologies.

Singapore and Ceylon

The first posting on Singapore Island was to Seletar. This was a permanent station with white concrete dormitories and a parade ground. It was primarily a flying boat station. It was on the north coast, to the east of
(???) .... would take off and land in the sheltered waters between the Island and the mainland.

I cannot remember what work I did there, though my letters home said that I cut up metal frames with an oxy-acetylene torch. My memory is of standing in the bathroom on the top floor of the residential (??) and watching the (??). They came right overhead and cleared the roof of the building by about twenty feet.

By now the war had been over for five months and people were anticipating returning to the U.K. There was political unrest in Malaya, with the rise of the Communists, The British Government decided that the the most effective way to maintain a presence was to keep the RAF in place, thus the soldiers were demobbed but RAF personnel were kept on.

There was some unrest. because of this and I believe that later there was a riot at Seletar, with the airmen refusing to take orders. I have photos of the crowd on the square (unscanned I'm afraid).

It was all hushed up and order was restored. Someone told me that the ringleader was court-martialied. This incident, of course, has now become quite famous, The ringleader was shot IIRC.

It was decreed that airmen would be trained for civilian life and as I was already a trained teacher, I applied to go on a course to become an Educational arid Vocational Instructor. It was a three-week course held at
(??).

I flew there in a Sunderiand. We took off early in the morning and flew to Penang, where we landed and refuelled. We took off again and crossed the Indian Ocean to Ceylon and arrived there in the evening. We landed at Koggala, on the southern tip of the island. It was a fourteen-hour flight.

There were several of us in the rear part of the fuselage, there were no seats, we were just sat about in the framework. There was an open section in the middle of the aircraft where depth-charges were pushed out when in action. There was a bench awl. On it were two Primus stoves and some frying-pans. I helped to cook sausages for the crew and passengers.

During the evening we were transported by lorry up to Colombo. The RAF station was at Ratmalana. We stayed there for a few days and then went up to Kandy by train. It was about ninety miles and after crossing the small coastal plain, it climbed all the way.

We went up valleys with rice fields cut into the contours of the hills, We left the contoured paddy (??) ....

When the wind blew, the coconuts would fall off the trees with a great thump, so walking from the billet to the classrooms required judicious detours, or risk getting hit on the head.

We had to prepare lessons and give them to the other students. My final assessment on 10th. April 1946 was, ‘A thoroughly experienced teacher, with a humorous and pleasant approach.' That’s me folks!

Whilst there, I met another Shoreditch Training College student who had been in my year - Baumgarten. We would walk to Kandy and go down the main street, past the Temple of the Tooth (Buddha’s), to the lake. There were turtles swimming about, just below the surface of the clear water and there were nice gardens, where we took photographs.

Baumgarten was a keen photographer also. I bought some jewels in one of the shops as well as some silver spoons, decorated with palm-tree ends. The box of huge butterfly specimens that I had sent home, disintegrated many years later.

Our three-week course ended and we returned to Colombo. I had to wait at Ratmalana for transport to Singapore. The camp was just inland from Mount Lavinia, a famous tourist resort, I would walk through the rubber plantation and across the railway line and there was this beautiful palm- lined beach.

I used to swim in the surf, but had to be alert to the catamaran fishing boats that swept in on to the sandy beach and were quite dangerous. In the late afternoon I would go into the Mount Lavinia Hotel for tea. It was by there that I bought the pair of wooden elephants, made of coconut wood that have given so much pleasure to my children (I still have them! They are one of my most treasured pocessions. and grandchildren.

After a while I was put onto an aircraft carrier that was going to Singapore, it was H.M.S. Venerable. It was the carrier that was ultimately sold to Argentina, renamed, ‘Veinticinco de Mayo’, (25th.May) and it was involved in the Falklands War (or rather it wasn't as such!!).

We sailed fom Colombo in the afternoon and as soon as we were at sea, all the aircraft were flown off. I remember the deafening noise that the Supermarine Walrus made. The Walrus was an interesting amphibian and was used for picking up ditched airmen from their rescue-dinghies. It was designed by RJ Mitchell, the genius who designed the Spitfire.

During the night, we sailed round the south of Ceylon. The sea was rough and the Venerable pitched and rolled, so that the deck almost touched the sea, side to side. We slept on camp-beds that were put in the now vacated aircraft hangar deck.

The next day we put into Trincomalee, this was a great natural harbour on the east side of the Island, Poles with ropes dangling from them were pushed out from the sides of the ship and on the Tannoy it said, ‘Hands to bathe on the starboard side'.

All the crew piled out on to the poles and went down the ropes into the sea and after a swim, climbed up the ropes to get back.

The voyage back to Singapore was quite peaceful. The food on board was particularly good. I was peeved to discover that engine fitters in the Fleet Air Arm had the rank of Petty Officer, that was equivalent to a sergeant.

The carrier stopped off Singapore and we were put down in a motorboat to land at Colyer Quay.

cliffnemo
10th Dec 2009, 15:19
Angels-- E.V.T ( Educational vocational training) brings back happy memories of my posting to R.A.F Celle near Brunswick and Hanover for an E.V.T course on advanced maths and physics. I had excellent tuition by a German professor ,one to one, at the Celle Technische Hock schule (sorry phonetic), but hopefully more later.

regle
10th Dec 2009, 18:47
A wonderful tale and very moving at times. I am very grateful, Regle.

Tabby Badger
10th Dec 2009, 20:39
Angels:

Fascinating first-person account of the RAF strikes of 1946:

Mutiny in the RAF: the air force strikes of 1946 - David Duncan (http://libcom.org/book/export/html/26188)

Seemingly minor details in each of these wonderful memoirs can point towards terrific side trips into detailed aspects of RAF history. I am locked into each and every one of these accounts and gaining incredible insight into the lives of those who served before me.

Please don't stop!

TB

swisseddie
10th Dec 2009, 23:26
I have never been in the forces but I feel I have to say something.

Thank you.

I say that for a number of reasons. In no particular order:

Firstly, what a read, look forward to every installment.

Secondly, never forget how much we appreciate what you did for us.

Thirdly, If the "yoof" of today could see through your eyes I think the world may just be a better place.

I don't want to be sycophantic butonce again thank you.

With much respect,

Jonathan

angels
11th Dec 2009, 11:40
I returned to Seletar and lived in a tent for a few days and then I was posted to No.7 Motor Transport Base Repair Depot.

This unit was down on the coast very near to Singapore and just below Kallang Airport runway. The runway has now been made into a dual carriageway leading to Changi Airport and it is called Westway.

No.7 M.T.B.R.D, was on Fort Road and it was a very large garage, as big as a hangar, right on the edge of the beach (It was then, not now!) and very near to the Chinese Swimming Pool (that is still there!).

We lived at 28 Fort Road, a rather nice modern house, facing the sea. I have some recent photos of Fort Road (I took them passing through Singapore) and the new properties are rather splendid.

I was put in charge of the carpentry shop. There were two Chinese woodworkers there who repaired the vehicles. When work was light we used to make trick joints for each other, just to show off our skills; they thought it was great fun.

I had a very nice relationship with them and I was invited to a family party at one of their homes. This was a very nice gesture and I felt that I ought to go, although it was out of bounds, in the Chinese quarter. We sat round in a circle on the floor and ate the Chinese meal. It was a new experience for me.

Because I was now an E.V.T. Instructor, I used to teach at Singapore Central School for two afternoons a week. I taught Geography to a very mixed class, comprising officers, N.C.O.s. and airmen and I was still only a Leading Aircraftsman, as my sergeant’s stripes had not come through!

Dad later told me that the two Chinese refused to believe that when he went to town, he was going there to teach officers. Apparently they would shout, "You go Singapore ****in'!! You go Singapore ****in'!!

Our C.O. told us that we were to stay on and suggested that we found things to do that would be interesting and useful.

We built a stage in the corner of the hangar and in this little theatre we produced a play called,’The Silent Witness’. I was the prompter. It was well received and we had good audiences from other units when we took it round the island. It was tiring.

I found a wrecked Japanese motorboat and decided to rebuild it. It had had a Ford V8 engine in it. It would have used a great amount of petrol and was designed to be used as a high-speed suicide boat. It would have been filled with explosives and crashed into a ship to sink it.

Obviously my boat had never been used, so I put a Morris 12 engine in it that I took out of an abandoned Post Office van. Although the boat would only do about twelve knots, it did use a lot less petrol.

We were only supposed to use Japanese petrol in our boats, there was some in a fuel pump on the forecourt, but ultimately it ran out.

Our boats were inspected to check that we had adequate flotation gear arid that we only had Japanese petrol in the tank. This became a problem, so when I was on guard duty I would siphon half a pint of fuel from each vehicle and then put some blue paint in it. Everyone thought it was Japanese petrol.

I became quite friendly with the Engineering Officer. I used to take him and his wife over to an uninhabited island on Saturdays. Early in the morning a Jerrican full of petrol would be left on the back doorstep of the house where I lived; no one ever said a word.

When we arrived on the island, he would light a fire, roast potatoes and they would provide a picnic for me. His wife would sunbathe on the boat, it was mind-bending!

Every morning at eleven o’clock, we would walk a hundred yards along the path at the top of the beach, to the restaurant at the Chinese Swimming Pool. There we would have a coffee and a sandwich.

One day a crate containing the parts of two hundred bicycles arrived from England. We were asked to assemble them, so that they could be sold to the troops through the N.A.A.F.I. I used to build the wheels, it required a fair degree of skill to make them run true.

Unfortunately, we discovered that some of the parts were being stolen and we had to build a cage around the area where we worked. I think that only one hundred and sixty five cycles were actually completed.

My colleague and I made a canoe, by cutting two holes in a large Japanese petrol tank that had come out of the wing of an aircraft. We made two paddles and one lunch time we decided to paddle out to one of the sunken ships in the Strait

We got along very well and went around the wreck, but when we started to paddle back to the beach we made no headway at all. We had not realised that the tide was running out. We had to paddle frantically for half an hour, to get back. We collapsed on the beach, utterly exhausted, We had no idea of the danger that we had put ourselves in.

I made a photographic darkroom in the kitchen of our house. We would go into Singapore, take photographs, process them and sell them to the other airmen. I made an enlarger from old Japanese aircraft parts, I still have it and have used it for many years. Dad's workshop resembled Heath Robinson at his best. I had no idea that his enlarger was made from old bits from a Japanese plane!! Typical Dad that.

One evening when I was working in the darkroom with just the red safelight, I had not noticed that someone had left the top off the lamp-box; I put my hand onto it and received a tremendous electric shock; it was because I was standing on a damp quarry tiled floor.

I remember going to the Cathedral on Christmas night for the midnight service, It must have been 1945. There was an enormous congregation, people were sitting on the steps and floor. I was appalled that many of the officers were the worse for drink.

I also went to an orchestral concert one evening. Again, it was very well attended. I cannot remember which orchestra it was, but I recall that the concert opened with the overture to RussIan and Ludmilla by Glinka.

Although it was hot during the day, the nights were cool and Singapore became alive, There were three fun-palaces, the Happy World, the New World and the Great World. In each there were stalls, with vendors selling watches and jewellery, stalls with hot stir-fried food and others selling large pineapple slices.

The main attraction in each, was a Chinese theatre. The traditional, historical plays went on for hours, the musical instrumentalists sat on each side of the stage, banging cymbals and scraping away on stringed instruments, making a dreadful noise.

The only tall building in Singapore in those days was the Cathay building. It had a large modern cinema on the ground floor. There was also the famous Raffles Hotel that had traveller palm-trees in the front garden.

I cannot end without mentioning Changi Prison, where the prisoners of war were held. It was a gruesome white building, so many died there.

In the mid 90s I was transferred to Singapore from Hong Kong. I'd visited a few times and taken a few photos for Dad, but when I lived there I took loads more. He was amazed the Bailey Bridge was still being used, years after it's 'best before' date'!! The Chinese Swimming Club was essentially unchanged apart from not being on the beach any more!

Sadly, Dad's health meant he was unable to visit me there.

johnfairr
13th Dec 2009, 21:00
72 Sqn – June 1942, Channel rescues, stripes and boat-bashing


In June we carried on doing sweeps over France, sometimes taking bombers and sometimes a straightforward fighter sweep in the hope that some of the enemy aircraft would come up and have a go at us. The flak was still pretty vicious and over Abbeville we were jumped by a stack of 190s and although we flew round and round, I didn’t get a decent chance to squirt so I came back with my guns unfired. There really wasn’t any point in banging away like mad at anything that came in view, unless you were right on top of the 190 it was pointless spraying anything for to begin with we only had 13 seconds fire. We had a drum of 60 cannon shells and 250 rounds of .303 for the machine guns, which gave us 6 seconds fire for the cannon and about 12 ½ or 13 seconds on the machine gun. Consequently you weren’t really in a position to spray everything within sight.

On 6th June we were sent down to Manston for an Air Sea rescue job. Apparently a bomber had been shot down just off the Dutch coast or the Belgian coast, somewhere, they weren’t sure and we were supposed to be looking for some chaps in a dinghy. Well we took off and scoured the North Sea as far as we could, couldn’t find anything, and then we came back, landed, ‘B’ Flight took off and searched again and they were just about to return when P/O Kitchen spotted five bomber chaps in a dinghy just off Ostende. So he reported that and we immediately took off to give them cover and at the same time an Air Sea rescue launch shot out from Dover or somewhere to pick up these bomber boys. So we covered the launch until it picked up these bomber boys and it really was exciting to watch them. I don’t know how fast the launch was going but it left a wash about half a mile long, it really was moving. Anyway, it got out to the dinghy, swung round, hooked up the dinghy, grabbed the chaps aboard, all without stopping and then belted for home. Now by this time we thought as we were obviously visible from Ostende we’d be surrounded by 190s and we’d probably have a decent little fight. In actual fact nothing came over to have a bang at us, so we escorted the launch back, landed at Manston, refuelled and went back to Biggin.

Some time later we received a letter from the bomber boys, enclosing £1, and saying please have a drink on us, they were more than pleased at being picked up.

Now on 16th June I took a new chap to have a look round the sector and we landed at Lympne, had a look round, then flew back to Biggin and as soon as I landed and started walking back to the dispersal, Tommy Wright and George came rushing out and grabbed my sergeants stripes and ripped them off. Apparently my commission had come through. I was taken into the Officers’ Mess at lunchtime, where I had to buy a beer for Group Captain Barwell, the station commander, and Jamie Rankin who both insisted that the first drink I paid for must be theirs, which pleased me no end. After that I was told to go up to London and organise my new gear. So I went up to Burberrys and all I could actually come away with was an officers-type hat, gloves and two little bits of P/O tape which I managed to stick on my battledress and then went up to see Mum, who was obviously quite chuffed.

I moved my gear from the sergeants billet to a very nice room in a little house not very far from the Officers’ Mess. It was very nice having batmen look after you and do all the little cleaning jobs that we had to do ourselves as sergeants and I must admit I felt seven feet tall.

Well naturally, the sergeants expected a little bit of a beer-up on the occasion of my commission and consequently that night we repaired to The Jail pub. We all cycled down there and had a very pleasant evening, lots of beer went to and fro, but very late on I managed to get on my bicycle and get as far as my little room without falling over and breaking anything. Jack Hilton and Jim Norton, the two old sweats I’d shared a room with when I first joined 72, quite enjoyed themselves that night, but it wasn’t until the following day we heard how they got home. Apparently, Jack, who was a little chap, would try and get on his bike, put his foot on the pedal, run the bike along, fling his other leg over the bike and immediately collapse in a heap. Well having done this three times and finished up in a ditch they decided the best bet would be to walk back to the sergeants billet, which they did. They managed to get as far as the front lawn and their room was on the ground floor, first on the left as you went through the door. Well, as I say, they got as far as the lawn and decided, that was as far as they could go and they both collapsed on the lawn, stayed there all night and were called up in the morning. But from what I gather it was quite a splendid evening!

The following day four of us went down to the Le Harve basin, to see if we could shoot up some shipping. “Timber” Woods was leading with Sergeant Fosse, a Norwegian, as his number 2 and George and I who was flying as my number 2. Well we spread out and started looking for these boats and I passed over a couple of little boats that I didn’t think were worth hitting, but “Timber” was shouting at me to have a go at them, so I came back and said OK and did a half-hearted attack on one of them and eventually after the others had finished shooting holes in the boats, we climbed up and came back. Well naturally all our r/t chat had been recorded at Biggin and when we got back to dispersal, there was the station commander, Group Captain Barwell, the Intelligence Officer, Squadron Leader de la Tour, waiting for us to come in and chat to them. They were very worried that we might have shot up two little tiny boats that were really French and were not French-cum-German and we might have upset the feelings of the French. Now “Timber” was most upset about this and by the time he’d finished explaining to the two senior characters what we’d been doing you would have thought we’d have shot up a destroyer, but they seemed fairly happy about it, so long as we hadn’t upset the French, so they turned and walked away from dispersal and just as they went through the door, “Timber” turned to me and said,

“Robbie, next time we’ll break both their bloody oars!” and that was that.

Having decided that we were very good at shooting up shipping, the powers that be decided we’d go out and have another go, so out we went to the Le Harve basin again and this time we came across a fairly large coaster which started firing at me before I got within range and consequently we had no compunction about letting fly and the four of us left it, as they say, in a sinking condition.

That night there was a party in the Officers’ Mess, to which the Sergeant Pilots were invited and we made it another cause for celebration of my commission. I still hadn’t got a uniform, so I borrowed a spare one from P/O Jones, who’d just joined us and entered into the spirit of the festivities with great vim and vigour. We went on drinking till after 3 in the morning but four of us were on dawn readiness, and by the time we left the mess to go to our rooms, we decided it was hardly worthwhile going to our rooms to be called early and consequently we walked up to dispersal and lay on the beds there, hoping that no one would call us because it was very rare for anyone to get up and do anything at dawn, the Germans were very late risers. We’d scarcely got our heads down when were told to scramble.

So at half past four in the morning, we were up and belting over the Channel. Apparently we’d been told that some of our MGBs had shot up a German E-Boat and we were supposed to finish it off. Well we shot across the Channel at nought feet, got as far as Calais, couldn’t see anything and edged round the coast, still at nought feet, to within sight of Ostende, where they started hurling these great shells at us. Now none of us were feeling particularly bright and we thought it was a bit of a stupid thing to do, to be sitting where we were, in sight of Ostende and letting everything fly at us. They were shooting up, as I said, these great shells and great gouts of water were shooting up all over the place. I looked round for my number 2, who happened to be the same P/O Jones whose uniform I borrowed and I saw him fly straight through a great pile of water and I thought he’d bought it, but he emerged from the other side, unscathed. So after another five or ten minutes looking round the scene, we never came across the E-Boat, so we tootled back. When we landed the only thing that Jonesy was worried about was the fact that I was still wearing his uniform and he was afraid I might have got it damaged.

angels
14th Dec 2009, 10:37
Kuala Lumpur
Early in August 1946 1 was posted to 28 Squadron at Kuala Lumpur. It was a Spitfire squadron and they had very advanced aircraft.

There were only two fitters for the whole squadron and I was concerned that I would not know enough to cope. They must have been Mark 19 or 21. Actually I did not have a problem and I do remember changing a five-bladed propellor.

In our hut we had a gramophone. and I also built a small darkroom. I used to teach in the afternoons in the Education Centre.

Suddenly my ‘tapes’ came through and I was a sergeant. The sergeant in the hangar said ‘Well done, you can buy me a pint’ At lunchtme we went to the Sergeant’s Mess; it was a dreary place and some of the old sergeants were not very happy about my meteoric rise, however they had to lump it.

There was a small bedroom in the Education Block, so I slept there for a while. I was then invited to go and live with some sergeants who had a bungalow, out of the camp. It was on the top of a little hill at about half-way to town and it was at a junction of five roads, one road went to Pudu Gaol.

(To my amazement, when passing through KL in the 90s, I called Dad and he was able to direct me from Pudu Gaol to the little estate he lived. It was still there. An old gardener there had worked on the estate since the end of WW2. He said he would have known my Dad, but when I optimistically described Dad to him he said all 'ang mo' looked the same to him!! It was quite spooky to be chatting to someone who had seen my father 50 years earlier.)

We had staff to run the house and bar, my room was very light and airy. It was easy to walk to town, Kuala Lumpur is very elegant. The Government buildings and the- railway station were built in a Moorish style, with minarets, There was a very nice park with a lake and a cricket ‘Padang’ with a fine pavilion. There were several tail buildings, one near the station was the Education Office, Now, of course, there are many skyscrapers. There was plenty of night-life, dance-halls and restaurants.

In the mornings we would prepare lessons for the afternoon classes and play classical records. I also made posters to decorate the walls, using old magazine cuttings. The Education Officer was a pleasant man and we all got on reasonably well together. We also had an office boy, Addle, he was an intelligent fourteen-year old Malay lad. At 1100 we would send him to get coffee and cakes for the four of us.

One afternoon I hired a taxi and went to Raw Caves. These are about eight miles north of KL, there are two caves at the top of a long flight of steps. The first cave Is completely dark and is full of bats; the guano is collected and sold as fertilizer.

The other cavern is huge and lit by a chimney. It is as large as a church and has altars where people worship.

At the week-ends there were excursions for the airmen to go to Port Dickson. This was a small coastal village about sixty miles to the west. I was the N.C.O. in charge of the outings. When we were ready to return at seven o’clock on Sunday night, some of the airmen were so drunk that they were almost unconscious. I had them loaded onto the floor of the lorry and it bounced along the road and they were duly delivered back to camp.

Last chapter tomorrow.

angels
15th Dec 2009, 11:59
Homeward Bound

In December, 1946 my demobilisation papers came through. I was group 47. (??)

In many ways this was just in time for rne. Educational and Vocational Training was due to finish at the end of the year and I would then have reverted to being a Leading Aircraftsman.

However, 28 Squadron was about to move to Singapore and it was suggested that I could teach at the family school there and be made up to a Flying Officer. Apparently I was the only person in the area quailified to teach junior school children!

However, because I came home, none of this was relevant.

The last few weeks at Kuala Lumpur were very memorable. The food in our mess was very pleasant but on Friday lunch-times they served fish and chips in the Airmen's Mess. This was absolutely unmissable, so we used to roll-up our sleeves to cover our stripes and queue with everyone else (Cheeky buggers!!).

Also on Fridays there was a morning parade. Luckily, the day that I was supposed to take it, it rained and so it was cancelled.

We had a splendid Christmas and on the 28th of December I had to catch the night-train to Singapore.. Half 28 Squadron came onto the platform to see me off, they even brought a propellor (two bladed!). For me it was an experience that I shall never forget.

I arrived at Singapore and spent several days at the Transit Camp at Tengah; then we embarked on the Queen of Bermuda.

The journey home took four weeks, we stopped at Bombay for several days and I had another lookat the city.

As I have said, when I cane out on the Stratheden I was on 'U' deck and Officers and N.C.O.s were in cabins. This time I thought that I would be in a cabin but the whole ship was full of NCOs, so we were back to the hammock bit again!

I knew the projectionist in the cinema; in fact we spent much of our day in the projection room. We had a pair of braces fixed to the wall so that we could see how much the ship was rolllng. I decided to sleep on the seats in the cinema. It was quite warm and comfortable (and much nearer the toilets when the weather turned colder!).

Coming back towards Gibraltar one could see the white peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains in southern Spain, but we were experiencing the worst storm in the Med for eIghteen years.

There was a small convoy of vessels on either side pitching up and plunging nearly vertically so that one could see the propellers going round. We were doing the same.

We arrived at Liverpool at about four o'clock on a Sunday afternoon. It was dusk and the whole area was covered in two inches of newly fallen snow. There was no one in sight; we were back in England.

We went to RAF. Wharton, where we were given civilian suits and overcoats. We were paid off and given Travel Vouchers to return home.

It was February, 1947. It was very cold, but I was a free man after four and a half years.

Hope you enjoyed Dad's RAF memoirs. He was actually classified as 10 percent disabled later due to his ulcerated ankles, which as I've said before, gave him gyp for the rest of his life.

He was an ordinary bloke, but like many others at this time he did an extraordinary job.

When I was about 15, I had read Spike Milligan's book 'Adolf Hitler, His Part in My Downfall.' In it Milligan said that despite the fact the war years cost him his mental health, it was the happiest time of life. I asked Dad if the war his time in the RAF had been his happiest. To my mum's amazement, he said, "Yes."

I remain so proud of him.

50+Ray
15th Dec 2009, 14:12
Bravo. Terrific stuff. Thanks for sharing it with us.

green granite
15th Dec 2009, 14:56
Yes thanks indeed Angels. (and everyone else as well)

Caractacus
15th Dec 2009, 15:15
Ditto. This is the thread where established Ppruner's are keeping quiet and reading with awe!

Please keep going.

TommyOv
15th Dec 2009, 15:20
Another superb story. What a brilliant thread this is.

Thanks to all, and keep the tales coming!

Union Jack
15th Dec 2009, 16:39
I remain so proud of him

I am sure that he was every bit as proud of you, Angels, as we are grateful to you.

Jack

Icare9
15th Dec 2009, 16:48
Much appreciate you sharing your precious memories, but it is precisely that they were "ordinary" men who did extraordinary things that makes them special to all of us. They were there, at any moment they could be gone, but they did their duty.
A little more about the Queen of Bermuda here: H.M.S Queen of Bermuda. - World War 2 Talk (http://www.ww2talk.com/forum/war-sea/23049-h-m-s-queen-bermuda.html)

johnfairr
15th Dec 2009, 18:45
A real dogfight.

We shared the Biggin Mess with the third Eagle Squadron, 133, and 124 Squadron. Now one of the Eagle pilots had a little tiny dachshund puppy and one of our chaps, Jack Wratten, had a little tiny, Bitzer puppy, what it was we never found out. Anyway, the dachshund was called “Hoiman the Goiman” and Jack Wrattens’ little dog was called Major, because, said Jack, he was a brown job. Now we used to take these little pups into the mess and after lunch we’d all sit around in the hall, up the stairs, and all the way around and the idea was to get the two little pups to play or fight each other, but neither of them did any damage to the other, but it was really comical to watch. They’d wriggle and squeal and roll about and more often than not little Major would somehow get Hoiman on his back and the poor little dachshunds’ ears would flap out of either side and Majors’ front feet would often stand, one on either side of his head, holding his ears down, whilst he growled and tried to bite chunks out of the little dachshund. It really was the funniest thing we’d seen for ages.

There were several dogs roaming around the aerodrome, some belonging to pilots and some just spares that came in when the NAAFI wagon arrived and got fed by everybody. Brain Kingcome had a bull terrier, called Gus and at this time we had a squadron mascot, a rooster, and we used to watch Gus chase Ben, the rooster, all over the place. He never really did him any damage, but he’d rush at the rooster, and Ben would immediately leap into the air, Gus would shoot underneath and the rooster would scuttle off. Now that was fine as long as the grass was short, but the grass near the dispersal hut was quite long and Gus would often manoeuvre the rooster into the long grass which made leaping about and dashing and dodging him a bit difficult and all the pilots used to line up and shout at the rooster,

“Get out, Ben, get out Ben, you stupid buggar!!” and so on. It was quite funny.


72 Sqn June 1942 – Martlesham, a missing gun panel and new wheels


We were sent to Martlesham for a week, theoretically to do air-to-air firing, but also to give us a bit of a rest and it proved quite a pleasant change. The idea was, that if you were lucky, you got on your air-to-air firing early and then you had a day off, so I tried to organise my air firing as early as possible, bang away at the target, come back and land, then fly back to North Weald, leave the aircraft there and go and see Mum, which was great.

George Malan and I had a day off at the same time and we were also on the early show for air firing and I took the first bang and shot the drogue off, which pleased me immensely, but it was more luck than judgement. We immediately shot back to Martlesham, picked up our gear, got it back to the aircraft and went to North Weald, left the aircraft there and transferred ourselves to 76 Kings Ave, where Vicki, George’s girlfriend, had come down for a couple of days. We met her in London, had a very pleasant time, then came back to Woodford and as we only had a day we had to rush about a bit and Mum and Vicki decided they’d come to North Weald with us and see us take off. So they came on the little chugga-chugga line (The now-defunct London Underground Central Line branch that ran from Epping to Ongar, via Blake Hall and North Weald.) and we said cheerio to them, walked to the station, which wasn’t particularly far, got in our aircraft and flew off. We thought we’d have a bit of a show for the girls, beat up North Weald and the train. Well we started to beat-up North Weald and my outer gun-panel blew off. Now as it was supposed to be checked by the North Weald groundcrew before I took off, I should have landed straight away and put in a big complaint, but as I’d spent about ten minutes beating the place up, we didn’t think it was a very popular move, so we just flew back to Martlesham.

Being on operations, if you owned a car, you were entitled to some legal petrol coupons. Well I didn’t have a car, but Ferdie (Future Father-in-law of Robbie, and, perforce, father of "Connie" - my mum!) did, a little Hillman 10, which he’d laid up as he wasn’t allowed petrol and I had a chat with him and said if he’d like to make the car over to me, I could get the petrol, I could run it, it would be better for the car, it would also be better for Con and everybody else. So Ferdie agreed with this and on the next day we had off, George drove me up to Woodford and then tackled the business of putting Ferdie’s car in order. George, incidentally, before being called up or volunteering, had worked at Austins in Birmingham, so he knew a fair bit about cars. Anyway, it didn’t take him too long to get Ferdie’s car running, and I was as pleased as punch. I said cheerio to Mum and drove happily back to Biggin Hill, the proud possessor of a car and legal petrol coupons. Now they didn’t matter so much, so long as you had one or two to show the police if you were pulled up. As most of us had cars then, we used to fill up at the bowser on the dispersal and we were never short of petrol!

I had some groundcrew service the car, which I used to leave in the road outside my billet and they really did a good job, although “Timber” Woods did come up to me one day, when he was looking for certain groundcrew, and said,

“I’m bloody fed up Robbie, if they’re not working on your bloody aircraft, they’re working on your bloody car! Get ’em back!”

But he didn’t really mind.

Having a car was an enormous help inasmuch as if we were released at any odd time, all I had to do was jump in the car and belt back to Woodford. Obviously on day release and weekend leave, I was able to run about quite a bit. I took Mum and Ferdie and Else down to Southend one day, we had quite a pleasant time, and at that time anyone living or working near the coast, had to have a special pass and we were just driving down towards the pier and a policeman walked into the middle of the road and stopped me. I let down the window and he said

“You have got a pass, sir, haven’t you?”

“Of course”, I said and put my hand in my pocket, not bringing anything out, because I hadn’t got anything to bring out!

“Righto, sir, carry on” and that was that. Mind you, Ferdie was a bit worried.

johnfairr
16th Dec 2009, 18:42
72 Sqn June 1942 to Lympne, Oxspring takes over from Kingcome

At the end of June the squadron was moved down to Lympne and we could never find out why inasmuch as all we did were convoy patrols and general stooging round the Channel and nothing very exciting happened. The only good thing was that the officers were billeted in Sir Phillip Sassoon’s house which was a magnificent place, not very far from Lympne aerodrome, with a swimming pool in the garden and when we weren’t on duty, we’d lie about in the garden and go swimming. It really was most pleasant. We also had a talk by a chap who’d been shot down over Germany, a bomber bloke, and managed to escape and we were most interested in this, because the one thing that worried us was getting shot down and becoming as prisoner and any gen on how to avoid becoming a prisoner and getting back was always good.

I can well remember him telling us, or giving us the gen on various points of disguise and he was wearing an overcoat which didn’t really seem to disguise him much, he still looked like an RAF officer to me, but then he pulled out an old cap from his pocket and stuck it on his head and with a sort of half-bent look, you wouldn’t have thought it was the same chap. It was a quite interesting talk.

I had a bit of a surprise one day while we were at Lympne. I was looking out of the dispersal window and there was my aircraft being painted with great white stripes. So I rushed out to find out what they were doing and who’d given them permission and was told that orders had come down from on high that all the aircraft were to have broad white stripes painted on them. So there we were, nothing you could do about it. Anyway, the following day we were sent back to Biggin and told that the white stripes were to come off and I can only imagine that the Dieppe raid, which took place about a month later, had previously been arranged for the week we were at Lympne and that’s why we were down there, but I never got any farther than that.

Brian Kingcome was promoted to Wing Commander Flying at Kenley and we were most sorry to see him go because, as I’ve said before, he was not only a brilliant pilot, a great leader, but a very charming chap all round and Bob Oxspring, who took over from him, wasn’t really in the same class. A nice enough chap but we never really felt the same with him.

Group Captain Kingcome and his example as an officer, leader and fighter pilot remained with my father for the rest of his life. When my brother expressed an interest in joining the RAF, my father told him it had to be via the RAF College at Cranwell, which had enhanced and produced the qualities he held dear, in Brian Kingcome.

regle
17th Dec 2009, 09:44
I know now what the old time vaudeville artistes must have felt when they had to follow the great acts that were around on the prewar and wartime stages. How could one follow Gracie Fields, Max Miller, Harry Lauder and later Tommy Cooper, Morecambe and Wise to name a few ? I hesitate to pen my own rather trite memories after reading the terrific recent contributions from such a varied selection and I cannot and will not select any one as they are all so beautifully written and so vividly redolent of the times they represent. I just thank you all for the emotions that your contributions have stirred and for the absolute pleasure and privilege it has been to read them. I can't believe that there is no more to come. Surprise and delight me. Thank you, Regle.

Brian Abraham
18th Dec 2009, 02:18
regle, did you receive my PM?

Union Jack
18th Dec 2009, 08:47
" I hesitate to pen my own rather trite memories...." - Regle

"A superior man is modest in his speech, but exceeds in his actions" - Confucius

Seems to me, Regle, that Confucius has summed you up rather well, as anyone who has followed this thread in its entirety will appreciate!

With very best wishes to you, and the other outstanding contributors still with us, and the families of those who are sadly not, for a happy Christmas and a good New Year

Jack

regle
18th Dec 2009, 09:07
Sorry. Brian, nothing shows from you.Regle.

johnfairr
18th Dec 2009, 09:27
72 Sqn –A Bounce, A party and A Tale of Two Spits


Anyway on one of the early sweeps that Bob Oxspring took us on, we were jumped over Dieppe, and got split up a bit. Bob was flying with his number 2 and I had mine, not George this time, and as we were coming back over France a 190 shot down in front of us and Bob told me to have a go at it and he would stay up top and give cover. Well, that suited me, because we were half way across the Channel by then, in a good position, and I had a bounce, so down I went. Now the 190 was going like the clappers, as they always do, so instead of following him right down, I pulled out so that when he eventually straightened out, as he had to, lower down, I’d be that much nearer. Everything was going like clockwork, until I suddenly heard a hell of a great bang in my ear. Naturally I thought the other 190 had got in behind me and let fly, so without pausing, without time to read a book or think, I yanked back on the stick and gave it full right rudder and hoped for the best. I was down to about 5000’ then. When I came to, I was somewhere about 12,000’, on my own, not another aircraft in sight, and the aircraft felt a bit strange. Well there was nothing left to do, so I ambled home, but on the way back over our coast I was looking at the wings and I thought ‘Well I don’t remember them being like, that, it must be me.’

The centre of the wing, by the cannon, seemed to have a slight bump in it, but I thought, well it must have been there before and I hadn’t noticed it. It was a bit rough to fly and I imagined that one of the trim-tabs had been torn off the wing or the aileron and that was the reason for it flying a bit left wing low. Well I got back to Biggin and it landed a bit faster than it normally did, but I got down alright and I taxied back to the dispersal and as I got out, Jack Hilton came over to have a word with me and without turning round and having a look at the aircraft, I told him that I thought some of the trim had come off and would he have a look at it, because it was flying a bit lop-sided. OK he said and that was that.

So I got back to the dispersal and was chatting with Bob Oxspring and Co. and Jack Hilton came over, he said.

“Robbie, I’ve brought your aircraft over for you”

I said, “Oh, Yeah?”

He’d parked it right outside, right next to the CO’s aircraft. As you know the Spit has a certain amount of dihedral. Well they’d parked my aircraft, as I say, next to the CO’s and the difference was quite alarming. I’d doubled the dihedral at least, the wingroots had come away, and the bolts were showing on the underside, and it was also buckled from the cannon outwards, consequently it was a sort of gull-wing effect.

Now in those days we were flying with the old type hoods which had a flat side and a knock-out panel which was kept in by split-pins. The idea being that if the windscreen misted over, you knocked out the panel and had clear vision. Now what had happened to me was that the wind had got under the panel and ripped it off, and the resulting noise, was, I thought, the chap shooting at me.

I came in for a fair bit of stick from the rest of the pilots who said,

“Don’t make a noise or Robbie will bale out!. Don’t slam the door or Robbie will do something dreadful!” and it went on like that for ages.

I had to write a long report for Farnborough because I think it was about the first time someone had only half-pulled the wings off a Spit and got away with it.

Anyway, the ATA (Air Transport Auxiliary, the civilian operation that delivered and returned aircraft from factory to squadron, often flown by women.) brought in another nice new aircraft for me and had the squadron letters put on and the signwriter put “Connie” on the side as usual and I tested it and all was well.

Then we had a party for the 900th Hun to be shot down from the Biggin Hill Sector, and I’d arranged for Mum to come down and spend the night in Bromley and I’d pick her up in the car, take her to the Mess, when it was all over, run her back to Bromley. At that time, as you’ll appreciate, there were two aircraft on the squadron, both with RN-H and both with “Connie” written on them. Anyway, I was most anxious to introduce Mum to all the chaps on the squadron who hadn’t met her and we arrived at the mess and I proudly introduced her to “Timber”, who by this time was three parts under. He was a tall lad and he leant over Mum after I’d introduced her and instead of saying something nice such as how nice to see you, what a nice bloke you’ve got, he just stared at her and said,

“So it’s your bloody name we’ve got on half the bloody aircraft in the squadron!” Mum, as you can imagine, was somewhat embarrassed.

Anyway, it was a good do and later on I took Mum back to Bromley, despite the entreaties of “Timber” and Hugo Armstrong, who decided it would be a great thing if we could get Mum to stay in one of the rooms occupied by a WAAF and the WAAF would move out and I would move in, but we didn’t really fall in for that idea.

Apart from coming down for the party, Mum used to come down from London of an evening and we’d arrive at The White Hart or another place in Bromley, meet the chaps, have a few beers and Mum would catch the last train back to London and I would go back to Biggin. But being close to London, Biggin was a great place to be.

I said the Germans weren’t very early risers, but once when I was on dawn readiness with Johnny Lowe, we got told to scramble as there were two bogies over Dover somewhere. So we took off about 7 o’clock in the morning, it was a beautiful day and the sun was as bright as anything, but unfortunately the vector they sent us on meant we flew straight up into the sun and we literally couldn’t see a thing, so we had to jink from side to side and pray that we’d see the Jerries before they saw us, which was highly unlikely in view of their position. Anyway we were flying about 200 yards apart and I suddenly saw silver streaks going down towards Johnny Lowe, so I yelled at him to break, which he did and the first 190 that was having a go at him, shot past and straight out onto the Channel and away and the second one dived down, came up behind him and I, by this time, had turned in towards Johnny and I thought this was a great chance, we might get something down over our coast.

But immediately the 190 saw me coming, Johnny by this time was obviously going away, he did a half roll, got down to ground level and went home like a bat out of hell. Well I poured on everything but I couldn’t get anywhere near him so I didn’t even get a shot at him.

johnfairr
19th Dec 2009, 14:52
Postings in and out and in again.

It wasn’t really all milk and honey at Biggin, because during the time we were there we lost several very nice chaps and good pilots. In fact some we lost before I even met them. I went on leave for a week once and when I came back, two chaps had been posted to us, one had been shot down and one had crashed on coming back and he hadn’t even unpacked his gear.

We had a supernumerary Squadron Leader attached to us for a while, a Sqn Ldr Tidd, who came to us to get some experience before he took over another squadron and about the first sweep we went on, to St Omer, we just lost him, no one saw him go. We imagined he might have gone down in the Channel, so we searched the Channel later on, but no sign of him, so he was written off.

After one trip I landed and came back to dispersal to be greeted by my chums with the news that I’d been posted to an OTU. I wasn’t at all amused as I was having a great time at Biggin and the whole thing suited me down to the ground. So I rushed in to see Bob Oxspring and explained that I had no wish to go to an OTU and he and “Tiny” le Petite, who was our Adj, grinned at each other and said,

“Don’t worry Robbie, other arrangements have been made.”

In fact they posted poor old Pilot Officer Jones, who by that time had got ten operational hours in and they sent him back saying he was a most experienced chap and would be a great help at the OTU!

72 Sqn leave 11 Group for the North – July 1942

At the end of July we were told that we were being moved up north for a rest, which didn’t really surprise us because we’d been down in 11 Group since I’d joined the squadron in December 1941, and they’d been down since the previous July and we thought we’d go up north for a rest and then come back again all fit and keen to start again. I went on leave for a week and someone else flew my aircraft up to Ouston and Bob Oxspring asked that if I was bringing the car up, could I bring some of his gear? Well, I agreed to that, no hassle, and as this now became an official trip, the Station Adjutant nearly busted a gut when I told him how many coupons I’d need to get the car from Biggin Hill to Newcastle. But he grudgingly gave them to me in the end.

By the time I’d driven to Ouston, the squadron had moved to Ayr, which meant getting more petrol coupons and going from Ouston to Ayr, which I managed alright, without even a puncture. Now after this, there was some rumour going about that we might be sent abroad and most of us were most unhappy about this, because we thought the Second Front must be starting in the fairly near future and we obviously have to go into France and there’d be so much fun flying over the Channel with lots to do and lots of chances to fire the old guns, that none of us, as I say, were particularly keen on being shunted off to the Far East or wherever. So George Malan and I did all we could to get out of it and George had a word with “Sailor”, who by that time was running an air-gunnery course near The Wash. As it happened there was nothing we could do about it and we were stuck and we learnt afterwards that whatever pilot Bob Oxspring wanted for this trip abroad, they were his, without argument, so there was nothing we could do about it.

Bob Oxspring was posted down south for a few days while the Dieppe do was on and he took a few pilots with him, including George Malan and other chaps who hadn’t seen much action so far and when George came back, he was complaining bitterly of Bob Oxspring’s leadership. Apparently they’d been told to patrol at a certain height and not go higher or lower at any time. Well a Dornier flew underneath them, about a thousand feet below apparently, and instead of sending down a section and getting rid of the Dornier, Bob Oxspring just watched it fly away and George was really quite mad about it and he reckoned if I’d have been there I might have forgotten to tell Bob I was going and just go, as we did in North Africa later on.

johnfairr
21st Dec 2009, 18:52
While Bob Oxspring was down south, the squadron was taken over by a Squadron Leader Archie Winskill and he was a bit of a miserable character and he didn’t like anybody that we could find. We had one or two slight accidents, like taxiing accidents of various sorts and odd things going wrong that for some reason or another had never occurred when we down at Biggin and Winskill threatened us with the direst of penalties for the next person who did something really bad and I’m delighted to say that the next person who had a taxiing accident was Sqn Ldr Winskill!

Some of the Works & Bricks boys had left a small roller near the edge of the perimeter track and as Winskill was taxiing back he smashed straight into this, smashing up the prop and doing a fair amount of damage to the Spit, so we never heard any more from him after that and in any case, Bob Oxspring came back and all was well.

Whilst we were up at Ayr, all we did were convoy patrols and long-distance cross-countries and on one of the convoy patrols, I was up when the Queen Mary came up the Clyde towards Glasgow and it really was a magnificent sight. We flew round and round it, just admiring the rate at which it was going, it really looked beautiful. It had no escort because it was so fast that most of the escorts couldn’t keep up with it anyway, but it really was a beautiful sight.

I also had to fly to Etherington in Northern Ireland to do a convoy job over there and that again was for the Queen Mary, but when we got there the weather was so bad we couldn’t take off so we couldn’t do the convoy job anyway.

I had a small accident at Etherington. I was taxiing along the perimeter track, when a lorry decided to come out of a side road which was disguised by a bit of a hedge and I just caught the far wingtip and damaged the navigation light, there was no other damage to the aircraft, but they decided it wouldn’t be fit to fly back to Ayr, so I took another chaps’ aircraft and flew the section back and the other chap came back on his own later on.

We continued to do lots of formation flying and long cross-countries and on one of the formation trips, my seat came adrift and shunted down towards the bottom of the aircraft. I was trying to fly the Spit with my nose practically on the compass, but I managed to land alright and all was well. I realise now that the long distance cross-countries were to get us ready for what was going to be a fair old flight from Gibraltar to Algiers.

We were given what turned out to be embarkation leave so I piled all my gear into Ferdies’ car and drove it back to Woodford and that was the last time I drove back. Anyway, we managed to have quite a decent time, Mum and I, whilst I was on leave; the only snag was I had to leave a telephone number every time I went anywhere and one evening we were at the Queens Brasserie in Leicester Square, one of our favourite haunts, and the band stopped playing and the bandleader went to the microphone and said there was a telephone message for Pilot Officer R*******n. My heart dropped a foot, anyway I went out to the managers office and young Alan (brother of RJHR) was on the phone saying they’d had a telegram from the squadron saying return immediately if not sooner. So Mum and I came home and that was that. Ferdie and Mum saw me off from Forest Gate station and as we thought I’d be away at least two years Ferdie agreed that it would be OK for me to marry Mum when I returned. So away I went, but in the event we got married about six months later, but that’s another story.

Union Jack
21st Dec 2009, 23:54
Squadron Leader Archie Winskill .... was a bit of a miserable character and he didn’t like anybody that we could find.

Let's hope that he cheered up when he became Captain of the Queen's Flight!:ok:

Interestingly enough, the second paragraph of the summary on A L Winskill (http://www.rafweb.org/Biographies/Winskill_AL.htm) gives an indication of why he had a lot on his mind around the time in question.:)

Jack

angels
22nd Dec 2009, 07:20
Thanks a lot John, keep it up. Absolutely fascinating stuff.

Interesting, too, to see some of the pubs mentioned. When I was in the sixth form I had a car, so on a Friday afternoon my girlfriend and I would forego an afternoon of double history and economics and head off for the pubs around Biggin....:E

johnfairr
23rd Dec 2009, 15:31
October 1942, en route to Gibraltar

I got back to Ouston to find that we’d had a few other pilots posted in to us, two of them, Jerry le Cheminant and Chas Charnock.* They’d both been in the B of B and Chas in particular was a terrific flier and we got on very, very well indeed, in fact in later months we flew together quite a bit.

We were issued with tropical kit and given a lot more injections, everything from a cold in the nose to the bubonic plague, I think, and we were also given lectures on how to survive in the Far East and we were all laying bets that we’d be sent to India or somewhere. It wasn’t that we were all that annoyed at being posted abroad, but it seemed to us that we weren’t likely to see very much action, but in fact we did manage to see quite a bit eventually.

Finally, with a few bits of our personal gear packed in parachute bags, we embarked at Liverpool on an ancient merchant ship called the Fort Maclaughlin. It was hardly what you could describe as a pleasure cruiser and twelve of us were down in one of the holds in bunk beds next door to what we could understand were coal bunkers and consequently with the rolling and upping and downing of the ship all we heard were clangings and bangings. In fact on one occasion there such an almighty bang that we thought we’d been torpedoed and two of the chaps were out of their bunks and up the stairs onto the deck before you could say “knife!” In actual fact what had happened was that a large chunk of iron from somewhere had clattered along the deck and frightened the life out of us.

We had a large number of crated aircraft on the deck and on each crate, in letters about a foot high was the word “Gibraltar”, so we thought well that’s the last place we were going to land. Anyway, we went up the Clyde to join the rest of the convoy and there were aircraft and ships all over the place. There were little landing craft zipping to and fro and lots of Dakotas trundling around and it really was quite an impressive sight. We disappeared out into the Atlantic at last and the weather wasn’t too good. Fortunately none of us were sick, but we had a Wing Commander with us, a Wing Commander MacMullen, a strange chap. He had a round face and he looked like one of these cartoon tigers, and he was very upset if he ever heard anyone addressing him as “Tiger” As I say, he was a strange enough lad, we’d never come across him before and he thought it would be a great thing if we had a sweep on who was the first chap to be sick. Well, naturally enough, the first person, and the only person to be sick, was Wing Commander MacMullen.

As I said the sea was a bit rough and we used to go up on deck and watch all the ships in the convoy bouncing up and down. We had a small aircraft-carrier near us and that was followed by a little corvette and we used to stand up on the deck and watch this corvette going up and down and you could almost see the screws at one end and the front sticking up in the air every now and again – I wouldn’t have fancied that job at all.

We were supposed to do anti-submarine lookout, so two of us at a time would go up on deck by one of the Oerlikons and stand there and scour the sea for submarines, but fortunately we never saw anything. In fact we weren’t troubled by any submarines on the whole trip, but it didn’t alter the fact that you always imagined that you were going to be attacked and had visions of sitting on rafts in the middle of the Atlantic for days on end.

Trying to get some idea of where we were going, a couple of us managed to get up into the chart-room and saw our course plotted and from what we could see, we got nearly to New York and turned round and started coming back again and turned round again and all we seemed to be doing were little circles in the middle of the Atlantic. But eventually we got down and we could see Gibraltar and by that time the sun was shining, the weather wasn’t too bad and having got land in sight, we all felt an awful lot better.

* = An interesting chap, Chas Charnock. He'd been a Cranwell Cadet in the 30's, graduated and was posted to fighters, but for some (unkown to my father, but suspected low-flying) reason, was court-martialed and dismissed the service. He joined up again in 1939 as Sergeant Pilot and by the time he joined 72, was a Warrant Officer and was subsequently commissioned again. A lot of the chaps mentioned in this memoir can be found in the definitive volume of RAF & Commonwealth fighter pilots, "Aces High", by Christopher Shores.

cliffnemo
25th Dec 2009, 09:52
WAY OFF THREAD AND i DON'T CARE.


A MERRY CHRISTMAS ,AND A PROSPEROUS NEW YEAR TO STAFF OF PPRUNE , ALL CONTRIBUTORS, AND READERS .

My wife and I are now waiting to be picked up and taken to Christmas dinner, by my son in law. Will have a very pleasant day with grandchildren, and family.

TommyOv
25th Dec 2009, 18:56
I'll second that, Cliff. Merry Christmas to all, and may this fascinating thread continue long into the New Year!

Time for another whisky...

johnfairr
26th Dec 2009, 18:46
Disembarkation at Gibraltar, November 1942

We’d left Liverpool on 20th October and we disembarked at Gibraltar on 6th November. We were given our billets, which turned out to be Nissen huts on some part of The Rock, quite where we could never find out, but we weren’t too enamoured of the food, everything seemed to taste of oil, and you could smell oil for mile, it was quite a sickly business. One or two of us managed to get down into Gibraltar town, which wasn’t too bad. The main street had lots of bars in it, most of them seemed to be up on the first floor and you’d start going up the stairs, to meet some chap hurtling down because he’d been a bit too drunk and had been thrown out by the local bar-tenders.

It was quite often the case, you’d walk along the road and a chap would shoot out from the doorway in front of you and collapse on the pavement. I had a meal with David Cox once, which was sold as steak and it was very, very tasty, but we learnt afterwards it was horse, but it still tasted alright.

We had very little money with us, but what little we had we changed into French Francs and sat around, waiting to hear what we were supposed to do. Well after a little while we learnt that they’d invaded North Africa and we were to fly up to Algiers. I managed to send a cablegram off to Mum, to say that we’d arrived somewhere, I obviously couldn’t tell her where, but I did mention that I’d met a chap from our old swimming club. Now I hadn’t actually met him, but it had been said that he was in Gibraltar, and so I thought that Mum would add two and two together and work out where I was. But she knew somebody in Cable & Wireless and they managed to track down that my original cable had come from Gibraltar, so at least Mum did have some news and she sent a cable out to me, which was the first communication any of us had when we finally got to Souk el Arba.

A long transit to Maison Blanche

We spent a few days wandering around Gib, most of the time in bars or going to the local cinema and finally were told to collect some flying gear and get down on the airstrip, which we did. Now none of the aircraft had any registration numbers or lettering of any kind on them and they were also the tropical mod type Spit, which means they had a great
big airscoop underneath the propeller boss and they were also fitted with long range tanks. Now none of us had ever flown an aircraft with a long range tank and we had no idea of how they’d fly or what we had to do to get them off the ground, we were just told to get to the end of the runway and follow your leader. So we undid the armour-plating behind the seat, stuffed our parachute bags in the back, put the armour-plating back, got in the aircraft and sat and waited and eventually Bob Oxspring took off and we all followed one after the other. But by this time all sorts of other squadrons were taking off and there were Spitfires right, left, and centre, and as I say, none of them had any markings at all, and it was more by luck than judgement that we managed to get in some sort of formation and head for Algiers.

Now, I must admit, even to this day, I have no idea how a long range tank works and whether it takes you off and when it finishes you go on to your main tank, or whether you start with your main tank and then transfer to the auxiliary tank. But in any event we flew very gingerly and we all managed to find our way to Algiers, which was like an ants nest. It’s a large aerodrome, but it was packed solid with every kind of aircraft you could think of, from B-17s to practically Tiger Moths, little tiny aircraft that the French had been using and the circuit was another mass of aircraft going round and round. Anyway, we all managed to land without too much difficulty and not knowing where to go we just taxied to a spare spot off the runway and sat there. Eventually some character came up and took our details and we were told to find somewhere to eat and sleep.

Well the only thing we could find in the way of a restaurant, was a small sort of café on the edge of the aerodrome, where we all piled in and had a rather greasy meal and then we had to try and find sleeping accommodation and we couldn’t, so we finished up, wrapped up in whatever clothes we’d got, on the floor of the hangar and it wasn’t too comfortable, particularly as they used to bomb Algiers, night after night, although fortunately nothing came near us.

johnfairr
27th Dec 2009, 16:44
The move east to Bone and first blood to Owen Hardy

We each took our turn to patrol Algiers and the docks, to keep off any stray Ju-88s or 109s or whatever they sent down, but we never saw anything at all. After a day of this we were told we were being posted to Bone, which is a port about 300 odd miles farther east. So again we took off with our long range tanks, got to Bone where they had a single runway, more or less like a single track road and the ground off the runway was rough, full of stones, holes and what have you and also a lot of dust. No sooner had we landed and got into the dispersal, which in this case was a concrete-block house, than two 109s came over and started shooting up the aerodrome. There was no way we could have got out of dispersal, got to our aircraft and taken off, so we just had to sit there and watch these 109s shoot the place up. There were supposed to be two of our pilots up in the air, looking for things like this, but they didn’t see them on this occasion.

We all took our turn at aerodrome patrol and in the evening when it was dark we had to make our way to Bone and try and find somewhere to stay. There was literally no organisation whatsoever while we were at Bone. We had to wander around the town till we came to a hotel and then try and get rooms there. Fortunately we met up with Jimmy Barralldi, the chap who’d given us the talk on how to bale out of an aircraft at Hawarden*, and Jimmy could speak French quite well and he managed to find us rooms in this hotel, which was a good thing. Apart from the fact that there were no lights whatsoever, no candles and we had to blunder our way upstairs, and into rooms to find out if there was an empty one anywhere and finally Johnny Lowe and I managed to find a double bed and we crawled in and that was that.

The following day Owen Hardy and I were picked for the first aerodrome patrol and our first job was to get rid of the long range tanks. We’d had no instruction on this and although we tried pressing every button and switch and lever, there was no way we could get this damn tank off. Eventually one of us sat in the cockpit and pulled the lever and the other one gave the tank a mighty kick and it fell off. So we tried that with the other aircraft and managed to get all of them off without a great deal of further bother.

We’d been doing our usual patrol up and down the aerodrome, seeing if anything was coming our way, flying as usual about 200 yards apart and on the other side of Owen, who happened to be nearer the sea than I was, a 109 came in very, very low and shot across the aerodrome, shooting things up on the way, turned round and belted for home. Owen Hardy and I both turned in to chase the 109, but we hadn’t a great deal of height advantage and from what we could gather the 109 was a lot faster than we were.

Anyway, we chased this 109 on the deck for quite a way and I had visions of the thing getting away and I was shrieking at Owen to fire as soon as he could. He was quite calm about it, he lined up the 109, gave it a couple of good burst and the thing burst into flames and hit the deck. That was our first enemy aircraft in North Africa.

* = A Spitfire Pilot - Post #1230 onwards

johnfairr
28th Dec 2009, 20:58
Souk-el-Arba

The next day we scarcely seemed to have been in bed for more than five minutes when we were all called to get up and get packed. Well getting packed wouldn’t normally have taken long because we scarcely had anything with us, but in the pitch dark we had to fumble about the bedroom, finding bits and pieces, stuffing them in our parachute bags and coming down into the cold morning. We were put in trucks and taken back to Bone and told to go off and do a sweep over Beja, which at that time was in enemy hands. We did this, didn’t hit anything, didn’t see anything and were told to land at a place called Souk-el-Arba on the way back. We were told that we’d recognise the landing field at Souk-el-Arba because there was a crashed Potez or some such bomber, smack in the middle of it.

Anyway we found it alright, we all landed but it was like landing on the moon. It was rough, hard mud with the usual dust and potholes and we wondered how long our tyres would last. The town of Souk-el-Arba, or large village, was at one end of the aerodrome and a road with ditches either side, ran from the town right through the middle of the aerodrome. So we parked our aircraft on one side of the ditch, went to the other and just stood around.

During the day some ground troops arrived, together with supplies of petrol and ammunition, and having nowhere else to store it, we piled all the four-gallon petrol cans in the ditches alongside the road that ran from the little town of Souk-el-Arba, straight through the aerodrome. The cans were theoretically hidden under the trees, but there was really nowhere else to put the things.

We were given boxes of K Rations but we had nowhere to sleep and no clothes. We managed to dig out some rather poor tents from the French and also managed to scrounge a couple of paper-like blankets. Now although the weather was very nice during the day, pleasantly warm, the minute the sun went down, which was normally about 5 o’clock, when everything went completely black. It was freezing, and we crawled to bed and woke up shivering like mad. We managed to scrounge a few more blankets, but even so it wasn’t too warm at night and we continued like this for something like a fortnight.

Water was another problem. We’d go into the village and fill our water bottles from the bowser and then put in the little pills we were given to keep us clear of diseases and so on, but there was not enough water to wash in and consequently, after a few days, we were a bit scruffy.

We were kept pretty busy right from the start and on 21st November, I took part in three sweeps and one aerodrome patrol, totalling five and a half hours, which is quite a lot of flying, one way and another. On one of the sweeps, we came across some enemy lorries in the middle of nowhere, they had no air cover or anything, so we piled in and started shooting them up, but I must admit the old Germans are a bit quick off the mark. No sooner had we made our first approach, than one lot had piled out of their lorry, set up a machine-gun and were returning fire like mad. We clobbered them pretty well, but they managed to hit Bob Oxspring’s aircraft and he crash-landed on the way back, near Beja.

johnfairr
29th Dec 2009, 13:13
Uninvited Guests

If at that time the Jerries didn’t know where we were, it didn’t take them long to find out, because the following day two 109s screeched down the valley, across the aerodrome, up and away, before anyone could take off. So after that we had two aircraft in the air all day long and two on the ground ready to take off. I’d just landed after doing an aerodrome patrol, parked the aircraft and was sitting down, writing a letter to Mum. Now we were expecting another squadron to come and join us at Souk-el-Arba and no one was particularly surprised when they saw a batch of about a dozen aircraft in line astern, idling, circling the aerodrome and it looked as though they were coming in to land, until someone suddenly looked up and shouted “109s!”

Well, after that you couldn’t see us for dust. There was no way we could get from where we were, across the ditch, into our aircraft and take off, before the 109s came down. In fact they were halfway down before someone started shouting. So we all scattered like mad and I ran as fast as I could, obviously, and then flung myself down on the ground. At that time we had no slit trenches or anywhere else to hide and there were a few of the groundcrew who flung themselves into ditches, but unfortunately that’s about the first thing the Hun shoots up, apart from aircraft.

We had American anti-aircraft gunners stationed round the aerodrome with their 0.5 machine guns and they were blasting off at everything within sight, but they didn’t hit anything, at least no 109s. But the 109s managed to hit the petrol, and some of our ammunition and the petrol went up with a terrific whoosh and although we were, by this time, about 150 yards away, you could feel the blast on the side of your face as though you were sitting near a fire. Anyway, after the first run, and I must admit I was scared stiff, and it’s no fun lying in the middle of a field where you can hear the bullets hitting the ground and ricochets going right, left and centre and you can’t tell from the noise of the bullets, whether they are coming across you, the side of you or through you. Anyway, none of the pilots were hit, so as I say after the first run, we decided to get a little farther away from the action. I got up to run away, and a chap who was some way from me, shouted out.

“Give me a hand, Robbie!”

It was Sergeant Hussey, who had come across one of our chaps with holes in his stomach and he was trying to drag him along. So I changed my mind and ran back, helped get hold of this shot-up chap. We managed to get him underneath a lorry and there we stayed until all the action had died down. I wasn’t madly happy, because I thought they were more likely to shoot up a lorry then they were some chap out on his own in the middle of a field, but fortunately they didn’t attack our particular lorry and so we got up afterwards and counted our numbers.

We’d lost several of our groundcrew who had taken shelter in the ditches including a couple of a-rabs who’d decided to shelter behind the petrol cans but we didn’t find those until we started throwing mud and dust onto the fires to put them out, when we came across these two burnt up characters; it wasn’t very pleasant.

An hour or so later we were shot up by 190s, but fortunately they did very little damage to our aircraft and none of the personnel, although two of the squadrons which shared the aerodrome with us, 152 and 93, had a fair bit more damage, in fact 152 were pulled out soon after this.

After the second raid we took a lot more interest in the aircraft that might be flying round our vicinity and we spotted the Ju 87s with their escort quite time before they reached our aerodrome, consequently we had lots of time to disappear into little holes we’d found, mostly bomb-craters from the first run and very little damage was done, although it’s quite frightening to sit there and watch an 87 come down, shrieking its head off and dropping its bombs!

Again, the American anti-aircraft gunners didn’t manage to do any damage to the opposing team, but later in the afternoon a Blenheim flew over, accompanied by a couple of Spits, and they opened up like mad, flinging flak and what have you everywhere. Now the normal form of recognition by a friendly aircraft, if it’s being attacked, is to lower its wheels and this Blenheim kept lowering its wheels and raising its wheels and lowering its wheels and we were rushing around to the gunners, telling them that it was a friendly aircraft, but they paid little or no attention and still carried on blasting away. But again, they never hit anything and the Blenheim and its escort disappeared into the distance. Funnily enough, just after that the anti-aircraft gunners were sent away and we were left with two or three Bofors gunners

johnfairr
29th Dec 2009, 20:07
Two become one and Beaufighters arrive.

We lost seven or eight aircraft completely destroyed and after that we were never able to put a whole squadron in the air at the same time and consequently we used to join up with 93 and make up a squadron between us. Sometimes Bob Oxspring would lead and sometimes Nelson-Edwards, the CO of 93.

We also started getting bombed at night quite regularly and apart from high explosive, a lot of butterfly bombs were dropped, which opened out like little peeled oranges when they hit the ground and scattered shrapnel right, left and centre. But as we were still lying flat on the ground in our little tents, nothing hit us, but the tent had a lot of holes in it. After that we decided to dig slit-trenches and these sprung up all over the place and most nights we spent a good part of the night stuck in them. Consequently we were up in the morning a bit on the tired side

A squadron of Beaufighters had come in and taken over the far side of the aerodrome and they used to keep off the Hun as much as possible at night although we were still bombed, but one night we were in our slit trench as usual and I heard an aircraft go over and then a whistling noise and Daniel, who knew everything, said,

“Don’t worry chaps, it’s a Beaufighter, you can tell by the whistle”

Well the snag was the whistle was the bomb coming down. So after that Dan had a bit of ribbing to put up with.

During the day the weather was pretty good, it was reasonably warm, visibility was good, but occasionally you’d get a spot of rain. Now you could never really tell when it was coming, one minute the sky would be clear, everything fine, then the next minute, clouds would come up and it would simply belt with rain and I’ve never seen rain like it. Anyway, it turned our concrete-packed mud field into a sea of mud and it was just like walking in glue. Naturally the aircraft just sunk into the mud and to begin with, we used to all get out and crawl under the wings of the Spifire, then heave it up, move it over a bit and put it down again. But the aircraft just sunk into the mud again, so we gave that up as a bad job. The snag was that the Germans were using proper airfields in Tunis, with proper runways and they were also using the roads, because there were lots of long, straight roads in that area and they could get up and fly around and shoot us up and there wasn’t anything we could do about it. They also did a lot of damage to the Army, so much so that General Anderson came round to find out what we were doing about things and why weren’t we protecting the Army. But when he saw the conditions we were working under, he thought we were doing as good a job as possible, so that was that.

ricardian
30th Dec 2009, 01:07
Hi Regle,

So, the mighty collar studs reigned supreme! Glad to hear it - none of these wimpy sewn-ons...

I do remember the separate collars from my time in the ATC in the '60s. My front collar stud, the long one, rubbed my Adam's apple raw until I got used to it. When I joined, the ATC was cutting over from the old 1920s dog collar tunics, and we had one lanky out-of-measure lad who had to wear one for a good few months until a BD was found for him. He looked like Aircraftman Lawrence...

I joined the RAF as a 16 year old Boy Entrant (38th Entry Telegraphist II, RAF Cosford) in 1959. When I was demobbed in 1973 the official issue shirts still had seperate collars.

Blacksheep
30th Dec 2009, 10:59
When I joined as an apprentice in 1963, we were issued with the old belted and skirted hairy tunic uniforms and we all looked like AC2 Lawrence for the first year until we were eventually issed with "battledress" in the second and third years. Later on - about 1972 I think - airmen finally got sewn-on collars and were rid of the collar studs, but it took a year or so the before the green spot on my neck had faded away and disappeared.

johnfairr
30th Dec 2009, 18:20
Prisoners Escort

We were always having the odd a-rab* wandering round our tents and aircraft. They were all spies for all we knew, but they used to carry chickens and eggs and oranges and we used to argue with them about how much we had to pay for eggs and so forth and used our few francs to augment our supplies. There was a bit of a spy-scare on one occasion and a very black a-rab, who was thought to be a spy, because he’d been asking all sorts of questions in broken English and the CO decided that if he was a spy he’d best be taken down to the police station in Souk-el-Arba. I was given the job of escorting him down the road. So I collected my trusty .38, I didn’t have a holster for it, I had to carry the thing in my hand.

Anyway I marched this chap down to the police station and explained what we thought in very poor French, but it turned out he was one of the local characters who went round asking everybody questions day and night so they booted him into a cell, locked the door, said thank you to me and I walked off. But coming back I walked through a little bit of the town and there was a tobacconist which was really like a small stable. It had a door that opened sort of halfway from the top and the proprietor would stand inside, doling out the tobacco and there was an enormous queue waiting for this tobacco ration and when the proprietor decided he’d had enough and was going to shut up, there was a big clamour for him to open the door and start selling again, so he turns round, picks up a club and leans over the bottom of the door and slams away at all the arabs who are standing outside and eventually they packed up and cleared off.

I’d been flying every day since we landed at Maison Blanche, sometimes two or three times a day and latterly in the mixed squadron and on one occasion, Bob Oxspring was leading us and I had a member of 93 as my number 2. We were doing a sweep over Bizerta and we came across a batch of Ju 88s and an enormous gaggle of 109s covering them and I think we numbered somewhere about ten all told. Anyway we piled in to see what we could do and managed to knock down one or two and I found myself tackling a 109E which was quite unusual in those days, because you either met 109Fs or Gs or 190s. Anyway, with my 93 number 2, I tagged on to the 109 and as he pulled up and away I took a long shot at him and his port aileron came off and he went down in a great flutter and a spin, so we wrote him off and I was given a “Confirmed”.

Two days later Nelson-Edwards of 93 was leading our flights and I was leading the port flight with Pete Fowler behind me and a couple of other chaps from the squadron and the rest was made up by the 93 boys. We were on our way home from Tunis and we saw a Ju 88 belting back towards Tunis, with no escort and as I was the nearest section, Nelson Edwards told me to take over and have a look at it, while he’d keep top cover. It was a fairly straight forward bounce in as much as the 88 was making for cloud some way away and I just had to come down straight on top of him. Now the rear gunner started firing at me and I could see the tracer peeling off to my left and I sat there thinking, well that’s alright and it wasn’t until afterwards that I realised that although the smoke from the tracer might be wafting away on your left or right, the actual bullets were carrying straight on and weren’t peeling off any where. Anyway, I took on the rear-gunner first of all to get rid of him and then carried on firing and blew the port engine off and it spun in and by that time we were on top of the clouds, so I shot straight through, came out the other side and I’d lost my section, who’d pulled up when they came to the cloud, inasmuch as there was nothing left to chase, apart from me, and when I came out into the clear I found I was tagging along with half a dozen 109s, which had been the bombers escort presumably, and lost him.

I was some way behind them and running out of ammunition and a long way from home, so I called up the rest of the section and said come down under the clouds and give me a hand, but no one did, so I thought, well, there’s no point in hanging around and I gradually slowed down and let them get well ahead of me, then turned and belted for home.

* There's no point in being politically correct where you are quoting someone, just tell it like it was told to you. If that offends people, well, I make no apology for my fathers' memoirs!

regle
30th Dec 2009, 22:34
Johnfairr, your Father's memoirs are a breath of fresh air and need no apologies. He tells it in such a way that one can easily build up an idea of his character i.e straight talking, down to earth and not afraid to state his mind when needed. Would that we had someone like that leading our country today.! Alas she left too soon ! I wish you and all who use this Forum a very Happy, Healthy and dare I hope, a Prosperous New Year.? I had a lovely Xmas with some of my family still in Brussels and drove there and back via the Tunnel with no problems at all. Am off to buy myself a Wii soon as I got inveigled into it and found that I could still play a very good game of Table Tennis and also scored over 190 the first time I bowled ! I must confess that I was too scared to jump out of the plane when the Sky Diving came up. Thank Heavens that I never had to parachute throughout my career !
God Bless you Merry Gentlemen (and Ladies... I know a few who visit this column regularly ! ) Regle.

Tabby Badger
31st Dec 2009, 06:52
Regle, I assume you are talking about Queen Victoria? :p

cliffnemo
31st Dec 2009, 09:58
* There's no point in being politically correct where you are quoting someone, just tell it like it was told to you. If that offends people, well, I make no apology for my fathers' memoirs!

JOHN,
Apologise ? Cor blymey, I think you had a record number of hits yesterday. I make it 772, any one confirm ?.

Many thanks for giving our tired fingers a rest.
CLIFF.

regle
31st Dec 2009, 10:44
"We are not amused " ! Regle

johnfairr
31st Dec 2009, 12:37
Chas Charnock and George Malan take centre stage

George Malan had gone off to get married before we left England and hadn’t reached us by the end of November and consequently I did a fair amount of flying with Chas, either as his number 2 or 3 or anywhere in his section. It didn’t really matter because as we were normally jumped or broken up, it was a free-for-all. After one of these rather brisk exchanges, I hadn’t managed to hit anything, on the other hand, nothing had hit me, but Chas was shot down. He landed quite close to an English army group and when he was dragged into the trenches, the first thing that the officer said to him was,

“I see you’re a member of the rival establishment”, because Chas always flew with an Old Harrovian scarf round his neck and the officer, apparently, came from Eton!

Anyway, Chas eventually came back. Incidentally, he found a monastery on the way back where you could get red wine quite cheaply and he spoke to me the following day and said that the army officer had pleaded with him to send him up some clean underwear. They’d been living in little holes for weeks on end and were filthy dirty and could we help? So for Chas that was quite a simple operation and he arranged to get loads of clean underclothes and he and I would go out and find this place where the army was, drop the underwear and beetle off home. Well the CO decided that no, we weren’t going to go, and that was that.

I don’t know where he’d have got the clean underwear in any case, because the rest of our gear hadn’t arrived.

Chas was quite a character, he’d been a commissioned officer pre-war, been court martialled and slung out. He joined again at the beginning of the war as a Sergeant Pilot, went through the Battle of Britain, picked up a DFM and continued on ops for years. He looked as old as the hills and I gather he was 37 at the time I knew him, but he could still outfly and outshoot anyone on the squadron and he definitely was one of the real characters.

He got hold of a 15 cwt truck and drove up to this monastery he’d seen on the way back from being shot down and he’d taken lots of washed-out four-gallon petrol cans and filled them up with red wine at a very cheap price and brought the whole lot back to us. Now the only things we had to drink from were large, white enamelled mugs and if you pour red wine in those, you have to pour a lot in before it looks as though you’ve got any in at all. Consequently we half-filled these mugs with red wine and all sat around enjoying ourselves.

The only snag was the following day. I woke up in the morning, not really with a headache, but my head just wouldn’t leave the ground – I felt like death. So we decided that maybe red wine wasn’t for us if we were to go on flying.

On 27th November, we lost Johnny Lowe, we got in one of our usual tangles and by the time we’d returned to base, Johnny wasn’t with us and his body wasn’t found for some time. He’d crash-landed or been shot down not too far from the aerodrome

On the last day of November George Malan arrived together with one or two other chaps and also some decent tents, the rest of our gear and proper camp-beds, which made a world of difference. George and I started flying together again, it was just like old times and on one occasion I was leading with starboard flight on one of our half squadron efforts with our flight commander, Krohn, leading, and we were going, as usual, between Bizerta and Tunis and I noticed a couple of 109Fs just on the port side, in fact, almost had they come in much closer they’d have been formating on our port section. So I called up the 93 chap who was leading us, explained the position and I quite thought he’d send a section off to have a go at them, but nothing happened, so I called up again, with a similar message and still nothing happened, so I thought, well, pot this, and with George I swung underneath the flights and came out to have a go at these 109s. They didn’t want to play, one disappeared entirely up high and one started to go down. Now that one seemed to be the one for us, so we started belting down after it, but I’m afraid it was getting away from us and suddenly we got messages from the chap leading our semi-squadron, screeching at us to come back and reform and come back and reform and as we couldn’t get the 109F anyway, we reluctantly pulled up and came back. When we landed at Souk-el-Arba, I got quite a rocket from the flight commander for leaving the squadron. So I did explain to him that I’d rather shoot down a 109 than have the 109 sit there and shoot me down and if he couldn’t lead the flight properly he’d better let somebody else do it!

Later in the month Krohn was taken off the squadron strength and David Cox took over A Flight and to even matters up I was posted to B Flight, which was rather sad because I’d been in A Flight with 72 ever since I joined.

I’ve previously mentioned what a beautiful aircraft the Spit was and what little trouble we had with it, but I’m afraid out in North Africa things weren’t quite so good. What with the tropical modification we had on it and the general lack of proper maintenance facilities, we had quite a bit of trouble and on one or two occasions I had to come back for odd things such as an oiled-up windscreen, r/t u/s, and various other oddments that caused us a bit of trouble. They also took out the two outboard machine guns in order to lighten the aircraft and get a bit more speed out of it, so we finished up with two cannons and two machine guns but it was still enough to shoot something down if you got in the right position.

johnfairr
1st Jan 2010, 15:11
Bob Oxspring was leading us on a sweep over Zibideja and we were obviously searching for anything we could shoot up and we saw what we thought were bomb-burst down below, not far from a place called Meturr. Now we weren’t really sure whether we were over our lines or the Germans, there was no actual line that you could spot from the air. From what we could gather most of the fighting was done from little holes in the ground in odd spots here and there. Anyway, Bob Oxspring told me to go down and have a look and in the meantime he called up a squadron of Lightnings (The USAAC Lockheed P-38 Lightning, a twin-boomed, twin-engine fighter) which were way above us, and explained that he’d sent a section down and he was going to stay and give me cover and would the Lightnings stay and give him cover? But fortunately we were all on the same r/t channel. The Lightnings, said,

“Yes, OK, OK, we’ll do that”, so with George Malan as my number 2, Owen Hardy as number 3, down I went.

We were bounced by a wad of 190s on the way down, so I called up Bob and said, could we have a little assistance, because we were quite busy, and he started to send somebody down to help us and the next thing we knew the Lightnings had attacked him so he had to bring the section back, and try and get out of the way of the Lightnings and leave us to our fate.

We managed to avoid the 190s that bounced us on the way down and going down lower still I saw two 190s, one behind the other. Now the first one was coming across in front of us and George thought that I hadn’t seen it, so instead of being a good boy and staying as my number 2, he shot past over the top of me to have a crack at the 190 and started firing like mad and all his discarded bullet cases were pouring down on top of me. But what George hadn’t realised was, that there was another 190 behind the one he was shooting at and the 190 happily slid in behind George and shot him down. Well we all had a crack at these 190s, I had a go at the last one and eventually after much toing and froing I managed to shoot it down and came back. I was very upset over George, because I was quite certain that he’d been shot down and finished, but apart from crash-landing, he managed to get picked up by the army and came back to us alright.

As I said, there was no marked front-line, merely a matter of finding little holes in the ground with soldiers sitting in them. So one day, George and I were doing a low sweep just to see what we could shoot up, when we came across a tank. It was the only one we ever saw out there and not knowing a German from an English tank we went down quite low and I can see George now. He was flying round this tank at nought feet, wingtip almost touching the ground, calling out,

“It’s got two little wheels in the front, two little wheels at the back and three big wheels in the middle”

Well that didn’t mean a thing to me, but I didn’t see any Nazi crosses on it, so I assumed it was one of ours and we let it go. In any case I doubt very much whether a 20mm shell would have done much damage to it.

Wing Commander “Sheep” Gilroy joined us about this time and he used to take us on the odd sweep. I was flying number 3, but in fact I was the last man in the section, inasmuch as we hadn’t got have enough bodies to make up number 4 and Gilroys’ idea was to get up high and come down at a fair old rate, shoot across whichever area we were going, in the hope that we’d catch something napping and at the rate we were going we stood a fair chance.

(Distorted ….end of tape)


Well, I was talking to myself and Gilroy said,

“Open up, open up!”

I just said, “I can’t go any bloody faster!” and lo and behold a voice comes back over the r/t, saying.

“OK, OK, we’ll slow down and keep together.”

What I hadn’t realised was that in the particular aircraft I was flying, the r/t was operated by voice as opposed to switching the little switch on as we normally do.

We had a pretty rough day on 5th December. I did two sweeps, one was quite quiet, nothing much happened; I went out on the other one and the engine was so rough, I couldn’t do a thing with it, I couldn’t keep up, so I had to gently ease my way home and land on my own. The other lads got bounced later on and we lost three pilots, MacDonald, an Australian chap who’d been with us at Biggin Hill and Sergeant Moxom and Sergeant Brown. They’d both joined the squadron quite late and weren’t too experienced, but no one seemed to know what had happened to them.

regle
1st Jan 2010, 16:19
....and it's getting better. All the ti..i..me:ok:. Regle.

Angus Mansfield
2nd Jan 2010, 11:03
John

Your fathers tapes are wonderful and I hope you don't mind me adding a post here to ask a question of you. Your father and my grandfather flew together on 72 Squadron in North Africa. My grandfather's name was Riversdale Robert "Barney" Barnfather and I have already written a book about his wartime life as a Spitfire pilot that was published in 2007 by the History Press.During the research for his book and by using his log book as a base I tracked down some of his former colleagues among them Tom Hughes and Rodney Scrase who also flew with him and your father in North Africa and who are both still alive. Rodney Scrase has asked me to write his story and that is due to be published again by the History Press this year. Would it be possible to include some quotes form your fathers tapes in this book ?

Regards

Gus

tomdocherty72
2nd Jan 2010, 19:06
Hi John,

I am new to the forum (though I have been in the RAF for 32 years! I also thought it was a forum for juvenile, high testosterone fast jet pilots! Nothing could be further from the truth (mostly|)! In my defence I am a Support helicopter crewman (real flying at low level!)). I had no idea PPrune was so interesting! I am absolutely fascinated by your fathers memoirs. There are a number of reasons for this - a) It is a bloody excellent story, b) I have written three volumes of 72 Sqn history entitled Swift To Battle, and I wish I had found your fathers memoirs and you much sooner - what an addition to the first and second volume they would have made. c) I am membership secretary of the 72 Sqn Association - would you like to join us as a Friend of 72 Sqn Association?

I see Angus Mansfield has posted just before me about your father (Hello Angus, nice to see you are on here too). Rodney Scrase is the 72 Sqn Assoc president and Tom Hughes is a member, as are a few others of your father's era such as Dicky Bird, Jack Lancaster and Laurie Frampton.

Have you any intention of having the memoirs published? I think they would do very well. Angus is also a member of the Assoc and his father's biography is a very good read. Perhaps you would like to collaborate with him in writing a book?

So far I have only 'speed read' the forum entries, but I have cut and paste all of yours into a word document so I can read it all in one go! If you want more info about 72 Sqn Assoc or to add to your father's memoirs send me a message - I have copies of all of the 72 Sqn Operations Record Book. I am looking forward to your next instalment on PPrune.

Yours aye

Tom Docherty:ok:

tomdocherty72
2nd Jan 2010, 19:26
Hi John,

Further to my last entry ref your father's memoirs I have a number of photos of him you may be interested in if you do not already have them. Drop me a line.

Yours

Tom:ok:

(Just had a look for my other entry but cannot find it - though the administrator did say when I tried to post (probably as it was my first) that it would be posted pending approval - will have to keep an eye out for it!)

johnfairr
3rd Jan 2010, 10:21
Gentlemen, ie Angus and Tom.

Thank you for your interest in the memoirs of my father. I have already been in touch with Tom and also a chap called Erik Manning, who is the official 72 Sqn Historian.

For clarification, I have placed a copy of these memoirs in the Imperial War Musuem, as well as a copy of the actual audio, on DVD. Erik and Tom have also received electronic copies for their own use. His log book has been copied for reference. Copyright is vested jointly with me and the IWM and I have no objection whatsoever to Angus including whatever he deems fit in his next project.

There is not much more to go, about 6 pages, so I'll crack on with the narrative.

cliffnemo
3rd Jan 2010, 10:23
HI TOM
Further to my last entry ref your father's memoirs I have a number of photos of him you may be interested in if you do not already have them. Drop me a line.

If you and John agree, please post the photos on this thread and on 'Photos of everyone'.
Cliff.

johnfairr
3rd Jan 2010, 10:26
Making a Pigs of Identification, in the Air and on the Ground


On 14th December it was decided to give me a rest and we had an aircraft that was due to be taken back to Algiers for replacement. It had a bullet through the main spar and wasn’t any good operationally and in fact it probably wasn’t any good anyway. So they took the guns and ammunition out and I was told to fly it to Algiers, pick up a spare and come back. It seemed like quite a simple job. Anyway, I took off and flew very gently back towards Algiers. On the way back I spotted two Lightnings and as I’ve said before, we were all on the same r/t channel, which was a right bind sometimes, as the Americans started talking, you couldn’t get a word in. I was continuing on my way, when I heard the Americans call up and say they’d spotted a 109. Now that, didn’t please me a great deal inasmuch as I was flying an aircraft with the main spar damaged, so I couldn’t throw it about too much. In any case I had no guns. So I weaved gently from side to side, trying to spot this 109, and the more I listened to the Americans, the more I realised the 109 was me! So I called them up and explained very carefully that the 109 they thought was a Spitfire and showed them by flying up on the side so that they could see the shape of a Spitfire wing, which by that time should have been fairly familiar with anybody.

“OK, OK”, they said and flew away, and on I trundled to Algiers.

Just before I got there, the same two Lightnings, who apparently had gone off looking for something else, again spotted a 109 and when I looked round, there they are, just behind me. So again, I called up and flew around in a circle to show them a Spitfire and I said,

“It’s the same bloody Spitfire that you nearly shot down some miles back, now BUGGAR OFF!” and with that I continued on and landed at Algiers.

Now Maison Blanche was at this time an absolute mad house. It was a mass of aircraft with millions of them on the ground and there seemed to be thousands of them doing circuits and bumps and everything else. But I managed to get in and taxi to the only dispersal that I saw which had a few Spitfires round it and got out an explained that I’d brought this aircraft from Souk-el-Arba and please could I have a spare and fly back again. Well, by this time it was getting towards late afternoon and I wouldn’t have had time to get back to Souk-el-Arba in the light and there was no way I could have landed on in the dark down there, so they told me to find somewhere to sleep and call in the morning.

There didn’t appear to be any spare beds anywhere at all and I couldn’t get in the mess, but I chatted up a couple of sergeants who were on the groundcrew and they explained that each night they would get in a lorry and hike off about five miles to some little village, where they used to sleep behind some estaminet or pub, and there was room for me there if I cared to go. Well that suited me fine, so I joined them and got in this lorry and disappeared off to this little village, the name of which I do not know, and it was very pleasant. I think the spare bed they’d mentioned, happened to be in a loft, which was approached by a rickety ladder, and although the bed itself was just a mass of straw, at least it had sheets. That was the first time I’d slept between sheets since I could remember and I had a very pleasant nights’ sleep.

The owner of the estaminet said he’d drive us into Maison Blanche in the morning if we got up early, so all three of us were up and ready by about half past six to find nothing moving at all. There was a small van outside the estaminet and the proprietor was wandering around doing odd bits and pieces. He’d fill up umpteen bottles of wine which he placed in the van, and they’d be followed by boxes of vegetables, then he’d come back, sit in the estaminet and have a coffee and a roll, and so did we, and finally he got a most ginormous pig and stuck this pig in the van as well!

The seating arrangements left much to be desired, but I let one of the sergeants sit in the front seat next to the driver, mainly because he was nearer the front end of the pig than we were. The other sergeant and I sat in the back of the van on boxes and protected from the rear end of the pig by more boxes. Well the old Frenchman shut the back doors, got in the front and away we went. Now all went well for a while until the pig apparently got a bit fed up with being stuck in this van and proceeded to grunt and rip everything within sight. The boxes went for a Burton first of all and then he started trying to edge forward and rip up bits of floorboard – it was a most frightening experience, made more so by the fact that every now and again the driver would turn round and with one hand on the wheel, not looking were he was going, and thump the pig smartly over the head. Eventually we decided we’d had enough of this and managed to get the driver to stop and we piled out very gratefully and finished the journey by walking back to Maison Blanch

tomdocherty72
3rd Jan 2010, 11:49
Happy to do that when I get home from work if John agrees.:ok:

brakedwell
3rd Jan 2010, 12:43
Tom, don't get delayed in the Red Beastie on the way home. :):)

Icare9
3rd Jan 2010, 13:11
Nice to see you guys made it here from "the other forum" :D
KevinW4

johnfairr
3rd Jan 2010, 14:06
Tom, I'm not a great techno-chappie, so if you could post the piccies you sent me, with captions, that would be great.

Don't bother with the "Pictures of Everyone" thread, as Cliff suggested. That is for, dare I say it, living contributors!! :ok:

I'm already there in a very fetching pink shirt . . . . . .:O:O

tomdocherty72
3rd Jan 2010, 14:21
How did you know? The Beastie is my favourite place to stop for lunch! Nice atmosphere and friendly staff and great (inexpensive) food. And before you ask, no I'm not getting paid for the plug!

Cheers

Tom;)

tomdocherty72
3rd Jan 2010, 14:32
Here are the photos - one of RJHR at Biggin Hill in 1942, one of RJHR with groundcrew and his personal Spit named Connie and a third of RJHR taxying out in Connie.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v734/tomdocherty72/STBV1C4P69SgtRobbieRobertsonBigginH.jpg

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v734/tomdocherty72/STBV1C4P72ConnieSgtRobertson42Clseu.jpg

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v734/tomdocherty72/STBV1C4P73Connie3.jpg

Yours

Tom

brakedwell
3rd Jan 2010, 14:41
I used to enjoy regular night stops at Kinloss when flying Coastal Command Communications Flight Ansons out of Bovingdon in 60/61. Everybody loved the RB in those days.
John

johnfairr
3rd Jan 2010, 17:42
I hung around the Station Adj’s office for some time and when I eventually saw him, I explained what I wanted and he took me in to the Group Captain, whose name, I think, was Edwardes-Jones, and again I had to explain where I’d come from and what I wanted and all I got out of this good Group Captain, was the fact that he was unable to authorise me to take another aircraft from Maison Blanche back to Souk-el-Arba because it would only get shot up on the ground, so go away and be a good boy.

I tried to explain that by having more aircraft there we stood a fair chance of keeping the Jerries off and therefore there’d be less shot up on the ground, but I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere and I was ushered out. I went over to the dispersal, feeling a bit fed up with life, and on the way I met a couple of Australian pilots who’d been stuck in Algiers for ages and no one seemed to know what to do with them, there was no operational flying going on from there, they weren’t getting any flying in and they were getting right bolshie. So I took them with me into the dispersal office and chatted up the sergeant there and without mentioning the fact that I’d been to see the Station Commander, I merely said I’d come to pick up three additional aircraft. So, like a good lad, he produced three Spitfires, we piled our gear into each of them and without waiting to say a very long farewell, taxied out and went back to Souk-el-Arba. I thought we could do with the aircraft and we could certainly do with the additional pilots and Bob Oxspring was quite chuffed!


Enter, and exit, The Italian Air Force and a reflection on sweat.

In all the time I was in North Africa, we only ran across the Italian Air Force on one occasion and that was when we were doing a fighter sweep, as usual, towards Tunis and we came across a great batch of Italian bombers and even more 109s. Now, we did our best to get down to the bombers, but we were kept away by more and more 109s, but we did manage to see, whilst we were trying to avoid getting shot down that the bombers, instead of carrying straight on with whatever duty they were doing and bashing on to the target, they continued to fly round and round in circles, so that by the time we finished our dogfight, they’d scarpered back to wherever they’d come from, so we weren’t particularly impressed.

On 18th December we were told to escort some Bostons to bomb Mateur and I was flying number 3 to Chas, and Sollet, a fairly new sergeant as number 2, me as 3 and Sergeant Hussey as 4. Well just before we got to Mateur, Hussey called up and said his engine was rough and he was going back, so that left me as tail-end Charlie of the section. Anyway, we were turning right down sun and Chas and I looked up from the port side, where we were flying, and saw about 20+ 109s and 190s. Despite our shouts on the r/t the squadron continued to turn right, but there was no future in that for us, inasmuch as it would have presented our backs to this wad of enemy aircraft and consequently Chas and I broke left and pulled up into the down-coming enemy aircraft. Now young Sollet, as I said, was quite a new lad and we’d impressed upon him that if we ever got into trouble and he lost sight of any of us, the best thing he could do was not hang around but belt off home as fast as he could, weaving like mad. Anyway, as Chas and I pulled up we were going up into the sun, naturally, and I saw Chas get one 190 and I was pulling up to get closer to him and I must have gone up higher than I thought, or a worse angle, anyway, because the speed suddenly dropped off and I went into a spin. Now there was no future in trying to pull out and climb up again, because I’d have been a dead duck, so I continued spinning until I got close to the ground and then straightened off and started to belt for home, closely followed by two 109s.

Now the old engine wasn’t going too well, it was coughing and spluttering and not going as fast as I’d have liked it to go, so I got right down onto the deck and I was belting home as fast as possible, weaving like mad, in and out of valleys, frightening the life out of camels and odd bodies I passed over, still pursued by the 109s, who were taking odd potshots at me every now and again and all I could do was to keep turning the minute they came within range. Eventually after one of these turns, I managed to get a fairly good shot in at the leading 109 and he shot straight past me onto the deck and I thought by this time the other one would have cleared off, but he was a bit of a keen type and he went on chasing me all the way back to within a few miles of the aerodrome, he finally gave up, but he did manage to put seven bullet holes in the aircraft and when I finally landed at Souk-el-Arba, I had no ammunition, very little petrol and I was absolutely drenched in perspiration! Most of it, I must admit, due to heaving the aircraft about at low level, and doing all sorts of things that the Spit wasn’t meant to do and probably quite a percentage due to the fact that I was scared stiff. But anyway, I got back alright.

It’s one thing to fight on fairly even terms, but when you have no ammunition and you were having a job keeping the engine going, it does give you food for thought. I spoke to the groundcrew afterwards and they showed me one of the petrol filters which was half full of dust and muck and what have you, so I’m not surprised I had trouble with the aircraft. The funny thing was that we told Sollet to go back if he got lost, which he did, but he hadn’t realised that we were supposed to go down on the deck and weave like mad. He’d climbed up with us to start with, into the sun, and then lost sight of everybody, which wasn’t unusual, so doing as he was told, he came home. He told me he flew back at 5000’, straight and level, no weaving, just looking at the countryside and he arrived at Souk-el-Arba without any damage at all, and yet Chas and I, who by this time were, I must say, very experienced, were fighting like maniacs and getting shot to pieces – a strange old life.

Tom, many thanks for posting the pictures, they've come out really well, far better than the actual piccies themselves that I remember! If you look carefully you can see that they are two different Spits, One named Connie in capitals, and one in upper and lower case. Before and after the wing-wobbling . . . . . !!

johnfairr
4th Jan 2010, 17:32
This is the penultimate excerpt from my fathers' memoirs and describes his final combat and subsequent wounding.

December 20th 1942 – Aerodrome Patrol, Souk-el-Arba

I didn’t fly on 19th December and wasn’t due to fly on 20th, but we’d just had a portable gramophone given to us with several records, including two Bing Crosbys’ that Mum and I have copies of at home, and also some Vera Lynns and I was happily listening to a Vera Lynn record of “Do I Love You, Do I?” when the flight commander came over and said that he was due to fly an aerodrome patrol but didn’t really feel in the mood and would I mind going? Well there was nothing else to do out there, so I said OK. Now I couldn’t fly my aircraft, so I got in another one, took off with Sergeant Hussey to do this aerodrome patrol. I’d been up for about 40 minutes and the aircraft decided it was going to fly itself. I’d hold the stick steady and the aircraft would fair bump up and down, like going on a roller-coaster. There was obviously something funny somewhere, so I brought it down and landed. I suppose if I’d had any sense, I’d have stayed down but I got into another aircraft, took off again and joined Sergeant Hussey for our aerodrome patrol.

Well, we hadn’t been up very long when they reported from the ground that there was a 20+ raid coming in from Medjiz el Bab, which was not far up the road from us. Well that seemed great for Hussey and I, inasmuch as we were high enough to spot a high bunch coming in and we’d probably get a very good bounce on the ones that were coming in lower. And lo and behold, in they came. We started to go down on them and it seemed far too easy, because normally the Hun fights in layers and you go down after one lot and the next lot comes down and clobbers you. Well I couldn’t see anything above so we continued on down and just before we got within range, I looked down and there was one 109 creeping along the deck, coming up underneath Hussey, who was flying about 200 yards from me. So I called Hussey up and told him to break, but either he didn’t hear me or else his r/t had gone u/s which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence out there at that time. Anyway as the Jerry had started shooting and I could see the flashes all over the place from his guns, I pulled in to try and head him off and with luck have a crack at him, and I’m not sure now whether I hit him or not, but the next thing I knew there was a hell of a bang and I got hit in the head and started bleeding like a stuck pig.

I couldn’t see out of my right eye and was feeling a bit groggy so the only thing to do was to crash-land and I can remember it as clearly as anything. It was twenty to five in the afternoon, it was a Sunday and I was at 1500’. So I pushed the aircraft down, it was doing about 180 by that time. I landed with the wheels up and the engine still going and all I got out of the crash was a bruised shoulder, because the Spitfire could take an enormous amount of punishment without any damage to the pilot. Anyway, I came to a grinding halt and by the time I’d finished, the engine was pointing off to the left and I was staring from the cockpit out over nothing. I opened the hood and door and crawled out and crawled as far as I could from the aircraft, because the Huns were great ones for coming back and shooting you up on the ground. Anyway, nothing happened to me from above and I saw a lorry come driving across this mudfield and stop a little way from me and out from the back came an army bloke with a rifle and I thought,

“That’s all I need, some idiot to shoot me now I’ve landed!”

Anyway I put my hand up and they realised I was, in fact, English and they helped me into the back of the lorry and took me to a casualty station. I was operated on at night and I asked the doc if he could keep all the little bits and pieces he took out of me, and at one time I had an envelope with about nine little bits of shrapnel and odd pieces, but I’m afraid, over the years, I’ve mislaid it.

The following day I had a hair-raising ride in an ambulance to another casualty station and the day after that we were picked up again and put on an ambulance train to the 84th General Hospital at Souk Arras, where I got my first decent nights sleep, doped to the eyeballs. There was a fair amount of disorganisation and I worked out it was a darn sight better being an officer than an Other Rank, especially if you were wounded.

I had the stitches taken out of my forehead on Christmas Eve, and as I couldn’t get out of bed or move my head, I had to just lie there and listen to all the chat that was going on around me and in particular, listen to some very affected voice from a chap in the bed next to mine. He seemed a right twit, frankly, but after a couple of days the colonel of his regiment came in and from what I gather, a chap whom I thought was a complete twit, turned out to be a right hero.

He was a Coldstream Guards Officer and their position had been overrun by tanks and he managed to get out of his slit-trench and nipped around putting bombs under the German tanks and causing quite a bit of chaos and confusion, so I realised that you can’t really tell what anyone is like merely by listening to them talk.

johnfairr
5th Jan 2010, 18:22
On 30th December George Malan had written me a letter and collected some of my gear and got the r/t sergeant to come and bring it to me, which made a nice change On 31st December we were put aboard an ambulance train to go back to the 94th General Hospital in Algiers and again, it was a lot better being an officer than an Other Rank. Officers were two to a carriage or compartment, so we could lie down, one on each side of the seats and the Other Ranks seemed to go in cattle-trucks, which seems a bit unfair, as we were all in the same war and all getting shot by the same people.

The train ride was quite interesting. It was the first time I’d seen my face since I’d been on the squadron and I managed to crawl to the toilet and on looking at my face in the mirror, it wasn’t the prettiest sight I’d seen. To start with I hadn’t had a shave since 20th December and what with an enormous bruise covering most of my face, and being painted with Gentian Violet, it was like something out of a horror film. But it didn’t particularly worry me, all I wanted to know was, could I see again? Apart from that the train was going so slowly that every now and again, the odd arab would climb aboard and sit in the corridors. The French officers who were on the train escorting us didn’t have much time for these arabs and they had no compunction about opening the carriage door and booting the arabs out into the countryside, even while the train was going.

Having got to the 94th General, I was looked over by the chief surgeon and the eye surgeon, who gave me the cheery news that I would never see out of my right eye again and that they’d have to operate and take it out. I pleaded with them not to and asked if they could take the bits of shrapnel out that were in and around my eye, but keep the eye in, as I had some idea that if I could just keep the eye in and look normal, I might wangle myself back on flying. But the doc said, no he couldn’t do that, but after all he gave in and said he’d give it a try.

Well he did, he took bits and pieces of shrapnel out, whilst still in a hell of a lot of pain and he came along and said

“The old eye has got to come out” and again I said “No” and I just stuck to my guns.

But unfortunately by 10th January, I couldn’t stand the pain any longer, so I asked them to go ahead, which they did and the following day I felt a lot better, despite the fact that I was minus one eye. Then I was told by the Padre who came wandering around every now and again, that it was a good job I’d agreed to have the operation because septicaemia had set in and had I not had the operation I’d have gone blind in the other eye and that would have been the end of that. So I suppose I was lucky.

The nurses were all members of Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service and they were a great bunch. They were worked to death, most of the nurses were, but they never complained and were always cheerful and we had a great time with them but all I wanted to do was go home.

George Malan managed to get back to Algiers and came to see me in hospital and gave me all the latest news of the squadron. Apparently Chas had been shot down on that do we had over Mateur but had got back to the squadron alright, and later on in the month, Chas and Mitch, another one of our pilots, came up to see me and told me my DFC was through. Well I had no official confirmation and it wasn’t until I landed in England and phoned Mum that she said it was in the paper. (This was Gazetted on February 23rd 1943 and on the same date DFCs were awarded to S/L Nelson-Edwards of 93 Sqn, F/L Ford, 72 Sqn and WO Chas Charnock, 72 Sqn, of the Souk el Arba composite Spitfire Wing)

I began to feel a lot better physically apart from the fact that I knew I’d never fly again, which rather gave me the miseries, but generally speaking things weren’t too bad. We had a large number of American as well as British people in the hospital and it amused the British lot when an American officer arrived with a little truck or trolley, full of Purple Heart Medals to be given to all the wounded Americans.

I also had a chat with a naval Commander, who’d been shot down while flying a Swordfish and he told me that he was doing an aerodrome patrol, of all things, round Algiers and he’d been going round the harbour time and time again. One day he was trundling round in his Swordfish and he’d gone round the harbour once and going round a second time the American ack-ack opened up and shot him down and consequently as soon as he was fit to walk we used to walk round the hospital chatting to the Americans and pulling their legs like made.

I met one very nice American officer, a Captain Hamlin, who was about 6’ 4” and his leg used to stick out of the end of the bed. The only trouble was that he had an enormous wound in his thigh and occasionally people would walk past the end of the bed and hit his outstretched foot, but he never really complained. He gave me his lighter when I left which I thought was rather nice of him.

I had a lot of time to lie and think whilst I was in hospital and I decided that it was hardly fair to Mum to keep her to our engagement, insofar as, it is one thing to be engaged to someone who is all in one piece and certainly something else to be engaged to someone who is hardly 100% and consequently I wrote and said that so far as I was concerned, she could call our proposed marriage off and there’d be no hard feelings.

Mum wouldn’t hear of any such thing and in all the years I’ve known her, she’s never once mentioned that she thinks she got the worst of the bargain, because your mother, young John, is quite something.

Finally on 18th February, after lots of false starts and lots of hanging about, we were put on board the Hospital Ship Newfoundland and told we were on our way home. We eventually got to Bristol, and were taken off the ship and put on a hospital train to go to an American hospital at Taunton. The nursing sisters saw us off and whilst we were sitting in the hospital train……

Tape ends

This is rather an abrupt end and I'm not sure why. My wife seems to think there was one more tape, but I'm not so sure. Anyway, I'll add a few more of my own recollections and details of the next few years to tidy things up, in a day or so.

Icare9
5th Jan 2010, 19:25
Simply wonderful memoirs.......

Jimmy Macintosh
5th Jan 2010, 20:59
:D every tale from every contributor, fantastic. A priviledge to read each and every story.

I sincerely hope that more people will continue. Regle you must have more post war stories, I'm not convinced that Cliff has finished either.

regle
5th Jan 2010, 22:09
Johm I promise that I shall never grumble at my small misfortunes again. I feel humbled by the cheerfulnesss and courage that shines through your Father's marvellous memoirs. I am proud to have been in the same service at the same time and to have shared his evident love of flying, so eloquently expressed. Thank you and feel contented that you have made us old fogies very proud of being his contemparies. Jimmy, I and I feel sure that Cliff has felt the same, have just stood back and left the stage to John and have not wanted to break the spell. How can you follow such a story ? Regle

angels
6th Jan 2010, 08:49
John - thanks so much for your work on your Dad's memoirs.

I didn't know about the wound that ended his war flying days, amazing the humility one feels when reading about it.

That said, I'm sure I recall that your Dad did take controls of a plane again, albeit accompanied. Have I got this wrong?

kookabat
6th Jan 2010, 11:22
How can you follow such a story ? Regle

Not sure that I can follow that story, Reg, but I reckon you probably can!! :}

This remains the best thread on PPRuNe. Please don't stop.

Adam

regle
6th Jan 2010, 11:32
Thanks Adam . I must admit that I have been moved tremendously by John's Father's memoirs and count myself so lucky to have survived without the physical damage that he and so many others suffered. The psychological effects are another story. I shall hie myself soon to the "Such A Bl...y Experience, Never Again !"label that the initials of Sabena lent themselves to for many decades and were entirely undeserved. All the best , Reg.

johnfairr
6th Jan 2010, 12:12
Stupid, I know, but I've just noticed that the last few parts of the memoirs have finished on Page 72. Quite spooky, I'm sure he had a hand in it . . . . :eek:

Dan Gerous
6th Jan 2010, 14:05
I've really enjoyed reading your fathers story, particularly the stuff in North Africa. The story about travelling in the back of the van with a pig is one of those things the history books will never recall, but adds tremendously to the human face of the war, and I had a good chuckle when along with the two Aussies, he aquired 3 Spitfires.

Thanks

brakedwell
6th Jan 2010, 14:38
Thank you for your fascinating account. My father was killed in Tunisia in 1943 when his convoy was mistakenly attacked by the RAF. My mother didn't tell me he died in a friendly fire incident until after I had completed 19 years service in the RAF. I had always assumed the Luftwaffe was responsible. The chaos of war.

eddy47
7th Jan 2010, 11:21
Hi John,

I have been introduced to this site by Angus Mansfield. Roy Hussey was my uncle and I am in the process of putting to gether a book dealing with the war experiencies of most of my uncles and mother and father.

Roy Hussey features quite strongly, as there is fair amount of material about him. I have his log book, many photographs and and some original corespondence, including a letter from Tom Hughes' mother.

His log book records the patrol of the 20th December thus:

Patrol base 1hr 5 mins intercepted 15 (109 Gs Fs Es) Robbie shot down. Wounded but OK.

On page 107 of Fighters over Tunisia by Christopher Shores, Roy is phtographed standing next to a 109 that he is credited with having shot down on the 20th. This seems unlikely as although Roy never records any of his decorations or promotions in his log book (just those of his collegues) he does seem meticulus in recording air victories. None are recorded for either of the 2 patrols on the 2oth but a damged and probable (later cert) are recorded on the 21st.

After some 450 hours of combat flying - all with 72 squadron - Roy was posted back to the uk doing some testing fro Vickers and airgunnery instruction. In October 1944 he was posted to 19 squadron flying MkIII Mustangs giving hiogh cover to bombers over Germany. On the 20th February 1945, while visting NZ Beaufighter squadron 489 at Dalhachy aifield for tea and a chat. He spun in on landing and was killed.

Eddy

Union Jack
7th Jan 2010, 12:08
John Fairr

Inspiring, humbling, and hilarious, your Father's tremendous account of his war experiences, both at home and abroad, has been a most heart-warming read, and I, along with so many others am, most grateful both to him for everything he did, and recorded so vividly, and also to you for so graciously sharing such a personal story with us. Thank you very much indeed.:ok:

Jack

PS Based on the number of posts per page I have displayed, your Father was in 48 Squadron!:)

regle
7th Jan 2010, 22:28
With the best intentions in the world I set out to tell some more Sabena anecdotes but cannot find my memoirs. As my good friend and patient Mentor , Andy, will testify, I am not the tidiest of people and after scrolling back to my story beginning on P.14, #263 . ( I could not believe that it was in Sep.2008) I got interested and started all over again but still could not find the incentive and the means to continue. I have a feeling that I have left them in Brussels where I spent Xmas. I have recourse to a few relatives that have copies and have most on the hard drive of my ancient Sharp word processor which I still use from time to time.. Why , I could not tell you.. Probably nostalgia. All is not lost. There is one more cupboard in the chaos of my so called Study which I will turn out tomorrow as I am now snowbound as Dover had it's first snow today and , of course the main road is open but I cannot get to my Garage as I have not skated for ages and think that I am a bit past it now. Watch this column, Regle. I will make certain that I have proper copies to fall back on in future !

Union Jack
7th Jan 2010, 22:55
I cannot get to my Garage as I have not skated for ages and think that I am a bit past it now

Regle - Keep warm and take great care if you do have to go outside - you have already done more than your fair share of flying inverted!:ok:

With best wishes, and we are all hoping that the missing memoirs will turn up soon and be duly "converted" for the continued delectation of your faithful followers.

Jack

regle
8th Jan 2010, 15:25
As I thought, I opened the cupboard...how any foreigner masters English I shall never know,,cupboard to rhyme with Hubbard.! The other day there was an obviously non English speaking Gentleman standing in front of a Cinema sign . He was weeping and pointing silently at the sign and shaking his head. The sign proclaimed "Now showing "Bewitched." Pronounced Success. But I am straying. Out of the cupboard came a cloud of dust and some early copies of "Playboy" and underneath were the precious memoirs. So if my finger stands up to the strain... I forgot to mention that I have learned to play the ukelele over the last few weeks and have hard steely finger tips on my left hand as a result. My rendering of "When I'm cleaning Windows " would have them pelting me with rotten eggs in Lancashire . Anyway when I have cleaned the memoirs up to allow me to post them further . Dust, I mean ! I digress again. Watch this space...Regle.

Union Jack
8th Jan 2010, 15:48
Regle

Matthew 7:7 - good news!

Jack

PS Please may I have the early copies of Playboy ......:)

regle
8th Jan 2010, 16:04
Perhaps. ! Mine are the much sought after braille version. Makes them much more interesting ..said he feelingly ! Regle

angels
11th Jan 2010, 10:35
Playing the blooming ukelele?

Is there no end to the man's talent?!

regle
11th Jan 2010, 13:41
Angel. You probably find the harp easier ! Regle

Icare9
11th Jan 2010, 17:19
.... perhaps he can tell us how he got HIS wings!!

andyl999
11th Jan 2010, 21:45
I can attest to the condition of Reg's study having just visited him this Christmas!

More interestingly I was Reg's audience for his first public performance on his ukulele, I did survive and yes Reg has done a remarkable job learning this instrument, however George Formby can rest in his grave safely at least for awhile :0)

As I say to Reg when he complains about having to learn computer skills " if you can land a 747 then..........................................."

Happy late new Year to you all

regle
12th Jan 2010, 12:11
friends like you, Andy !? If it wasn't for Lynn ......! I am going to make a huge effort to tear myslf away from my "uke" and start regaling you all with some of the more pleasant sides of the life in Sabena.
In the Fifties the pre EU British Colony in Brussels was quite small but a very good social life was available. There was a thriving Cricket Club which had the honour of being dubbed the Brussels Royal Cricket Club due to a cricket match having been played by the Guards Brigades before the Battle of Waterloo in the lovely park in the centre of the City, the Bois de la Cambre. I love my cricket and was very active in the Club and eventually became the Chairman for a short time. The Children's Sports Day was always a great day out and the Duke and Duchess of Kent presented the prizes when they were in Brussels to celebrate the 150th. Anniversary of the Battle. Royalty was visiting Brussels fairly regularly and we had a long chat with Lord Snowdon when he and Princess Margaret were present at one of the events. Our conversation was cut short by the Princess who pulled him away, very abruptly and said "Come Dear, my throat is very bad". Many years later Dora and I were coming back from Johannesburg as passengers and had the pleasure of meeting Peter Townsend who was one of the other two First Class passengers. I had great discussions with him throughout the night with the Battle of Britain as the main subject and we were both struck with his charm and his courtesy.. the very epitome of the English Gentleman.
Without doubt the big occasion of the Sixties was the State vsit by Her Majesty the Queen accompanied by the Duke of Edinburgh. We were invited to a reception at the Canadian Embassy and Dora met the Queen and I met Prince Philip. He spotted my medals and said "I see that you were flying." "I still am, Sir. " I replied. "Oh, where do you fly to ?" he asked. "New York and the Belgian Congo " I replied giving the two main routes. "Oh, from the sublime to the ridiculous. " he said then hastily put his hand to his mouth and moved on to the next chap "And what are you doing here ?" he fired at the poor man ,who was very nervous and obviously thought that the Duke was accusing him of gatecrashing. "I'm with the Playing Fields Association " he stammered out. "Oh , what do they do ? " asked the Duke. The chap was speechless and the Duke moved on. After he was out of earshot the poor man told me that the Duke was the Chairman or President of the Association and that he dare'nt tell him. He probably thought that the Tower of London would await him in London when he returned.
That evening we were privileged to attend the Ballet at the Opera House which King Baudouin and Queen Fabiola had specially arranged to be produced by Bejart for the Royal Occasion. We were wonderfully seated in the Circle and had a magnificent view of the glittering assembly of Kings, Queens, Princes and Princesses together with Heads of State and Ambassadors from over one hundred countries all in their regalia and resplendent in full dress and uniforms. The jewellery on display must have been worth many millions and it was a truly memorable occasion. Sadly the ballet did not live up to the occasion and the efforts of the dancers were negated by the futuristic theme which had been chosen with nondescript costumes and stark shapeless scenery...Bejart at his worst.
I had already met King Baudouin when I had flown him from Nice to Brussels. He was very quiet but charming. He questioned me , in perfect English, on flying with Sabena and eventually remarked "I don't think that I should like your job. It is very responsible." I couldn't help myself and answered " With respect, Sire, I would not change it for yours." He burst out laughing and agreed with me.
I had flown the present King many times when he was Prince Albert. I took him to Rome when he announced his engagement to the lovely Iralian Princess Paola. On the return flight I had the very highly respected Cardinal Siri as a passenger. I also had a team of Italian sharpshooters , complete with their rifles on the way to a big event in Moscow. When they heard that the Cardinal was on board they asked if he would bless their rifles to which he agreed, It must have been a sight for the other passengers to remember to see them lining up in the aisle whilst the Cardinal gravely blessed their rifles.

Union Jack
12th Jan 2010, 14:12
..... the Duke and Duchess of Kent presented the prizes when they were in Brussels to celebrate the 50th. Anniversary of the Battle.

Crikey, Regle! Have you been lying about your age? Another great chapter in your wonderful saga and you are clearly a highflyer in more ways than one!:ok:

Jack

regle
12th Jan 2010, 15:19
My ukelele finger missed the "1" in front of the "50". I vaguely remember telling the Iron Duke, "Don't worry, the Prussians will never let you down"and sure enough they arrived led by Errol Flynn. regle.

Icare9
12th Jan 2010, 15:59
....... sounds more of a Cardinal Sin to me..... he he :)

Spartacan
15th Jan 2010, 10:18
Come on Cliff, Reg & Co. More please or some of us will be develop withdrawal symptoms!

regle
15th Jan 2010, 17:48
Then I'll begin...where I left off which was having a "blowback" which is the term that my beloved Wife used to describe my wanderings down memory lane..."Dad's having a blowback" she would say, usually in a warning tone of voice so that the family could get out of earshot.

I resumed a boyhood hobby and began carrying an Autograph book with me on Flights. Amongst the personalities was Charlie Chaplin as he was booking in at London and I took him to Brussels for the onward flight to Geneva. He was very smartly dressed and very quiet. For sheer style Sir Malcolm Sargent was the best dressed man I have ever met. His nickname of "Flash Harry" was unkind but rather apt as I met him when I was standing next to him at the toilets in Zurich or Geneva. Nobody had told me that he had been on board and he asked me if I had been the pilot who had brought him from London. I didn't have my Autograph book handy so he signed for me on a piece of paper that just happened to be nearby. I took the great Negro singer, Paul Robeson to Moscow and he signed my book with his name in Russian Cyrillic. His career had come to a complete halt in the States where he was ostracised . Ironically his views were caused mainly because of his treatment as a black person by so many persons of the McCarthy period that was in it's hey day .
The Aga Khan was my passenger to Kinshasa where , as a Head of the Moslem religion, he was inaugurating the site for an Hotel to be exclusively for Moslem guests. To my knowledge it was never built as another of my passengers, Moshe Tshombe, appeared on the scene and the country was plunged into bloodshed.
On one of my trips to New York I went to Jack Dempsey's restaurant just off Times Square. The great Heavyweight champion sat, every day in a window seat and personally welcomed all and sundry. He was most courteous and hearing my accent, recalled Tommy Farr as being one of the finest boxers he had known.
I renewed my boyhood acquaintance with Gracie Fields when I took her to her second home in Naples. She was as down to earth as usual and had the crew in fits of laughter with some of her tales. She finished the flight by singing "Sally" to all the passengers. Another very nice person was Richard Todd, the actor, fresh from his characterisation of Guy Gibson in "The Dambusters" . He stayed in the cockpit for most of the flight and was an aviation fanatic despite his very distinguished wartime Army career which included his playing the part of a Sergeant to an Officer in "The Longest Day" which was based on Richard's own part in the Normandy landings.
Without doubt one of the most interesting passengers was Mr.Dolby of the Dolby system which eliminated all background noise to sound recordings. He was fascinating to listen to and told me that when he invented his system he could not believe that no one had thought of it before as it was so simple. He said that the hardest decision of his life was to turn down the two million dollar offer from Sony to purchase his patent outright. At that time he was young, married with young children and heavily in debt but he told me that his Father had been an inventor who had never made any money out of his inventions and he was determined that he would not make the same mistake of selling his patents cheaply. He also told me that none of his employees were tied down to times of "clocking in " at the offices. They
could all come and go as and when they pleased and he had never had a trade dispute in his life with any of them.
Stirling Moss was, as you would expect, in a hurry and was only concerned as to whether the plane would land on time...It did.
In those days of piston engined aircraft you had time and the passengers were few enough, to go back during the longer flights and talk to them. In the later days of 707's, DC10's and 747's it was more like stepping out on to a stage and being confronted with row after row of anxious faces all willing you back into the cockpit where you belonged. Apart from the physical impossibility of speaking to everybody it was unwise to leave the cockpit of a very large jet aircraft to one pilot. Emergencies were few and far between but when they happened they happened quickly and two pilots were vital at these times.
I think that I shall retire to the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea. I am now the proud possessor of a lovely little two cup teapot which my Mentor (Sometimes with the prefix "Tor") Andy has kindly sent me together with all the instructions for fitting a new sound bar which I have successfully carried out. He always says to me "If you can land a 747 you can do this that and the other etc. ". So far he is correct but I have had a lot of the "this and that" but none of the "other".! Still some more to come later..Regle

kookabat
16th Jan 2010, 01:38
I reckon I can follow that trail of dropped names all the way to Reg's front door!!! :}

Emergencies were few and far between but when they happened they happened quickly and two pilots were vital at these times.

This suggests there are a few more 'war' stories to come?? :ok:

regle
16th Jan 2010, 13:32
I make no apologies for dropping names. I found more pleasure from meeting people that I had never dreamed of meeting , some of them boyhood heroes, than dropping bombs. Another side of meeting them was to make me realise that they were, after all , ordinary human beings with good and bad sides to them and they woke me up to the fact that I was as capable as they were in my own sphere of activity. Meeting with certain types boosted my own self confidence. In other words the old Yorkshire adage, in the times when you could use the word "queer," often came to mind "All folks are queer save thee and me and even thee's a bit queer ." Regle.

cliffnemo
16th Jan 2010, 14:14
A HARD ACT TO FOLLOW.


Thanks Spartacan but how do you follow Johnfair. Angels, Wiley, Peter Brett, et al , with tales of how I became an A.C 1 equipment assistant, passing the R.A.F heavy goods test etc ? However I will carry on, on a ’suck it and see basis’.
I must say however it has been very pleasant being able to sit back and read the recent contributions, and I'm sure it has given Reg more time to practice 'When I'm cleaning windows, on his ukelele.
So ‘wilco’ Spartican.

Both Reg and I have made numerous attempts to contact our Luftwaffe counterparts , but with no success so far. Any ideas ?

Wiley
16th Jan 2010, 22:16
Cliff, I have a friend who is in the German diplomatic service. He's attempting to put me in touch with some German ex-service organisations, so hopefully, we might get to hear from one or two ex-Luftwaffe people in the not too distant future. (We may, however, be in need of a translator if that comes to pass. Is there anyone out there willing to offer his or her services?)

----

I've also been in touch with Dudley Marrows, the captain of Peter Jenson's Sunderland when they sank U461 and when they were shot down by the Ju88s in the Bay of Biscay. He's never put pen to paper, but says (to quote him):

I intend to write three books.
1/ on action,
2/ "pre pill pilots (or aircrew)! (not sure of the significance of 'pre pill' - Wiley.)[
3/ on the absolutely wonderful phase our 'blue orchid' uniforms gave us overseas - especially before the Yanks came in! (Now that sounds like it would be an interesting tale, if perhaps possibly bringing a few blushes to the brows of some Canadian and British Great Grandmothers!)

Want a secretary/typist though.I passed Dudley a copy of Peter's story. His comments follow.

Essentially, Peter's coverage is very good. From a captain/pilot's point of view, I could embellish/enlarge it.

Ask Peter why he did not cover the blockade runner flight - one which, to me, was the most successful and stressful - 12 hours or so of stress.

We were 'deep in it' when Churchill made a statement along the lines: "...if we do not get another large convoy through with food and ammunition, we are finished."

Refer our blockade runner episode - reverse the players and it might give some indication of what a blow the loss of those two ships was to the Germans.If there's a PPruner out there who lives anywhere near Mildura and who'd be interested in sticking a microphone under Dudley's nose, please PM me and I'll contact Dudley to see if he'd be willing to tell his tale(s). (I must stress here that I have not yet approached him with that suggestion.)

I believe it would be a worthwhile project. I'd hate to see all those experiences lost to history when that generation leaves us.

Blacksheep
16th Jan 2010, 22:25
The U-boat crews have their own association and, through that, the survivors of one of the U-boats sunk by my Dad's old ship are in touch with the members of his ship's association.

This is a link to the German Fighter Pilots Association (http://www.fliegergemeinschaft.de/) and this is a link to the Association of German Armed Forces Aviators (http://www.pprune.org/Vereinigung%20der%20Flieger%20Deutscher%20Streitkr%C3%83%C2% A4fte). Perhaps they can put you in touch with some?

herkman
17th Jan 2010, 01:28
I hope that I am wrong but I thought Dudley had passed on recently.

Please correct me if I am wrong.

Regards

Col

regle
17th Jan 2010, 10:03
The pill. Ahem.! The greatest fear of women before the pill was to have a baby out of wedlock. It is absolutely impossible to describe the shame that an unwed Mother bore in those medieval times of pre pill. This had an obvious bearing ..an unfortunate simile...to the promiscuity of the pre pill generation. The pill in one fell swoop wiped out that dread and so..... I leave you to work out the rest. your Agony Aunt , Regle. By the way, should'nt that uniform be Blue Orchid, not Orchard ?

cliffnemo
17th Jan 2010, 10:31
Ich bin ein Ex-RAF-Piot und mein Deutsch schreiben ist sehr schlecht.

Sorry folks, just an experiment in translating English to German using Google translation, then copying and pasting. It seems to work so will start ,burning the midnight oil'

Will endevour to contactThis is a link to the German Fighter Pilots Association and this is a link to the Association of German Armed Forces Aviators. Perhaps they can put you in touch with some? Or any offers from some one who is 'educated'

Silly me, thinking I was an unter offizier flugzoid furher and brings back memories of some one singing 'Du bist mien leibher, mine klienes fleiger, du bist meing leilbher unter offizier. Or summat.

andyl999
17th Jan 2010, 17:58
Cliff, my son is fluent in German, I can ask him to put a message in German on the equivalent German forums to this, however.................... as the Father of this thread could I ask you in English (not google German!) to write an introductory paragraph and I would suggest finally adding a link to this forum?

Regards Andy

PS just lent a book to Reg about a 109 pilot I think is was "Spitfire on my tail" I can recommend it. What did you think Reg?

PSS whats this about in the RAF "never volunteer?"

regle
17th Jan 2010, 18:32
Cliff, An extract from the book that Andy mentions...."The voice shaking with fear "Spitfie immer noch hinter mir . Was soll ich tun ? Immer noch hinter mir!" (Spitfire still behind me. What shall I do ?) Then came a clear reply and everyone recognised Galland's voice: "Aussteigen! Sie Bettnasser" (Jump, you bedwetter). The sort of German that is difficult to introduce in ordinary conversation but you never know when it might come in handy. Yes, Cliff, joking aside, I think that you would find Ulrich Steinhilper's "Spitfire on my tail" very interesting and startling in some of the disclosures of the German way of life on a Fighter Squadron. Certainly the question that you posed about rank will be answered. The word "Fahnriche" with the two dots over the 'a' keeps cropping up and I think that it is roughly the equivalent of our "aircrew u/t" but I may be wrong. Best of luck, Reg

cliffnemo
20th Jan 2010, 16:02
I am just kicking around a rough draft in M.S Word of that witch t I wish Andy’s son to translate into German, so that we can send to the Luftwaffe associations previously mentioned, but am awaiting Andy’s reply . I think it may have to be abbreviated so as not to give Andy’s son too much translating ?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPY OF P.M TO REG AND ANDY.
Hi Reg and Andy.
Herewith a very rough draft of proposed email to German aircrew associations.

I would appreciate your guidance, I don’t want to ‘Upset the apple cart’ , or be accused of ‘Flogging a dead oss’ I would like you to say so. Any constructive criticism would be really welcome.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


I write on behalf of contributors to the thread on PPRuNe (professional pilots rumour network , military section) which can be found on the internet by Googling either PPRuNE or cliffnemo. This is a thread that has now developed into various wartime pilots from all over the world describing their experiences during world war 11. The thread is called ‘ Gaining an R.A.F pilots brevet in W.W 11.’

Although we have tried to make contact with our opposite numbers in Germany , we have had no success and wonder if you could help us to contact either ex Luftwaffe aircrew or near relatives who would be good enough to share information with us. I would assure you that this is a very friendly site, and any ex Luftwaffe aircrew or airmen would be warmly welcomed, and any information appreciated.

I have been frequently informed that many historians obtain information from this thread, and have been asked by certain aircraft museums for permission to use extracts from the thread. Also I have been told that the thread contains a lot of information that does not appear in ,novels, biographies , or other records. I would , therefore, appeal to your organisation for help, and thank you in anticipation.

I would also point out that it may be of interest to current members of the Luftwaffe re the training of aircrew in England and America during the war, as this is described in detail.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Excerpts from PPRuNE.
-us, the flak was less accurate. On this night, over Berlin, it was as light as day because of the low cloud ,the searchlights and the fires blazing below. I had just started my bombing run when I looked out to my left and was astounded to see a Messerschmit 109 about four hundred yards away , literally formated ,just out of our range on our port wing. He stayed there and I told the gunners not to fire as it was useless and would only draw others to the scene. Hee flew across the target with me as we bombed, then the Me 109 pilot pointed towards his guns, shrugged his shoulders, gave me a "thumbs up" sign then half rolled on to his back and dived

Hempy
Join Date: Oct 2002
Location: ɐılɐɹʇsnɐ
Posts: 552

best thread on PPRuNe - probably ever.
Old Hairy
Join Date: Jan 2005
Location: South Coast
Posts: 92

Thanks Cliff.
Get cracking lad,can't wait to read the rest of your exploits.
All the Best
Old Hairy

regle
22nd Jan 2010, 16:16
We had good friends in Brussels and the night life was extremely varied and entertaining. Amongst our friends from the small pre European union British Colony were Johnny and Margaret K. Johnny was head of EMI (The old HMV firm) and often took us with him when he had to entertain some of the visiting recording stars that came over to Brussels. On one of these nights Johnny, who was a charming man but had the reputation of being rather careful, left his coat in the car to save the cloakroom fee when we were going to a nearby Night Club. When we came out in the small hours of the morning he discovered he had left his car keys in the pocket of the coat. That was in the old days when there was no remote locking and you locked the door by pressing the door button as you closed the door. It cost him a small fortune for taxis home and then back in the morning to retrieve his car.

My eldest son, Peter's girl friend and later his Wife, had a small flat in Brussels and we had a wonderful party there one evening. Dora's parents were over staying with us and they thoroughly enjoyed the difference from their quiet life in St.Helens, Lancashire . Freddy and the Dreamers were over performing for EMI and we all piled into Mary's small flat and partied until the small hours. Dora's Father had been in the infantry during the first World War and had , like so many of his generation, joined the Army at seventeen falsely stating that he was eighteen. His experiences with Army Kitchens had put him off Restaurants for life and he would wander round the Antique shops of Brussels whilst we went to one of the multitude of fine little places that could always be found. In one of the few occasions when we persuaded him to come with us he rather disconcerted the "Garcon" who had politely enquired "How would you like your steak cooked, Monsieur ? by his usual reply of "Burnt to Bu...ry".
We caught him once, though when we had persuaded him to come with us and we ordered Frog,s legs. We told him they were "Chicky bits" and he scoffed the lot saying "Delicious".
On one of my later trips I was en route to Bombay when the Steward asked me to talk with our only First class passenger, a Mr Ramamruthram, who had refused all the food offered. I went back and he told me that the food was fine and there was nothing wrong but he was not hungry as he had just come from a company lunch at Eindhoven. When he said "Eindhoven" I knew that he must be with Phillips, the Dutch electonic giant. He confirmed this and I told him that I had been a Mosquito pilot with the Squadron 105, that had been part of the 2 Group low level daylight attack that had taken place in 1942 on the factory which had been forced to make electronic components for the Germans. He told me that he had been talking with a retired fellow Director about that very raid and the chap recalled seeing a Mosquito flash past his window. The window was on the second floor of the building. We talked a lot and eventually became great friends. He was the Director for India and I visited him and his lovely family many times in Bombay. One day many months later I answered the phone in Brussels to find the secretary from his office in Eindhoven on the other end. "When are you coming to Holland to pick up your Tape Recorder ?" she asked me. I had , one day half seriously, expressed an interest in the new VCR's that Phillips had just brought out but the price was astronomical...well over £1,200 in the 1960's. I had completely forgotten this and I asked her what the price was. The answer made me say immediately that I would be over next day to collect it. We, my Wife and her Mother, now staying for long periods with us as she was widowed, all set off for Holland and we had lunch in one of the famed Indonesian Restaurants where we had the "Rijstaffel"which consisted of some sixty odd dishes. Counted one by one by Dora's Mother.
The VCR was a hihgly complicated affair and the tapes were enormous things with the take-up spool mounted on top of the playing one. They were always jamming but Queen Nana, as my Wifes Mother was always known, soon mastered it and would beam with pride when we said "Nice picture , Nana." One of the requests that Mr R. had made of me was that I would take him recordings of "It Aint 'arf 'ot, Mate" whenever I came to Bombay. He told me that he would play them to the Board of Directors before a board meeting and that they would always be helpless with laughter .
I must confess that I have not said much about flying but Airline flying was getting more and more mass transportation minded and so the anecdotes are becoming fewer and fewer. I will try and see what I can pull out of the battered old flying helmet, later. Regle

Tabby Badger
23rd Jan 2010, 19:41
Two films of the Eindhoven Raid:

Contemporary Movietone newsreel
YouTube - Operation "Oyster", attack on Philips Radio Works, Holland (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AZzgDkFvHbI)

Documentary extract with voice over of raid footage by Sqn Ldr Charles Patterson
YouTube - RAF Bomber Command's famous Eindhoven raid (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SD4Yxbw79wM)

Keep it coming, Reg!

:D:D:D:D:D

The TB

tow1709
24th Jan 2010, 11:48
Sorry, I have been a bit busy over the last few months, so have not been able to post more of Peter Brett's memoirs. However, I now have a chance to catch up, and post a few more instalments. Here is part 7 - Peter is still in Canada in 1942 doing his pilot training. More soon - TOW


Aerobatics were perhaps the most enjoyable but also the most demanding exercises. The straight loop was the first to be taught and was relatively simple. You dived the aircraft to get sufficient airspeed and then eased back on the control column, as the nose of the aircraft rose above the horizon the throttle was opened fully to assist the climb. We were then told to look out sideways until the horizon went past the vertical in order to keep the wings level, and then to look 'upwards' to check that the inverted horizon was level as we went over the top of the loop.
In contrast the slow roll was a relatively complex manoeuvre. After diving to increase the airspeed, the nose was pulled up until just above the horizon. Full sideways movement of the control column was then made to start the roll. As the angle of bank increased you had to apply 'top' rudder (Left hand for a right hand roll) gradually increasing the amount of rudder until, when the wings were vertical to the horizon, the most rudder was needed in order to keep the nose up. As the roll continued to the inverted position the rudder was gradually reduced but the control column moved forward to counteract the tendency for the nose to drop. At the same time the throttle had to be closed since the engine would not run inverted, being gravity-fed with fuel. As the roll continued further the control column had to be eased back again and once more 'top' rudder applied until the aircraft regained straight and level flight. Much later I found that the 'slow' roll in a high performance aircraft was a much simpler operation altogether, but more of that later.
The 'Roll off the top of the loop' and the 'Stall turn' were also taught. The latter being what was once known as the 'Immellmann Turn' after the WW1 German fighter pilot who introduced the manoeuvre. One stunt which we were not officially taught but which Sgt Farrell showed me and which I enjoyed very much was the 'Flick Roll'. This was, in effect, one turn of a horizontal spin. The aircraft was slowed up to a few knots above the stalling speed and then full rudder and full back stick applied. The aircraft shuddered violently and 'flicked' round its horizontal axis. The speed of rotation was fast enough to keep you in your seat without the discomfort of negative 'g'. Of course, if you kept the controls in the original position the aircraft continued to rotate and at the same time drop down until you were in a normal spin.
The 'Barrel Roll' was different again. It was a sort of badly performed loop where the aircraft was flown round a horizontal spiral with sufficient speed to keep positive 'G' at all times. Although aerobatics were fun and did give one confidence in handling the aircraft, we soon found that they were rarely used in combat or operations where the most useful maneuver was the very tight vertical turn, but once again this was still in the future.
'Restarting the engine in flight' was also an unusual experience. It was never explained how you could accidentally stop the engine in flight since, in order to do so, you had to close the throttle, switch off the ignition and then practically stand the aircraft on its tail before the propeller ceased to turn. Restarting then consisted of switching on the ignition and standing the aircraft on its nose until the airspeed was sufficient to turn the propeller against the compression of the engine.
Practice forced landings also provided many opportunities for making glorious mistakes! When flying we were told that we must always keep an eye out for suitable forced landing fields within gliding distance in case of engine failure. We were also to always be aware of the prevailing wind direction by keeping watch on the smoke from chimneys etc. This latter was easy at Windsor Mills since the paper mills gave off vast quantities of both smoke and steam.
The instructors would now and then unexpectedly close the throttle and say "Engine failure, forced landing". Luckily I had no major howlers when doing this exercise except for once. When making very sure that I tried to land downwind, I misread the wind direction from the chimney smoke. The most common fault was trying to reach a field which was too far away and then trying to 'stretch the glide' to reach it. This always resulted in the instructor opening up the throttle and taking over to the accompaniment of some choice advice regarding the inadvisability of committing suicide in company with a reluctant companion. It was also considered inadvisable to land across a ploughed field, or to choose a very green field which turned out to be a bog!
The course at EFTS lasted until mid-June. The last few flying exercises were cross-country flights and a final 'Sixty Hour' check. We also had ground school examinations. Fortunately I have been blessed with the sort of temperament which does not suffer from 'exam nerves' and consequently, although I may not always have known as much as some of the others, I always managed to finish up in one of the top five positions. The course finished on 14th June with a party in the Services Club and we were then given 14 days leave until we had to report for SFTS (Service Flying Training School).

tow1709
24th Jan 2010, 11:58
Peter Brett mentions his friend Leigh Woodbridge in this extract. They have lost touch but Peter believes he became a commercial airline pilot after the war. Does anyone know what happened to him? TOW>

Flying Training SFTS (Service School)

During the two weeks between EFTS and SFTS we split up and went our various ways. Four of the lads clubbed together and bought a very old model 'A' Ford. They then drove from Quebec down to New York where they had a fabulous and very drunken fortnight. One thing that they all remembered was being pulled over by the police, when driving on what was then known as the 'Dream Parkway' as they approached New York, for driving too slowly!

My friend Leigh Woodbridge and I made our way in a more normal fashion, by train, to Rochester in New York State. Leigh's younger brother had been evacuated to Rochester under a scheme run by the Kodak company. Rochester is the “Kodak town” and Leigh's father was employed by Kodak in England, at Wealdstone, just outside London. We were made very welcome by the foster parents who were looking after Leigh's brother and spent a glorious two weeks being feted by the locals. Nobody had seen an RAF uniform before and, after our arrival had been reported in the 'Rochester Democrat and Chronicle', we were constantly being stopped and made welcome in the streets. Nobody was willing for us to pay for anything and it became a sort of game with us to try to buy something without the vendor refusing to accept any money! Even going to the cinema was an experience. The face of girl on the cash desk registered surprise and confusion when we presented ourselves to buy tickets. Her reaction was to pick up her internal phone and obviously speak to the manager who then appeared and, once again refusing any payment, escorted us personally to the front of the circle. This however was not the end. During the interval between the second and first features the manager appeared on the stage and announced that "We have with us today the two RAF fliers who are spending a furlough in our town": Spotlights on us! We had to stand up and acknowledge the applause of the audience!
This was typical of the general reaction and we received many more invitations than we could possibly have accepted in the two weeks we were there. During the first week we went to a swimming gala at the local baths where Leigh's brother, who was a member of the boy scouts, won his swimming badge. The next day the main headline in the newspaper was "RAF Flyer sees brother win 'Tadpole' swim award".

We were taken around all over the northern part of New York State and one memorable trip was to visit a family in Buffalo. There we were taken out to see Niagara Falls. We left there after dark when the floodlights were turned off for the night. At the meal which we had later with the family I attempted a joke by saying that we left when they turned out the lights and turned the water off. This remark was actually taken seriously at first and our hosts explained at great length that Niagara Falls was a natural phenomena! However the misunderstanding was soon taken care of and normal relations reestablished.

A baseball game was of course a 'must' and we were introduced to the ritual of everybody standing up and massaging their bums between innings. The rock- hard benches were obviously the origin of this!

We had one phone call from a chap who spoke in authentic strong cockney! He had been living in America for many years but had never lost his accent. We found that, if we spoke to each other rather fast with a cockney accent, it was completely unintelligible to the Americans. Even when we spoke normally there were misunderstandings. We once asked a policeman which road was Main Street. His reply was that they didn't have a “Mine Street”.

All too soon it was time to return to Canada and we made sure that we knew all the trains to catch and had the right tickets. We arranged to leave early on the Sunday morning so as to arrive in Montreal at about 10pm in time to get to St.Hubert and book in before our passes expired at midnight. (23.59 hours to be exact).

We left Rochester in the morning and arrived at Utica, where we were to change trains, in good time to catch our connection at 1 o'clock. So much for careful planning. The train to Montreal was due at one o'clock in the morning! We spent a very boring Sunday afternoon and evening walking around the suburbs of Utica which seemed to have closed down. Nothing was open, not even the Station cafe, and, although we still had most of our leave money intact, we could not buy anything. The train eventually arrived on time and we spent a sleepless night worrying about being A.W.O.L.!
Fortunately, when we arrived at St Hubert, we found that we were not the last to return and that the powers that be had deliberately set back everything until the Tuesday morning in order to save a lot of unavoidable paperwork if there were many absentees. Nobody failed to return but the last arrivals were the group with the model 'A' Ford who had finished up driving nonstop from New York in relays in order to get back.

tow1709
24th Jan 2010, 12:33
More training in Canada...

We noticed a difference between Windsor Mills and St Hubert immediately. St Hubert was a peacetime RCAF station and much larger than Windsor Mills. The whole atmosphere was different, much more disciplined and service orientated. There was a very large parade ground across which you were forbidden to walk. You could cross this area but had to march properly and not forget to salute the flag when it was flying. Everything was on a much larger scale, including the aircraft, which were North American 'Harvard' low wing monoplane trainers.

These had Curtis 'Wasp' radial engines with inertia starters. These starters were wound up by inserting a crank handle into a socket in the side of the aircraft just aft of the engine bay. The handle needed quite a lot of effort to get it turning and the first slow turns were accompanied by a low growl which gradually ascended in pitch as the handle was turned faster until, with the handle turning about once every two seconds, the sound was a high pitched whistle. This was an internal flywheel rotating at high speed. The pilot then engaged the clutch when everything was set for engine starting. The energy stored in the flywheel was then used to turn over the engine. If everything had been done correctly the rapidly descending howl of the flywheel was then drowned out by the staccato firing of the unsilenced exhausts. If however the startup procedure had not been done properly and the engine failed to catch, the poor chap at the starting handle had the unenviable job of winding the flywheel up to speed again.

The correct procedures were encouraged by penalties. Two false starts meant that the student pilot had to spend a morning as an engine starter and wind up the flywheels himself!

As well as an engine starter, these aircraft had retractable undercarriages, trailing edge hydraulic flaps, variable pitch propellers, and a full complement of flying instruments. This meant that there was much more to pay attention to and much more comprehensive cockpit checks for preflight, pre takeoff, pre landing and shutdown. The most common fault, in the first few hours of solo flying at SFTS, was to come in to land with the undercarriage up. There was a very loud warning horn which blasted in the pilot's ear if he closed the throttle with the undercarriage up.

However this was a 'last resort' device since, if the pilot was doing a powered approach and landing, he would only close the throttle just before touch down and it was a toss-up as to whether he could open up in time to avoid stalling or whether his reaction would be too late to avoid an expensive belly flop. Also this horn could be switched off as it was a nuisance if you were doing exercises such as stalling or spinning which required you to close the throttle in flight. However, the flying control staff were always 'on the ball' for this error and fired a red Verey light across the front of any aircraft approaching to land with the wheels up - making you "go round" again. If they had to do this, they took a note of the aircraft number and the unfortunate pupil pilot had to spend half a day parading up and down the aircraft parking area, in full view of all the other pilots, prominently carrying a large notice on a long pole proclaiming "I tried to land with my wheels up!"

My first flight in a Harvard was on the 8th July 1942. My instructor was a F/O Fairbanks. He was an American who had joined the Canadian Air Force, and had a big disregard for what he thought were petty restrictions. During the course we did a lot more low flying and aerobatics than were laid down in the curriculum.

I soloed a Harvard after some seven hours dual. The flying course, apart from the initial 'Circuits and Bumps', had a much greater emphasis on navigation and instrument flying and, towards the end, on dive bombing and formation work. The ground school course was also more practical and included such things as parachute packing and basic engine maintenance.

cliffnemo
28th Jan 2010, 13:33
Wizzo !!, fantastic!!!!. A reader has sent me a P.M translating to German my recent post asking for contributions from former Luftwaffe personnel. I print it below so that you can appreciate the amount of work involved, and at the same time hope it may be noticed by an ex Luftwaffe chap. I now intend to copy, paste and email it to the two Luftwaffe associations previously mentioned . I don’t know if he wants to be named at this stage, but I hope he will make himself known. What I can say is he is an ex Halton brat living in Australia (sensible man), and have P.Md my thanks.
-------------------------------------------------------------
COPY.
I am sending this as a pm as I don't want to 'big note' myself, nor do I wish to step on Andy's son's toes. I hope it is of some use to you.

The translated portion is where your letter starts... "I write on behalf of" and ends "England and America during the war, as this is described in detail."

Here it is:

Ich schreibe im Namen des Web der PPRuNe (professional pilots rumor network, military section), welches im Internet bei Google oder cliffnemo unter PPRuNe gefunden werden kann. Das ist ein Forum, dass entwickelt wurde von verschiedenen Kriegspiloten aus aller Welt, um ihre Erlebnisse während des 2. Weltkrieges zu beschreiben. Die web Seite heißt "Gaining an R.A.F pilots brevet in W.W.II"

Auch haben wir versucht mit gleichgesinnten aus Deutschland Kontakt aufzunehmen. Wir hatten keinen Erfolg und bitten Sie uns zu helfen entweder ex Besatzungsmitglieder der Luftwaffe oder andere Beteiligte zu kontaktieren, die bereit sind, Informationen mit uns auszutauschen. Ich kann Ihnen versichern, dass wir eine sehr freundliche Seite sind und jedes ehemalige Mitglied einer Luftwaffen Manschaft (Pilot, Besatzung, Ingenieure)wird herzlich aufgenommen und jede Information wird geschätzt.

Ich werde regelmäßig darüber informiert, dass viele Historiker Informationen durch unsere web Seite erlangen und wurde von verschiedenen Flugzeugmusen um die Erlaubnis gebeten, Ausschnitte aus der web Seite zu benutzen zu dürfen. Mir wurde auch mitgeteilt, dass in der web Seite viele Informationen enthalten sind, die nicht in Romanen, Biographien oder anderen Aufzeichnungen enthalten sind. Ich würde hierfür gerne auf Ihre Organisation für Hilfe verweisen und bedanke mich hierfür im Voraus.

Ich möchte hervorheben, dass es vielleicht interressant sein kann von den Mitgliedern der Luftwaffe, betreffend des gängigen Trainings der Besatzungen in England und Amerika während des Krieges eine detalierte Beschreibung zu erhalten.

I don't know if you want to print it out and post it snail mail or post it here or on other fora. I'll leave that decision in your capable hands.

Best regards and may the stories keep coming for a long time.
-------------------------------------------------END OF COPY
A sudden thought. Will the Luftwaffe associations suspect that it is spam and not open the email. Has any one any ideas how to overcome this problem if it arises ? Perhaps I can register and log in, so will also try this approach

Thing seem to have quietened down a bit so will compose another post covering Bruntingthorpe New Market, and Kirkham.. I have had a nice rest. for which many thanks to Tow and the previous contributors.

andyl999
28th Jan 2010, 15:19
Apologies to Cliff, been a bit busy and haven't even read my PM's

Nice translation, however my recommendation is that you need to either post it in a German forum or contact Cliff's equivalent in that forum.

A good start would be here:-

Feldgrau.net &bull; View forum - Luftwaffe (http://www.feldgrau.net/forum/viewforum.php?f=40)

If anybody else has German Luftwaffe links may I suggest that they post them, many hands etc..........................................

andyl999
28th Jan 2010, 15:33
Google Nachricht (http://translate.google.de/translate?hl=de&langpair=en%7Cde&u=http://forum.12oclockhigh.net/)

German Luftwaffe - Forums & Discussions (http://omgili.com/german-luftwaffe)


Remember that even though the forums are in German you can set up Internet Explorer to automatically translate it back to (Pigeon) English?

Happy hunting, Andy

andyl999
28th Jan 2010, 15:57
Axis History Forum &bull; Index page (http://forum.axishistory.com/index.php)


Andy

cliffnemo
30th Jan 2010, 10:10
ONE RESULT ?
Yahoo! My Yahoo! Mail (TRANSLATOR)


GOLLY HECKY . POSTED TWICE SO EDITED

cliffnemo
30th Jan 2010, 10:12
ONE RESULT ?
Yahoo! My Yahoo! Mail (TRANSLATOR)


Yahoo! Babel Fish

Babel Fish Home - Help
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In English

Thank you for your interest. Their inquiry is as fast as possible worked on
---------------------------------------------------------------
GERMAN MESSAGE RECIEVED.

Vielen Dank für Ihr Interesse. Ihre Anfrage wird schnellstmöglich bearbeitet
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translate a web page


Add Babel Fish Translation to your site
SYSTRAN - Internet translation technologies

brakedwell
30th Jan 2010, 16:06
Cliff, I make it - Thank you for your interest. Your request will be processed as quickly as

tow1709
30th Jan 2010, 19:55
In this instalment, Peter Brett describes the final stages of his pilot training in Canada... more soon -TOW

I have several vivid memories of flying at SFTS. The most memorable was a manoeuvre that F/O Fairbanks introduced me to, which was the 'Hammerhead Stall'. This consisted of putting the aircraft into an absolutely vertical climb, cutting the throttle, bracing the controls with the stick slightly back, and waiting! The aircraft slowed up, stopped, and then slid backwards until the elevators took effect and the front end of the aircraft whipped down (like a hammerhead), until it was pointing straight down. During the actual hammerhead movement one experienced about 2G negative! The cockpit filled with dust as all the odd things that previous users had lost whipped up from the bottom of the fuselage between the footrests!

Low flying of course was always fun and there was one particular place, between Montreal and the American border, where there was a long avenue of poplar trees. These trees were placed just the right distance apart for F/O Fairbanks to weave between them doing vertically banked alternate turns. He never let me try it but did it himself every time he decided to go and have a look at America! At least three times to my knowledge we crossed the American border, and once we landed in a field, I'm not sure if this was in Canada or America, whilst we visited his girl friend!

There were many navigation exercises, mostly triangular cross-country flights. F/O Fairbanks was rather contemptuous of these since he said that, in Quebec, all you needed to know was whether you were North or South of the St.Lawrence river. If you were anywhere else in Canada all you needed to know was if you were North or South of the Canadian Pacific railroad! In either case you couldn't get lost since all you had to do was to find either the river or the railroad and fly along it until you could either recognize somewhere or read a rail sign! Actually, he was a very good instructor and, on cross country flights, would often ask the name of some small obscure place we were passing over in order to check that I was map-reading properly.

One of the later navigation exercises was a complete instrument triangular cross-country 'under the hood'. We were given our destinations and a wind at the height we were going to fly, and had to do all the other calculations whilst flying. We started from above St.Hubert airfield and, when we had completed the triangle we had to tell the instructor when we thought we were once again over the airfield. In my case I was quite confident since I was told that there was virtually no wind and therefore my course (that I would steer) and track (over the ground) would be identical. I very carefully worked out everything such as the time to fly each leg and the airspeed to maintain. The flight was very smooth and it was very much like being in the 'Link' trainer. After the required time on each leg, when I calculated that we would be in the vicinity of the airfield again, I informed the instructor and he flipped open the hood. Where was the airfield? Things looked somewhat familiar but the airfield was nowhere to be seen!. After about half a minute the instructor said "I don't know how you did it!" and put the aircraft into a vertical bank. There was the airfield right underneath us! It must have been a pure fluke since nobody expected you to be closer than two or three miles after flying blind for over 1 1/2 hours.
Towards the end of the course there was a very big parade in Montreal in aid of the 'War Bonds' campaign. Most of the chaps were in the marching part of the parade but I was lucky in that I was selected to take part in the 'Fly past'. We were a nine plane formation of 3 x three's and were led by the Chief Flying Instructor. The Harvard was a particularly noisy aeroplane when the propellor was in fine pitch, since the tips of the blades were practically supersonic. A trick when flying in formation was to do rapid changes of pitch which gave rise to very impressive noises. The CFI flew us quite low over Montreal and round the tallest building which, at that time, was the 'Sun Life Assurance' building. As we circled the building we all decided to do the change of pitch bit. It must have been impressive since, shortly afterwards the C.O. received a bill for replacing over twenty windows which had been shattered by the noise!

I flew, and passed, my 'Wings Test' on 28th Sept 1942 but the course carried on after this for another fortnight, mostly doing bombing and formation flying. One morning I got out to the flight line when F/O Fairbanks told me to get into the rear cockpit, normally the instructors place. We did a few 'circuits and bumps' and some aerobatics and then landed. I could not think why I had been flying from the back seat but this was explained the next day when I was called into the CFI and asked if I would like to be an instructor! I find it difficult now to analyze my feelings at the time but, for better or worse, I decided against it. Had I agreed at that time to become an instructor it is certain that the whole of my life would have been different. I might even have stayed in Canada after the war and become a peacetime pilot.

The last big parade at SFTS was, of course, the Wings Parade when all the members of the course who had passed were presented with their wings. This was a public occasion and most of the Canadians had their parents present. We RAF types had to make do with our local surrogate families.

Throughout my RAF career, at least before I became an Officer, my height of six foot two and a half inches (about 1m 90cm) had one serious drawback. Since I was usually the tallest in any squad I was also the 'Right Marker' who had to march out first and take up my position for the others to form up on me. I have already mentioned the huge parade ground at St.Hubert. On the occasion of the Wings parade we were all standing at ease around the edges of this enormous area. The Station Warrant Officer marched out onto the parade ground in front of the flag staff and bellowed "Parade Marker!!!".

I had previously been briefed and shown the exact spot I was to occupy as marker so I knew where to go. It was still a very lonely feeling to have to march out across this vast open area in front of the whole of the station personnel plus the civilians visitors and the visiting VIP's. Once I had reached the correct spot I came to a smart and practically vibrating halt and the SWO then roared "Markers" and the other squad markers came marching on to form up on my left. On the command "Parade marker stand fast, markers about turn" I had to remain still whilst all the others did an about turn. The next command was "To parade intervals. Markers, quick march". All the other markers then marched away, the first one taking ten paces and then halting and turning about, and each subsequent marker taking a further ten paces and turning until all nine were spaced out. The command "Markers, Dress" then meant that the other markers had to step sideways until they were exactly behind me. The final command of "On Parade" brought the rest of the blokes marching on where they formed up on their various markers in their prearranged positions.

There was then a march-past of the whole station to the accompaniment of the station band and the parade then formed up as a hollow square with our course isolated in the centre. We were given the "Stand at ease" and were addressed by the Senior Officer who was to present us with our wings.

We knew that the officer was Air Vice Marshal Bishop but it was not until we saw him close to that we realized that his first medal, in the top row of three rows, was the Victoria Cross, the highest possible award for bravery. It clicked then that this was "Billy" Bishop the First World War Canadian fighter ace, whom most of us had read about at one time or another.

After the speech we were each called out by name and had to march out to receive our wings, which were pinned to our uniforms by the AVM. He was not a very tall chap, and he had to reach up a bit to pin mine on. He said something like "You have come a long way for these" and I replied "It was worth it, Sir".

When we were finally dismissed we all rushed back to our billets where we changed into our spare uniforms which had already been prepared with Sergeants stripes and wings sewn on. It was not until a couple of days later that those of us who had been granted commissions were told. The wings parade was on a Friday and that weekend was one long party. I remember it started in the Mount Royal Hotel where F/O Fairbanks took his three pupils, myself, Leigh Woodbridge, and 'Strawberry' Witteridge for a meal. We commenced drinking with a 'Zombie' which was a long drink containing five different kinds of rum carefully poured into layers! From then on the weekend was an alcoholic haze!

Between then and our final departure from St.Hubert, those of us who had been granted commissions were presented with our uniform allowance and told that we could have our uniforms made either before we left Canada or after arrival in U.K. Most of us naturally decided that we would like to arrive in U.K. in our officer's uniforms. This is where the Station Warrant Officer at St.Hubert was most helpful. He knew of a tailor in Montreal who would make up our uniforms quickly. Thinking back it is obvious that he was on to a good thing with the tailor and was probably on a percentage! The tailor was in a small workshop over a shop in Montreal and, innocents that we were, we were most impressed by the uniform that was on a dummy in the corner. "Just being altered for the Air Marshal!". In all fairness the uniforms were very well tailored and only took about ten days to complete and none of us, on reflection, begrudged the SWO his rake-off.

We were given a final weeks leave after St.Hubert and then had to report to No.1 R.D. (Reception Depot) at Moncton in New Brunswick on the 28th October 1942. After a few days here, we embarked for our return journey to the U.K., finally leaving Canada on the 5th November.

tow1709
30th Jan 2010, 20:38
In this instalment, Peter Brett writes of crossing back to the UK on the SS Bayano. I believe this ship was known as the "Lucky Bayano" and held some sort of record for the number of safe convoy crossings over the north Atlantic. I have a picture of Peter at the recent 11 November memorial service in the local village in France where he now lives - I will try and post it soon.

Our voyage back to U.K. was not quite so uncomfortable as the voyage out although the weather was not much better. We came back on the SS Bayano, an Elders and Fyffes banana boat which had been pressed into service as a small troopship. There were only about forty of us on board and the ship was run as an Officers' Mess. We were only two to a cabin and there was a fair sized lounge with a bar. It was a slow convoy, and it again took us thirteen days to cross the Atlantic. Also, being a smallish vessel, it rolled a lot. The maximum roll clocked on that voyage was 34 degrees which felt more like 90!

The accommodation was in cabins each side of a very narrow gangway. As you walked along you had to time the roll as you were alternately jammed first against one bulkhead and then the other. In the lounge it was an experience to see the stewards, yes we even had stewards, carrying loaded trays of drinks without spilling a drop. We drew lots to see who would be the Orderly Officers on each day and I was unlucky enough to be drawn. This meant that I was at the beck and call of the more senior officers, of which there were two Flight Lieutenants and a Squadron Leader, (All the rest of us were lowly Pilot Officers), and also had to carry out a deck patrol four times during my 24 hours tour of duty. By doing the first patrol at dawn it meant that only one of the tours, the last one was in total darkness. A somewhat unnerving experience since it was during what the sailors would probably have called a mild blow but which seemed to me to be a full scale hurricane which was determined to blow me overboard! However I survived the day and could then claim to have fulfilled my first obligation as a holder of His Majesty's Commission.

Other than this the trip was fortunately uneventful and we arrived back in Liverpool on the 18th November. We spent one day here at No.1 P.R.C.(Personnel Reception Centre) and were then sent by train to No.7 P.R.C. at Harrogate. I think we all felt the change in atmosphere within the first day or so. We were back in the war! The blackout was of course the most noticeable thing from our point of view. Rationing was very severe but this did not affect us so much since we were catered for 'en-masse' and so did not feel the full effects. Other shortages were more sharply felt, noticeably beer, cigarettes and spirits.

At Harrogate we spent about three weeks square bashing and being lectured. Since we were all Officers the drill sessions were somewhat amusing in that, although we were drilled and shouted at by a very fierce Warrant Officer, he prefaced every order with "Gen'lmen". Thus he would shout "Gen'lmen Hatenn-SHUN". Even more amusing was when we were not performing to his expectations when he might be heard to bellow "Gen'lmen you're an 'orrible shower!". I think he really enjoyed his work being able to get away with shouting at and abusing a whole squad of officers. However it all seemed to be in good part and at least kept us busy until we were due to be moved on. We were granted a fortnight's leave which was over the Christmas period before reporting to our next posting.

I have fond memories of this first leave. Later on, when I started operational flying, we were granted 7 days leave every six weeks and, to a lot of my home town folk it seemed that I was constantly on leave! This first leave however was special. I remember walking up 'Worple Way' in Rayners Lane where I lived with my parents. Our dog, a sort of cross between a collie sheepdog and a Labrador, was sitting on our front porch. I called to him: "Bob", and, although he had not seen me for over nine months he reacted immediately by leaping straight off the porch, over the gate, and performed a sort of rotating dance around me practically wagging his tail off. After greeting him I went up the path and knocked at the front door.

My mother's reaction when she opened the door and saw me was a little disconcerting. She burst into tears! Thinking back it was obviously a sort of shock reaction since, firstly, she had no idea that I was back in England. And secondly, her last sight of me was in a rather ill-fitting heavy RAF Blue serge uniform with clodhopper boots, a lone propellor badge on the sleeve, and carrying a kit bag.. Now here I was in a very smart officers uniform with gold wings over the pocket, wearing shoes and carrying a holdall! My Sister, who was working in London, was there as was my father. My brother who was a staff sergeant in the REME managed to get home for a 48 hour pass during that leave so the family was all together for part of the time.

The only sad thing was that my maternal grandmother, who had lived with us, had died whilst I was on the way back from Canada. I remember her as a very active old lady who helped my mother run the house. Evidently she had been helping my mother in the kitchen one morning and suddenly said. "I feel rather tired dear, I think I will go back to bed.", a thing she had never done before. She went back to bed and within half an hour had died quite peacefully. I remember thinking that, if I ever live as long as she did, she was 97 when she died, I only hope that my end will be as quick and peaceful. Because of her age and the fact that she had led such a full and active life was not such a severe blow as it might have been and my mother quickly hid her grief and carried on with looking after us all.

I spent that first leave looking up the few acquaintances who were not away in the forces and generally 'putting on the dog' in my new glamorous uniform!

After returning from leave to Harrogate our next posting was to No.7(P) A.F.U. ((PILOTS) Advanced Flying Unit) at Peterborough in Cambridgeshire. This was in the nature of a refresher course since none of us had sat in an aeroplane for nearly three months. The aircraft were Miles 'Masters' both Mk.1 and Mk.2. The former had a Rolls Royce 'Kestrel' engine and the latter a Bristol 'Mercury'. These were low wing monoplanes of approximately the same stage of development as the 'Harvard' although there were some very marked differences. Their rate of roll was much inferior to the Harvard and a slow roll was a very complex maneuver similar to that in a Tiger Moth or a Fleet Finch. I remember one occasion when I performed an absolutely perfect slow roll in a Master Mk.1, and was congratulated by the instructor, as it was such a rare occurrence! The Master Mk.2 was much more powerful than the Mk.1 and, at the time had the ability to make steepest angle of climb from take off of any contemporary aircraft. By shoving the throttle 'through the gate' on take off it was possible to climb away at an angle of almost 45 degrees, a really impressive sight. However the power of the Bristol 'Mercury' engine gave a very marked swing on takeoff and I remember that I silently thanked Sergeant Farrell for his early instruction on keeping straight on takeoff!

speke2me
30th Jan 2010, 22:08
Cliff, just happened on this thread. It is amazing!

So far I have only got as far as post #80, and am really looking forward to reading the rest - a truly 'rich seam'. Very well done to you and the other contributors for spending the time and effort to post.

As an aside, my dad was in the first RAF Regiment as an LAC Gunner. He joined in August 1941 and was captured on Kos in the Dodecanese in 1943 when the Germans assaulted it with paratroopers and took the island. I think it had a small Spitfire squadron there. He spent the rest of the war in Germany as a POW. He rarely spoke of his experiences, which is not unusual. However one day in the 60s when mum was at work, he cooked for me what was a 'special treat' in the camps - a spam fritter ie a slice of spam fried in lard! So one can gather that things weren't that great in the camps. I still have his old 'Service and Release Book' showing he was demobbed in Jan 1946. If he were still alive he would be 86, and he would have LOVED this thread.

I notice you were demobbed at Burtonwood. I live nearby, in a little hamlet known as Prescot. Apparently the M62 motorway runs directly over the old 09/27 runway. Sadly, as you may be aware, the huge old hangers were recently demolished.

Once again, thanks for a fantastic thread.

:D

regle
31st Jan 2010, 12:07
Your contribution was very welcome. There was a reputed "Capture" of a small island in the Med by a Spitfire Sgt. Pilot who accepted the surrender of all the German forces on behalf of the Allies when he landed there short of fuel. Can anyone embelllish this ? I think if my 87 year old memory serves me that it was Pamplemona but am not certain. Your Dad's memories of Spam takes me back to when my Father in Law who was a miner/glassworker from nearby St. Helens, raved about some sandwiches that a mate had given to him...turned out to be Spam ! Believe it or not, a lot of people loved it. You have a lot more to enjoy and can you recall any more for the rest of us ? Regle

cliffnemo
31st Jan 2010, 13:36
speke2me,

Many thanks.
Spam fried in lard, no thanks. But deep fried in batter, one of my favorite dishes. Unfortunately the M.O says no.

With regard to Burtonwood, The American control tower, visible from the M62, which I thought would be tidied up, and maintained as a memorial, was also demolished.It was, however, replaced with beautiful buildings, Ikea, M&S etc. so we can't really complain.

CLIFF.

cliffnemo
31st Jan 2010, 14:05
andyl999



German Forum
Apologies to Cliff, been a bit busy and haven't even read my PM's

Andy, no need to apologise. We all know how time consuming , collecting , collating and typing can be. I am just copying all the suggestions , re The Luftwaffe connections to Word pad, obtain a print out , then email the translation.

speke2me
31st Jan 2010, 20:29
Many thanks for your kind comments. I am now up to post #283 in this excellent thread.

Reg I can relate some more, but as mentioned my dad never spoke very much about his experiences, so it may be a little sketchy and lacking in detail. I will happily post more later if interested. He sadly departed us in 1990.

Reg it was amazing to read that the troop ship you departed on, the Britannic, was the very ship you watched depart from Liverpool on it's maiden voyage as a boy. As you say, 'who would have thought' just eight years later, you would be on it, going to train for war?

Little tingle on the spine reading that bit :)

Here's a handy link to the Britannic on Wikipedia btw:

RMS Britannic (1929) - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RMS_Britannic_%281929%29)

so we know where you were on 28 June 1930!

speke2me
31st Jan 2010, 21:52
By Regle:

"I was on the vital bombing of Peenemunde in a Halifax of 51 Sqdn. We were in the first wave. Mosquitos had made a preliminary raid on Berlin and the German fighters were sent there as it looked as though the main stream were Berlin bound. It was a bright moonlit night and we went to Peenemunde, dropped our bombs on the aiming point, saw a lot more Halifaxes doing the same thing, we went back without seeing a fighter or flak and learned, next day that we had lost 42 aircraft ! The luck was being in that first wave and the skill was there to get the hell out whilst the going was good. Thank you for your kind remarks. It makes the single finger pecking away worthwhile when you see that someone is taking note."

Taking note? You bet! I read a book a year or two ago titled 'Bomber Boys' by Kevin Wilson. I think the raid you were on above is mentioned in it. As excellent as it is, the first hand accounts delivered by yourselves and others in this thread are fantastic. Better than any book. And what's more, you can't ask any questions of a book, as you can in a forum such as this. For example: 'Shrage Musik' - did it become the real terror as I read in that book?

Apologies if I insert replies like this as I work my way through this thread, but it is so fascinating.

Thanks again :)

Union Jack
31st Jan 2010, 23:21
There was a reputed "Capture" of a small island in the Med by a Spitfire Sgt. Pilot who accepted the surrender of all the German forces on behalf of the Allies when he landed there short of fuel

Regle - What a recollection! You were not far out and you will really like this one I hope - the island was Lampedusa, the aircraft was a Stringbag and the pilot was Syd Cohen. Have a look at Hollywood hails King Syd - Telegraph (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/4727143/Hollywood-hails-King-Syd.html)
and Syd Cohen, King of Lampedusa eastlondonhistory.com (http://eastlondonhistory.com/syd-cohen-king-of-lampedusa/)

Kind regards

Jack

speke2me
1st Feb 2010, 01:41
Yes I had to do Latin in the 70s in my Grammar school in St Helens. Not so much quotes but many mentions of farmers (agricolae) meeting Legionnaires. And many declensions: Mensa, Mensa, Mensam, Mensamus, Mensantis.. well you get the idea?

The best one I found in later life was Parabellum, which is of course the standard Nato 9mm cartridge.

"si vis pacem, para bellum", translates as "If you wish for peace, prepare for war"

Sorry if a little OT.

:)

regle
1st Feb 2010, 17:23
I too, had Latin at the Liverpool Institute and hated it. I was very interested in the "Britannic" episode and saw that I would have been eight years old and so in the prep school for the "Inny" when I saw her set off on her maiden voyage so it would be just ten years later when I set sail in her in 1941 from Greenock in company with the "Rodney" and three or four Destroyers to help us evade the "Bismarck". in which the "Rodney", who had left us to administer the "coup de grace", in that epic Sea Battle and we were ,unwittingly, involved.
The use of the "Schrage Music" , four upward firing, fixed angle guns mounted on the top front of the fuselage of the night fighter ME110, became one of the most lethal weapons of the Luftwaffe and almost impossible to evade as the 110 would "stalk" the unfortunate victim from many miles back at a much lower altitude and then keep pace but climb steadily always underneath and well nigh impossible to see until it was near enough to unleash the lethal fusillade that would invariably hit the main mid section fuel tank. It is true that we had an aircraft proximity device (Monica) that "squeaked" when picking up an aircraft close to you but as we were six or seven hundred in a small stream the darned thing would be going from start to finish of the operation so it was usually switched off. I had already adopted the dreadfully tiring but invaluable practice of a constant "Corkscrew" of the Halifax that I was flying from the moment that we crossed the enemy coast until we recrossed it on the way out. This left us the vulnerability of the "straight and level" neccessity of the bombing run over the target and was , probaly the most dangerous few minutes of the whole seven to nine hours of the normal raids. It was then that your gunners could and , in my case, did save all our lives by their vigilance and tactics of turret rotation in semi synchronisation with each other as they searched the skies below and behind us as we crossed the target like "sitting ducks". In a sense the success of "Window " was a double edged weapon that rebounded upon Bomber Command and saw the adoption , by the Luftwaffe, of a completely new means of combating the Night Bomber. I was in the attack on Hamburg on the night of July 23rd. 1943 that saw the first use of "window". The dropping of thousands of tinfoil strips by each Bomber as it approached the target completely swamped the German Radar as each strip gave the same "blip" as an aeroplane. Fighters were being guided to "hundreds of" Englanders"
and reporting none to be seen and even, in some extreme cases, being ordered to land back to their bases and report to the Commanding Officer, suspected of being Cowards. Our losses were much lower from then on but the Luftwaffe soon adopted the tactics of flooding the targets with searchlights , focussing them so that they made a carpet of light at a medium altitude. They then threw in all their day fighter force who patrolled at an altitude above the Bombing Force and then tore into them with devastating results as the bombers were silhouetted against the searchlights and fires blazing below. The ME110 night fighters would have been engaging the "stream" before and after the target with their tactics as described before and the combined efforts soon brought the losses back to the pre-Window level.
I was fascinated with the Lampedusa episode and knew nothing of the "Musical" that was made. It must have made the headlines of the Press if it had been allowed in those days. Thanks for all the "Gen", Speke and Union .... It is , as you so rightly say, what is so good about the Forum. You can ask and , in my case, certainly learn so much that you did'nt know before. Keep it up. Keep those bits of "useless information", comments and questions rolling in. Apropos this. What do you think about the proposal that all Doctors will have to pass a five yearly examination on their knowledge in order to keep on practising. ? When I was Airline flying I always used to gripe about the difference in the two professions inasmuch as I had to pass a six monthly medical with the Airline (Sabena's normal practice) , a yearly National medical , a yearly proficiency Check and at least one yearly "line" check. Once a Dr. has his initial "licence" to practice.......! We don't say that we "practice" flying, we assume that we know how without practising. Think about it ! Regle

speke2me
2nd Feb 2010, 00:18
Thank you so much for the detailed reply. I hung on almost every word. As mentioned, despite the books, there is nothing like the 'horses mouth', and that is what makes this thread, with you and other contributors like Cliff, so special. It's a thread I can never see deleted, because it's such a personal account of real history.

I noticed my copy of 'Bomber Boys' seems to be a different author from the one you encountered, as I read later into this thread. No matter. It essentially seems to cover the same stuff. And as for the 'Schrage Musik', well, what a nasty prospect? Sneaking up from behind and below, with no way to see, and a potential lethal outcome?

Yes you were incredibly brave, all of you, no question. And yes I do appreciate a lot and do feel very proud. After all, you were there, you did it, and you bloody well deserve the accolade!

I will read the 'Bomber Boys' book again. Might come back with more daft questions - sorry :)

Regarding the fact that as an airline pilot you needed med checks and proficiency checks on a regular basis. Well as an airline pilot you are responsible for a number of souls in your care. A doctor, or GP, is also responsible for a number of souls, and possibly more directly. So you make a very good point.

Take care. Thanks for the very good post. Beware further questions :)

Oh, and here's one right now: given that you wore oxygen masks and the aircraft were not pressurised in WW2, was it bloody freezing doing a 7 hour round trip on a bombing sortie at altitude?

:)

speke2me
2nd Feb 2010, 21:28
Continuing on and just read post #378.

Blimey!!

And still 55 or so pages to go :) What a thread, read nothing like it :D

regle
2nd Feb 2010, 22:11
Press on regardless and I hope that you are enjoying it.. 7hrs would be regarded as a short trip...the Ruhr (Happy Valley as it was derisively called. Even so the heating was usually either too hot or non existent and was notorious for it's unreliability. There was no doubt that the two Gunners and particularly the tail Gunner suffered from the cold and were usuall padded up with all sorts of clothing. The forward compartment (W/Op. Navigator and Bomb aimer) was not too bad whilst the Cockpit with the Pilot and the F/E would differ from plane to plane and from altitude. There was one constant though. The Pilot would eventually suffer for many years to come from the fact that his left side was only a few inches from the side of the aircraft and the port window and the temperatures of the 20 or more degrees below zero that reigned outside. (No double glazing in the Halifax...or the Lancaster for that matter.) Despite all that we survived but we were not always very happy .! Regle

Wiley
3rd Feb 2010, 00:26
Back on pp 66-69 (posts 1301 to 1366) I posted the story of Sqn Ldr Peter Jensen, a WOP/AG on Sunderlands with 461 Squadron RAAF. One of the points that he raised in his narrative, the way Coastal Command considered one hour as the maximum time a gunner should man his turret without relief, drew someone to ask how this could be so when Bomber Command gunners would man their turrets without relief for up to seven hours.

I spoke to Peter today regarding this point and he said the difference was that the Bomber Command aircraft usually operated at night, while the Coastal Command Sunderlands conducted the majority of their patrols in daylight. (Before someone leaps in to correct me, I know the 'Leigh Light' Catalinas and Wellingtons were very much creatures of the night, but I'm just repeating here what Peter said to me.),

(Probably not a whole lot different to the Bomber Command crews), the Sunderland crews, operating alone, relied totally upon seeing an enemy first, which meant from as far away as possible, (and running, or hopefully making for cloud a.s.a.p.) as their only means of survival. This meant their gunners had to be always totally on the alert rather than just gazing out into the distance, so they switched over after an hour when possible. As well armed as the Sunderlands were, as Peter's story shows, they were usually no match for six Ju88s conducting a properly co-ordinated attack.

It's probably also a case that they did so because they could, because, unlike the Bomber Command aircraft, they had the extra crew to do so.

Please note also that after receiving a list of hand written corrections and a few additions to his story from Peter, I've amended all the posts to reflect his amendments and additions.

Through a friend, I've managed to find the addresses below for Luftwaffe Associations. If there is someone out there who can write in German who is willing to contact these associations, perhaps they'd like to establish the contact and ask them if they'd like to add their contributions to this wonderful thread.

GEMEINSCHAFT DER FLIEGER DEUTSCHER STREITKRÄFTE E.V.
Gemeinschaft der Flieger deutscher Streitkräfte e.V. (http://www.Fliegergemeinschaft.de)
• Präsident: Peter Vogler
• Vizepräsidenten:
• Walter Jertz
Gaustr. 27
55276 Oppenheim
Tel. 0 61 33 / 49 11 97
Fax 0 61 33 / 49 11 98
E-Mail: [email protected]

• Friedrich Busch
Loherstr. 8
29348 Eschede-Dalle
Tel. 0 51 42 / 17 42
Fax 0 51 42 / 41 67 66
E-Mail: [email protected]
• Gunter Fichte
Dorfstr. 22d
01774 Höckendorf-Obercunnersdorf
Tel. 03 50 55 / 6 12 06
E-Mail: [email protected]

• Ehrenvorsitzende: Anton Weiler, Jörg Kuebart
Geschäftsführung und JÄGERBLATT-Vertrieb:
• Rolf Chur
Südstr. 66a
53797 Lohmar
Tel. 0 22 46 / 18 36 4
E-Mail: [email protected]
Schatzmeister:
• Jörg Böttcher
Rothusener Weg 2
50374 Erftstadt
Tel./Fax 0 22 35 / 69 00 30
E-Mail: [email protected]
Referent „Geschichte/Tradition – Suchdienstzentrale – Historisches Archiv“:
• Wilhelm Göbel
Krahwinkeler Straße 34 A
53797 Lohmar
Tel. 0 22 47 / 30 03 96
Fax 0 22 47 / 30 03 98
E-Mail: [email protected]

cliffnemo
3rd Feb 2010, 14:05
Through a friend, I've managed to find the addresses below for Luftwaffe Associations. If there is someone out there who can write in German who is willing to contact these associations, perhaps they'd like to establish the contact and ask them if they'd like to add their contributions to this wonderful thread.

WILEY.
That is very useful info and much appreciated.
I spent yesterday afternoon Googling, and searching sites etc, with only limited success. I did manage to register with Feldgrau, but am awaiting approval,/ I posted the letter below on Axis History/, and 12 o/c high,/
One of these emailed me this A.M and said he had opened a separate thread for me.Also I am awaiting a reply from The Berlin Luftwaffe Museum
However your suggestions are most helpful, and I will make a print out of the addresses , explore the possibilities. and do my best to follow them up. Hope 'I am not flogging a dead oss'
Could I suggest that any Pruners who have any addresses or contacts, that they copy and paste the interpretation below, and either email or better still register with an Ex Luftwaffe association. The latter will allow them to post the full letter on a thread ? I am quite happy for the interpretation to be offered to any site ,under my name, or that of the sender.
----------------------------------------------------------------
To:
[email protected]
HI.

Please find below a request, first in English and then German.

Any help, suggestions , or contacts would be much appreciated.
CLIFF.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


I write on behalf of contributors to the thread on PPRuNe (professional pilots rumour network , military section) which can be found on the internet by Googling either PPRuNe or cliffnemo. This is a thread that has now developed into various wartime pilots from all over the world describing their experiences during world war 11. The thread is called ‘ Gaining an R.A.F pilots brevet in W.W 11.’

Although we have tried to make contact with our opposite numbers in Germany , we have had no success and wonder if you could help us to contact either ex Luftwaffe aircrew or near relatives who would be good enough to share information with us. I would assure you that this is a very friendly site, and any ex Luftwaffe aircrew or airmen would be warmly welcomed, and any information appreciated.

I have been frequently informed that many historians obtain information from this thread, and have been asked by certain aircraft museums for permission to use extracts from the thread. Also I have been told that the thread contains a lot of information that does not appear in ,novels, biographies , or other records. I would , therefore, appeal to your organisation for help, and thank you in anticipation.

I would also point out that it may be of interest to current members of the Luftwaffe re the training of aircrew in England and America during the war, as this is described in detail.
-------TRANSLATION-------

Ich schreibe im Namen des Web der PPRuNe (professional pilots rumor network, military section), welches im Internet bei Google oder cliffnemo unter PPRuNe gefunden werden kann. Das ist ein Forum, dass entwickelt wurde von verschiedenen Kriegspiloten aus aller Welt, um ihre Erlebnisse während des 2. Weltkrieges zu beschreiben. Die web Seite heißt "Gaining an R.A.F pilots brevet )in W.W.II"
(BREVET + FLUGEL ? )

Auch haben wir versucht mit gleichgesinnten aus Deutschland Kontakt aufzunehmen. Wir hatten keinen Erfolg und bitten Sie uns zu helfen entweder ex Besatzungsmitglieder der Luftwaffe oder andere Beteiligte zu kontaktieren, die bereit sind, Informationen mit uns auszutauschen. Ich kann Ihnen versichern, dass wir eine sehr freundliche Seite sind und jedes ehemalige Mitglied einer Luftwaffen Manschaft (Pilot, Besatzung, Ingenieure)wird herzlich aufgenommen und jede Information wird geschätzt.

Ich werde regelmäßig darüber informiert, dass viele Historiker Informationen durch unsere web Seite erlangen und wurde von verschiedenen Flugzeugmusen um die Erlaubnis gebeten, Ausschnitte aus der web Seite zu benutzen zu dürfen. Mir wurde auch mitgeteilt, dass in der web Seite viele Informationen enthalten sind, die nicht in Romanen, Biographien oder anderen Aufzeichnungen enthalten sind. Ich würde hierfür gerne auf Ihre Organisation für Hilfe verweisen und bedanke mich hierfür im Voraus.

Ich möchte hervorheben, dass es vielleicht interressant sein kann von den Mitgliedern der Luftwaffe, betreffend des gängigen Trainings der Besatzungen in England und Amerika während des Krieges eine detalierte Beschreibung zu erhalten.

VIELEN DANK. CLIFF.

cliffnemo
3rd Feb 2010, 15:46
WILEY. Have just spent the afternoon sending a copy to the addresses you gave, and my brain is more 'addled' than usual
Impossible . (Mrs Nemo')
One was returned as I inserted a - instead of a . , so corrected and sent O.K. One replied 'out of office' will reply soon. It's all good fun

Icare9
3rd Feb 2010, 17:52
As the topic has returned to Schrage Musik, perhaps the attached clip will be of interest in how the attacks were carried out. It may be possible to contact Peter Spoden who may be able to convey Cliffs message to useful people....

YouTube - WaldoPepper62's Channel (http://www.youtube.com/user/WaldoPepper62)

All the best to cliff, reg and all, Kevin

tow1709
3rd Feb 2010, 20:02
Peter Brett's story continues: he gets a bit lost in a Hurricane and learns the effects of a bird strike...

The course at Peterborough was only five weeks, plus another couple of weeks leave, and the total flying time was only some 30 hours. It was soon over and we were then posted on to our next stage which was Operational Training. This took place at No.55 O.T.U at Annan in Dumfrieshire in Scotland. At last we were going to fly real operational aircraft, in this case the Hawker Hurricane.

My first impression of this aircraft was that the cockpit was rather cramped. It was much narrower than either the 'Harvard' or the 'Master', and the sliding hood, which was of 'Greenhouse' construction, with small panes of perspex in a metal framework, felt rather claustrophobic at first.

Due to my height I found that, if I closed the hood by the recommended method of reaching back over my right shoulder with my left hand in order to reach the unlocking lever, I hit myself in the back of the head with the flange at the front of the hood. I eventually solved the problem by releasing the lock as recommended and then sliding down in the seat and reaching back over my head for the flange on the front of the hood to pull it closed. This was only one of the things I had to get used to. Another thing was the fact that raising the undercarriage after take off necessitated changing hands on the control column since the operating lever was on the right hand side of the cockpit. Until you got used to this, or else took off using the control column left handed, the aircraft would perform a series of rapid undulations before climbing away. Using either method it was very important to ensure that the throttle friction nut was sufficiently tight to keep the throttle from closing back if you took your hand away! It was easy to pick out the 'new boys' by watching the take off. Either the aircraft would porpoise just after the wheels left the ground until the undercarriage came up, or, just after takeoff, the engine note would start to die away, immediately recover and the aircraft would climb away with the wheels still down as the frustrated pilot tried to tighten up the throttle friction nut at the same time as holding the throttle open and keeping control of the machine.

Although the 'Hurricane' was not the most advanced aircraft at the time, it was still more than twice as powerful as anything I had flown before and was much faster and more maneuverable. Really the 'Operation Training' was more of a conversion course onto the 'Hurricane'. My first flight in the new aircraft was on 6th March 1943. Circuits and bumps for nearly an hour. The second flight was a sector reconnaissance. I was obviously not yet used to the speed of my new mount and on my third flight, coincidentally on the 13th of the month, which was a triangular cross country flight I got myself completely lost! On studying the map afterwards I realized that I had either misread the compass or neglected the magnetic variation. On the last leg of the flight, from Portpatrick back to Annan, I mistook the Solway Firth for Wigtown Bay and headed gaily off into Cumberland. After flying for about ten minutes I realized that I was lost and tried to get a homing vector from Annan flying control. Since we only had H.F. sets with a limited range, and I was probably flying too low anyway at 2000ft, I could not get an intelligible reply. I therefore did the recommended thing in the circumstances, at least in a fairly highly populated country like Britain, which was to continue flying on the same course and land at the first aerodrome you came to.

It seemed to take a long while to reach anything but mountains and, when I did finally see an aerodrome ahead of me, I was getting quite worried about my fuel situation. I immediately did a circuit of this aerodrome and landed. I had been airborne for over 2 1/2 hours. I was waved to a parking space and then reported to the Flying Control tower. I shamefacedly explained my predicament. The duty pilot grinned a bit and said "Have you any idea where you are?" My reply was that I must be South of the Solway Firth. He took me over to the map which completely covered one wall. Pointing to near the top of the wall he said "There is Annan" and then, pointing to a spot about waist height he said " And here you are, Dishforth in Yorkshire!" Looking at this large map I could see exactly what had happened. I had been very carefully flying down the middle of the Pennine Chain!

The duty pilot then phoned Annan, where they were just about to file a lost aircraft report, and I spoke to the Chief Flying Instructor. I expected a rocket but all he said was "Well you seem to have done the right thing anyway but I think perhaps you had better wait there for a return flight and I'll send somebody else down to collect you". Thus I returned ignominiously as a rear seat passenger in a Miles Master.

This escapade did not seem to delay my training at all because I notice from my logbook that the very next day I did my first high altitude climb in a Hurricane, to 28000 ft, using oxygen. The course then continued mostly concentrating on formation flying, cine-gun dogfights, low flying and aerobatics. On the 6th April I did my first spin in a Hurricane and found it not nearly as bad as I had expected. The wing did drop sharply at the stall but the recovery was quite smooth and rapid.

I had one rather frightening experience when low flying. I had dived down very low over the Solway Firth and, as I approached the shore I pulled up in a steep climbing turn to the left. When I came to level off I found that the control column only moved a short distance to the right and then stuck! Fortunately it stuck just past the centre and I very slowly regained level flight. I was the in a quandary. Should I keep the control column against this 'stop' or should I try to move it left and then back right again in the hope that it would become free again. I kept it over to the right until I was in A fairly steep right hand turn and then tried a rapid left-right movement to see if it would unjam. It stuck again but this time it seemed to move a bit further. I repeated this maneuver six or seven times, each time getting a bit more movement from the ailerons. As soon as I felt that things were getting back to normal I returned to base and landed. We discovered that I had hit a fairly large bird, probably a black gull, just as I had full aileron on in the climbing turn. The bird had jammed into the gap between the aileron and the wing under surface and had effectively locked the control. My repeated manoeuvres had eventually crushed the bird, which must have died instantly anyway, until the controls could move again. I hate to think what would have happened had the controls locked before the midpoint. I would obviously continued to roll to the left and, at that height, would certainly have crashed, probably upside down.

The course lasted until mid-April and then, for some reason only known to RAF Training Command, the rest of my course was posted and my posting was as a Staff Pilot with 55 OTU! I then spent another month at Annan and also at Longtown, the Satellite field, doing tailchases, aerobatics and camera gun exercises. I was I remember a bit fed-up that I was stuck up in Scotland whilst my contemporaries had been posted to operations and I did all sorts of silly things to relieve the monotony.

It was at this time that I received my most serious wartime injury! I broke my wrist falling off a bicycle! Because Annan was a fairly well spread out station we were issued with bicycles for personal transport. A favourite sport was being towed along by a motorcycle. Whilst I was doing this the motorcyclist, who was somewhat inexperienced, decided to change gear suddenly, he missed the gear on the first try, by which time the towrope had gone slack, and then accelerated away violently. Result - the bicycle handlebars were swung violently to one side and I carried on straight over the handlebars. I had enough sense to land on the grass verge and do a forward roll but my momentum was such that I carried on rotating for several yards. During this no doubt spectacular display I managed to break my left wrist. I did not realize it at the time but, after a very painful and sleepless night I went sick the next day and was sent off to Hospital at Carlisle for X-ray.

I return to camp again with my wrist in plaster and was consequently effectively grounded for about seven weeks. My first duty on returning was to make out an accident report. This was a remarkable fictional effort on my part blaming a loose half-brick in the road, bad visibility, and ineffective brakes for my injury, which was fortunately accepted by the powers that be. This meant that I was even more stuck in Scotland, although I did get a fortnight's sick leave at the beginning. During this period of enforced semi-idleness I did duty as Flying Control Officer and also a few turns at Runway Control when I had signal the aircraft taking off that it was clear for them to do so, and to keep an eye on the aircraft coming in to land to ensure that nobody was trying to land 'wheels up'.

I remember one occasion when I 'went along for the ride' in a de Havilland Dragon Rapide – known in the RAF as the Dominie - to collect five pilots who had been invited to lunch with the Navy at Lossiemouth. This was towards the end of my convalescence and my wrist was strong enough for me to fly the aircraft. Incidentally this was the only time I have ever flow a twin engined aircraft! Another chap flew the outbound trip, with me looking over his shoulder since there was only one seat in the pilots cabin. We duly picked up five rather drunken pilots and I flew us on the return leg. They did not know it was my first time flying this type, and they decided to have some fun. The first thing I noticed was that the aircraft was tail heavy. I adjusted the elevator trim. Suddenly the aircraft was nose heavy! I looked back through the cabin door window just in time to see the five pilots running back down the fuselage to upset the trim once again giggling like mad! When they saw that I had tumbled to their game they resumed their seats. A little later the aircraft swung sideways, this time they were not deliberately trying to upset my flying, but, having drunk quite a lot of beer, they were in dire need of a leak. Since the 'Dominie' did not have any toilet facilities they had decided that two of them would open the side door whilst the others relieved themselves through the opening. Fortunately nobody fell out and, after this they all fell asleep for the remainder of the trip.

On July 13th (13 again) I finally resumed full time flying and, after one dual circuit in a Master and an hour's solo practice I was once again let loose on a Hurricane. A few more flights and then I was at last posted to a Squadron, leaving Annan on 22nd July 1943.

tow1709
3rd Feb 2010, 20:25
Onto Typhoons at last...

With typical service efficiency I was posted to 164 Hurricane squadron at Warmwell. The aircraft were Mk.IV 'Tank busters' fitted with 2 x 40mm cannons, and they had their full complement of pilots. Thus, I never did get to fly one of these machines, which I was led to believe was really something to be experienced -especially when you fired the cannon, which caused a sudden drop in airspeed due to the recoil! After just one day with this squadron I was posted on to 183 squadron at Harrowbeer on Exmoor. At the time of course I had no means of knowing that much later I was to become a Flight Commander (and for a short time Acting Squadron Leader) on 164.

I arrived at Harrowbeer on 28th July 1943. Then for two days I did nothing but read the pilots' notes on the Typhoon and undergo the oral and written examination on that aircraft. During these two days I spent as much time as I could climbing all over the Typhoon and watching the takeoffs and landings. The first thing I noticed was the noise! The Typhoon had an engine which was more than twice as powerful as the Hurricane and this drove an enormous propeller 14ft in diameter. The terrific noise on take off has been variously described as "tearing calico" and a cross between a roar and a scream. To hear a formation of four taking off together was really an ear shattering experience!

On the 30th July I was told to take up the station Hurricane and do some local flying around the airfield under the watchful eye of the Squadron Commander. By this time I had had over 60 hours flying in a Hurricane, more than most ex OTU pilots, and I must admit that I did a bit of vulgar showing off. I took off in a very steep climbing turn, did one circuit climbing and then dived down and did a runway 'beat-up" followed by pulling up into a roll. I then went round the circuit and came in high so that I could do a sideslipping approach and then landed. It was one of my better landings, and, as soon as I touched down, I opened up and went round again. A couple more circuits and then I landed properly.

The C.O. didn't mention my showing off but just said "O.K. it's Typhoon time tomorrow!" Thus on 31st July 1943 I made my first flight in a Hawker Typhoon. Having read and been examined on the pilots' notes, and having been taught engine starting I knew theoretically what to do but the practice was something different again. Firstly the size of the aircraft was daunting. The wingspan was some 42ft, the cockpit was eight feet off the ground. The total weight was around seven tons! Sitting in the cockpit, which was entered by opening a car-type door and raising up the roof flap, the first impression was of space. There was ample room for me to sit upright without having the seat on the lowest setting and my shoulders were at least six inches away from each side. The instrument panel seemed to be further away and the consoles each side of my knees gave a further impression of space. Looking forward, with the aircraft sitting on the ground with the tail down, all you could see was this enormously long nose stretching away for some six or seven feet in front. It gave the impression of driving a steam locomotive from the foot plate! Taxiing was impossible in a straight line and you had to swing a long way from side to side in order to be able to see what was ahead. Even on takeoff it was not possible to see very far ahead since it was inadvisable to raise the tail too far on the takeoff run. With the aircraft in full flying attitude the clearance under the propeller was less than six inches, and therefore we were advised to take off in a tail-down attitude, especially from grass airfields!

The engine starter on the Napier 'Sabre' engine, with which the Typhoon was fitted, was unusual in that it was operated by a cartridge. This cartridge, when fired, generated high pressure gas which was used to force a cylinder along a barrel. The horizontal travel of the cylinder was converted to rotary motion by a worm thread and this turned the engine over. Providing the pilot had carried out the correct priming procedure the engine nearly always started first firing. Under-priming caused a false start and then a backfire. Over-priming either caused a fire in the air intake (a ground crew member always had to stand by with a fire extinguisher when starting), or, more likely, sheets of flame from the exhausts which washed down each side of the cockpit. It was a favourite trick of the engineering staff, when teaching a new pilot how to start the engine, to have the pilot standing on the wing leaning into the cockpit. They would then slightly over-prime the cylinders and the unfortunate pilot would find himself knee-deep in flames. This was not as serious as it sounds, since the flames were immediately blown back and away by the propeller wash before they could do more than feel slightly warm. If by any chance the engine did fail to start, you had four more attempts available before having to have the ground staff come and reload the cartridge magazine. In normal squadron operation it was very unusual for the engine to fail to start since the standard of maintenance was, in my experience, unfailingly high. The fitters, riggers, armourers and all the ground crews took a fierce pride in their work and most of them looked on the aircraft as if it were their own. They kindly lent it to the pilots to fly but woe betide any pilot who damaged the aircraft through carelessness or bad flying. Damage by the enemy however was a different matter, and was treated as an honourable battle scar.

tow1709
3rd Feb 2010, 20:50
Although I had by now started the Typhoon engine several times I had not before done the complete preflight cockpit check. This included setting the oxygen flow to about 10,000ft, since it had been found that the cockpit invariably became contaminated with exhaust fumes. It was never found out how this could be avoided, and consequently you had to use oxygen at all times when flying, or even when taxiing a long way. The preflight check also included an engine run-up to check the magnetos and therefore, for the first time I had to open up the engine to zero boost which gave over 3000rpm. The vibration and noise were terrific and I was glad to be wearing my helmet.
Taxiing I found quite easy since, due to the wide undercarriage track, a slight touch on one brake would swing the nose to allow me to see ahead. The Typhoon, in common with the Hurricane, had wheels which retracted inwards towards the fuselage. This meant that, when down, the undercarriage track was quite wide - even more so on the Typhoon than on the Hurricane. This made the aircraft very stable when taxiing even over fairly rough grass fields. When later I came to taxi a Spitfire, which had an undercarriage which retracted outwards and consequently had a quite narrow track, I was somewhat disconcerted by the way the aircraft tended to wallow sideways over even slightly rough grass.

On reaching the end of the runway and whilst waiting for the 'all clear' light from the Airfield Control Pilot, I completed my pre takeoff checks reciting the litany TMPFFSR. TRIM (Elevator neutral, Rudder fully port), MIXTURE (Rich),PROPELLOR (Fully fine pitch),FUEL (Check contents and select tanks which are more than half full, pressurising off, drop tank cock off), FLAPS (10-15 degrees down, valve shut),SUPERCHARGER (Moderate), RADIATOR (Flap open).

Right, takeoff check completed, wait for the green light from the ACP. There it is. Release the brakes, open up a little, roll forward on to the runway. Left rudder and a touch on the brakes and the nose swings round to line up with the runway. Brakes off, let her roll and open up smoothly to plus 4 boost. There seems to be plenty of throttle quadrant left but the acceleration is terrific. A touch of left rudder to keep her straight - it doesn't need as much as I expected. The acceleration is still pushing me in the back and the airspeed indicator is beginning to register. Eighty, ninety, and the tail is lifting. Don't let it come up too high. The controls are responding now. Keep her steady and let her fly herself off. Here she comes, lifting off, keep everything as is and wait for the speed to build up. One hundred and ten, one twenty, one thirty. Select wheels up. There is the double thump as the wheels retract into their housings. Climbing away nicely, 250 feet, select flaps up. Oops! it feels as if someone has pulled the rug out from under me for a few seconds as the aircraft sinks down. At the same time the airspeed builds rapidly. One hundred and fifty mph. Ease up into the climb, throttle back to zero boost and pull back the revs with the pitch control to 2850 rpm. Radiator flap up. Well I have made my first takeoff in a Typhoon. Now to look around and see where I am. I look at the altimeter! I am at nearly 5000ft and still on the same heading away from the airfield.

Two things struck me about the takeoff. Firstly how very simple was the retraction of the undercarriage where the operating lever was on the left hand side below the throttle quadrant. The lever was unlocked by turning the large knob on the top of the lever clockwise a quarter of a turn and moving the lever up. Releasing the lever then allowed the knob to spring back and relock the lever. Lowering the undercarriage was the reverse operation, turn clockwise, move down, release and the lever was locked in the down position. It was simple and foolproof and unfortunately I got so used to it that, much later, when I was flying a different aircraft, it got me into trouble. But that is a later story. The second thing was the way the aircraft sank down on pulling up the flaps. As I became more experienced on the aircraft I found that I could raise the flaps bit by bit very quickly and not lose any height at all.
On this first flight I had intended to do a circuit and bump but obviously I had been too preoccupied to realize that this aircraft flew much faster and climbed much faster than the Hurricane. I levelled off and did a left turn. Oops again! I had lost the airfield! A few seconds later I realized that I could see it but it was much further away than I expected. I put the nose down to get back to 1000ft to do a circuit. The result of this was that the airspeed built up until I was doing nearly 400mph and it was not until I throttled back and went into fine pitch that I managed to get down to a reasonable 250mph to join the circuit, by which time of course I had gone miles past the aerodrome in the opposite direction! I eventually managed to sort everything out and started a proper circuit to land. The pilots notes were very specific about not turning at under 130-140mph airspeed. Therefore, having got the undercarriage down I went well past the downwind end of the runway and then turned base, reduced the speed to 150mph and turned to line up with the runway. I did a long flat approach with the flaps down at 145 mph, closed the throttle as I passed the end of the runway and proceeded to float more than half way down the runway before I touched down. I had no idea how much runway was left but was convinced that I was about to shoot off the end at any second. I applied the brakes heavily and the ground speed dropped rapidly but then the brakes faded as they got too hot and I rolled along at about 40 mph with brakes which seemed to be useless. Fortunately they were still having some effect and I eventually found I was going slow enough to turn off as I saw a taxi track appear. As I turned off to the left I looked right to see how much runway was left and found that I only had had only about another fifty yards to go before I would have run out of tarmac. All in all I must say that my first experience of the Typhoon was somewhat awesome. It flew me, more than I flew it! Later on, I became much more familiar with the idiosyncrasies of this aircraft and, by the time I ceased flying them, had also developed a great affection for its sterling qualities.

speke2me
3rd Feb 2010, 21:43
Again thanks for the reply. It must have been no fun sitting with frozen left side of the body for 7 hours? And poor old 'tail end Charlie'. My dad told me that expression in the 60s.

Another question, if I may?

Obviously when on Ops, the first fear would be being, well, blown to smithereens and not coming home? Especially as you were living with the constant loss of others that had 'gone for a Burton'. Given that a 'lucky' close flak shot by the Germans, or you being 'chosen' by an ME110 as his unfortunate target to 'stalk' that night, was in some ways a random possibility.

What I would like to ask, is was there much concern over what might happen should you have to bail out and land over enemy territory? Were you aware of the way some downed aircrew were (sometimes, not always) seized upon by vengeful locals?

Another quick question. It's been reported, in this forum and elsewhere, that Guy Gibsons Mossie went down due to his unfamiliarity with the fuel tank valve switching arrangements. Being an ex Mossie pilot, what's your take on that? Was it a complex affair in the Mossie? And if so, was it unfamiliarity, or perhaps (as some of your posts indicate on the aircraft of the day, eg all the problems on the before-ops 'test flights') more likely a fault with the fuel valves?

Also from an earlier post of yours I can now figure why Dora got pregnant so easily - you were hiding pounds of streaky bacon in the back cupboard - you rascal :)

Please keep posting. More pointless questions and a little more background on the time from my dad and my mum (mum grew up and lived in St Helens in WW2 btw - she is now 83) from me later.

Take care :)

speke2me
3rd Feb 2010, 22:07
Just noticed your Father in Law worked in mining/glass in St Helens.

It's a small world indeed. As mentioned my mum is from St Helens. Her grandfather and father worked in the 'pit', as it was called. Her brother also worked in the coal mines, until he got silicosis (miner's dust on the lungs) in the 50s and had to move to nearby Pilkingtons to work in the glass industry. My mum tells me the two main pits in St Helens in the 30s and 40s were called King pit and Queen pit.

I wouldn't be surprised if your Father in Law knew my Grandad.

As you say, the coincidences just keep coming..

Apologies if this veers a little OT from the brilliant main thread :)

Niceredtrousers
4th Feb 2010, 08:25
Wow!
That's all I can say - love the Typhoon take-off detail..

cliffnemo
4th Feb 2010, 09:51
A REPLY THIS A.M
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Re: LUFFTWAFFE
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To:
"clifford leach" ""Willi Göbel"" <[email protected]>
Dear Mr. Leach.

thank you very much for your mail. I forwarder your request as you can see to our point of contact regarding history and tradition. If anyone from us, he would be one to get in touch with.

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> Betreff: Re: LUFFTWAFFE
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