Dad never said much about the war when he came back.

[Danny42C]

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that quite often a Dad (or Grandad) would never say much about his experiences in the Forces in WWII after demob in 1946, and actively disliked being questioned about them. This was by no means limited to that war. My own father, though he used to keep me spellbound as a boy with his tales of Nigeria in early Edwardian days (when he had been seconded from the British Army to the Nigeria Regt. as a young SNCO Instructor), told me nothing about his later years in the trenches in 14/18.

Of course, there were many cases where this was perfectly understandable. A prisoner of the Japanese on the Burma railway, for example, captured in Singapore in '42, had no hope of release from his sufferings other than a wretched death after years of beatings, torture, starvation, and overwork. Freedom would come suddenly in August '45, but he didn't know that, as no one had any inkling of it beforehand. It was natural that survivors of this would need a long time to recover from their three years of living Hell. Many were broken in body and mind, and would have nightmares about it for a long time. Obviously it would be cruel in the extreme to question him about it or to say a word which might awaken terrible memories.

But there were many others who had the good fortune to have had a much less stressful time in the six years of war. For (as has been said somewhere earlier on the "Pilot's Brevet" Thread): "We each had to fight the war we were given". No two servicemen were given exactly the same war, and there was no choice. You did not choose your war - it chose you ! The surprising thing was that even among this group the same reluctance to speak about it (even to close family) was frequently to be observed. This was so common a behaviour that I feel there must have been some deep psychological basis for it, and it might be interesting to try to find it.

There is no doubt that, in total war such as WWII, the Forces and the civilian population were, in a broad sense, "all in it together". The non-combatants suffered all the hardships of rationing and shortages, the dangers of bombing, the mental strain of being separated from loved ones (for years, and maybe for ever), and all the other disruptions of family life. But all these were additional burdens on a normal daily routine, they did not displace it. The Law and normal civilised conventions remained in force. Apart from those directed into war work, people did the same jobs, lived in the same houses, took the same bus or tram to work through familiar streets, had the same friends and neighbours and used the same shops, cinemas and churches as they had done before. The dangers and difficulties of war were simply "bolted on " to normal life, as it were. I have mentioned before that wartime civilian life in the UK quickly became the "norm"; "before the war" soon became a distant memory; and "Don't you know there's a war on ?" became the stock answer to any grumbler.

But in the Forces it was vastly different. The recruit left behind him, not only the comforts (such as they were) of civilian life, but the whole framework of his former existence. All the old rules and conventions were turned upside down, for example, "Thou shalt not kill" became "Kill or be killed !"; a former settled life turned into a gypsy existence, in which you might be sent right across the country, or half way across the world, a helpless pawn in some Great Game which was being played by elemental forces which you could not possibly understand, still less control. You had the novel, salutary experience of realising that other men were actively trying to kill you, and it was your duty to try to kill them.

In place of your former coterie of friends and family, your life was now centred on the other men of your unit, on whom you had absolutely to rely (and who in their turn had to rely on you) to keep alive. It is not surprising that the comradeship which developed in consequence ("the one great golden thread", as I think of it), which went through Service life, was the one thing that helped to make it all worth while.

And it was worth while. We knew what we were doing in those years, and that it was all part of winning the war. And the war had to be won for we were fighting an evil thing (if ever a war was a "just war", it was WWII). We believed in what we were doing. Referring to the whole nation, Churchill put it into imperishable words: "If the British Empire ..... lasts a thousand years, men will still say 'This was their finest hour' ". And for many of us who served, it was our personal Finest Hour, too. By no means our happiest, or most fortunate, or most successful, or most rewarding, or most satisfying - simply our Finest. We could echo Dickens' Sydney Carton: "It is a far, far better thing I do, than I have ever done" (and, as many of us thought when it was all over: "or will ever do again").

The cumulative force of all these experiences made us feel that we had almost been "on another planet" during our war service. Many of the things we had had to do were distasteful, even shocking or revolting; when we "got back", and tried to explain them to our nearest and dearest, our stories were often met with incredulous horror, anger or disgust: they simply could not comprehend how their husbands, sons or brothers, whom they thought they knew so well, could have been capable of such things. Dad or Grandad soon learned to keep his mouth shut. And there was another, I suppose subconscious, feeling, that our time "away" from life as they knew it was in some way "special" or "precious" (even "sacred", in a way) to us: it would not be "right" to talk about it now that we had left our "planet" and could never return to it. We must close that book, and never open it again.

Reunions, and old comrades' associations proliferated, as for a few hours you could exchange reminiscences with others who knew how things had been and understood why they had been so. You spoke a "common language", as it were, which was incomprehensible to civilians, even to your own family. But, even then, many avoided them, in the belief that we should "savour" our past, but not try to exhume it. Best to let it lie and forget about it.

What do other PPRuNers think about this ?

Danny42C

-------------------------------------------------------


ADDENDUM
________

Support for this analysis is contained in the following excerpts which have recently appeared in Posts on the "Gaining a R.A.F. Pilot's Brevet in WWII" Thread in the Military Aviation Forum (block text mine):


SOURCE
---------

(p.6 #111 - Jun 2008)
------------------------
BRICKHISTORY
...As has been related here, many from that generation are exceedingly reluctant to tell their tales. And far too many of those stories have disappeared forever with the passing of the storytellers.

Having interviewed numerous WWII veterans, British, Canadian, Australian, and American, most had never really talked about their experiences and their families were amazed what quiet, unassuming Dad or even white-haired Granddad had done in his younger days, both on and off duty...


(p.389 #7768)
----------------

(From the memoirs [No.6] of Tempest Pilot Flt.Lt. Jack Stafford (RIP), DFC RNZAF, submitted by Geriaviator 3.12.15), under the heading:

"A NEWLY MINTED PILOT FINDS ALIENATION AT HOME"
...But I could hardly believe the gulf that had opened between me and most of the people with whom I had been so close only 12 months earlier.

My single-minded devotion to the Air Force was beyond them; they could not understand my experiences in the air. At first I was keen to discuss my flying in great detail, but I could not get through to them. Our lives had taken very different paths, and nothing was the same. I found it very hard to accept that their interests were still centred on the weather, the stock, the fragile old fence on the back boundary, who would be at the dance on Saturday night, and so on.

Christ! Didn't they realise what an exciting world it was? If I spoke about life in the Air Force people would listen politely but before long their disinterest became obvious and they would remember that the ewes had to be shifted in the top paddock or business had to be done in town...

----------------------------------------------------------------

From Google the following:

LIE IN THE DARK AND LISTEN - AIRCREW REMEMBERED
aircrewremembered.com/lie-in-the-dark-and-listen.html

BOMBER BOYS REMEMBERED (Nöel Coward).

(Last triplet):
...Lie in the dark and let them go;
THEIRS IS A WORLD WE'LL NEVER KNOW
 Lie in the dark and listen...

--------------------------------------------------------------
(p.406 #8120)
----------------

PULSE1'S NEIGHBOUR
...Until now he has always been reluctant to talk about his war experiences for reasons which will become apparent to those who will labour through my attempt to share his story...

--------------------------------------------------------------
(p.405 #8096)
----------------

TIM00's FATHER
... & never really talked about it...


---------------------------------------------------------------
(p.406 #8120)
----------------
PULSE1 ON BEHALF OF HIS NEIGHBOUR FRANK
...This left Frank “feeling a bit like a murderer” and with a growing perception of the total brutality of the war in which he was engaged. It is one of several experiences which have led to his reluctance to talk about his wartime experiences...


---------------------------------------------------------------

And no doubt a more extensive trawl would reveal more examples of a similar nature.... D.

[Buster Hyman]

Very good summary.

My Dad, who wasn't allowed to go with his mates to WWII, never heard his Dad say anything about WWI. He'd never discuss it and the only time he even mentioned it was when my 15 year old Dad asked for his signature to sign up. The exact words escape me but it was along the lines of "After what I saw in the War, there's no way I'm signing you over to those Bastards!"

Years later, my English Grandfather came out to Oz, 1963 I think it was. When he met my paternal Grandfather, they quickly established which battles they were in, and they even realised their units were on the same battlefield during certain actions. My Dad sat to the sides listening to this banter, fascinated by stories he'd never heard before. As you'd imagine, the shutters went back up after he'd gone home.

It's clearly the shared experience that opens up the conversation. As a non Military man, I can only liken my experiences during the Black Saturday bushfires and, by no means do I intend to compare combat with fighting a bushfire*, but that's as 'exciting' as it gets for me. Our Driver saw some horrors on that day and he is still dealing with them. I was exposed to none of it as I was sheltered in the back of the truck but, he'll only open up to me "because you were there." He's told me things that I wish I never knew but I will listen as long as he needs someone to talk to.

It's the shared experience that allows him to open up & let some of his Demons out I guess. Best I can do is listen.

* Bushfires can kill you, but they lack malice, or the will to do so.

[Kilty2]

D42

That was a very eloquent summary of how I have observed ‘veteran’ behavior. I have a veteran colleague at work (GWI) who is not the person he should be.

My father was the same age as you (as indicated on your profile) and never talked about his WWII RAF experiences. Unfortunately he died when I was twelve, so I never had the chance to bond with him when I was old enough to ‘shoot the ****’. My understanding was that he was mostly involved at the ‘end’ in transporting VIP’s (I have several BW pics of various treaty signings).

I am an expat Glaswegian now residing in the USA and swmbo’s father who is 95 has finally started talking about his experiences in WWII. He pulled out a box filled with mementos, Casino, Anzio, Auschwitz and a lot more where his ‘outfit’ was involved. He even has a couple of Nazi flags and rank flashes as well (oh oh)

My only military experience is in the CCF, I have been lucky to avoid a major conflict; I am not so sure I could cope as well as your generation.
As a foot note

When I asked my father in law for his daughters hand in marriage, we went for a walk (deaf as a coot for most of his life due to being on an artillery unit) I asked if it was OK to marry his daughter, he paused for a while (not sure if he had heard me) and eventually he replied “Bunch of Jocks camped out next to us”, they were OK guys”. I took that as a yes, 

[kookabat]

I've spent the last few months interviewing veterans for the International Bomber Command Centre. One of them, a man named Denis, told me the most astonishing story I've ever heard first-hand, about his time on the run in occupied France after being shot down in July 1944. I sat there for fully an hour, mouth agape but saying not a word, as he told his tale. He still suffers nightmares as a result of his experiences, which included (among many, many other incidents) hiding and fighting with the Marquis, being captured by the Germans briefly before escaping right on the point of boarding a train for Berlin, and eventually being picked up by Patton's tanks and liberating several small French villages with them.

It was only after his wife died that his son managed to convince him to tell his story. He subsequently wrote the rawest, most honest account of feelings and experiences of life in Bomber Command and beyond for the benefit of his grandchildren.

After we'd finished the interview Denis mentioned that he'd told me more that morning than he had ever told his late wife. And I'd only met him the morning of the interview.

It's only been in recent years, really, that a lot of these stories have come out. A lot of it I think is because grandchildren are suddenly showing an interest. In Denis' case, the other motivation is the respect he has for the two members of his crew who died when the aircraft was shot down, and the others who have all died now as well. He has belatedly realised that he is the only one who can tell their stories, and given he is now well into his 90s he realises he mightn't have all that much time left in which to do it. And so he's now been happy to talk to total strangers such as myself who ring up one day out of the blue.

[charliegolf]

A lot of it I think is because grandchildren are suddenly showing an interest.

Spot on. WW11 is very much on the primary school agenda- has been for 15 years. There was a Granddad who was very well known to me at school because he was on pickup duty a lot. Served in the RN in the war. Turns out he was on one of the ships that went down with few survivors (Hood?). He was pulled off with 2 other shipmates days before the ship was sunk. Obviously a profound sense of loss and probably survivor guilt.

He never spoke about it to his wife and daughter (my boy's Mum). Then, because of his studies, the grandson simply did the, "Grandad, what did you do in the war?" thing, and he just told him the whole story. The Mum was absolutely gobsmacked. His response: "You don't tell those things to your little girl."

CG

[skua]

Danny,

Your OP is beautifully written.

Skua

[Chugalug2]

CG:-
His response: "You don't tell those things to your little girl."There is the nub of it. Rather than the initiative of grandchildren or their schools per se, it is rather the initiative of the survivors that has moved the goal posts I think. Danny grasped the white heat of technology to tell his tale on the Pilot Brevet thread, and encouraged his peers to do likewise. We are forever in their debt. The tales are engrossing, informative, and above all pull no punches of how terrible war is, especially one of the intensity and scale of WWII.

This is the story behind the stories. Why did we wait this long to read the minutiae of the experiences of millions like us, rather than the dramatised or fictionalised accounts that begin in a dockside hut or a Cotswold Cottage? Now we know that it was Lords Cricket Ground, seaside boarding houses, and many other unlikely venues that were the opening scenes for obtaining that highly prized brevet.

Thank you Danny for starting this thread that underpins the best ever thread which was started on 5th June 2008 by Cliff Leach. He was encouraged to do so, he had the means (this very forum) to do so, he had the will to do so (or never to do so?). It was he though that elected to be OP, and it was the same with those who chose to tell their stories in turn after him. Thank you all, past and present, for through you we have studied war, its triviality, its impersonal nature, its very personal effects, its comradeship, its terror.

There is not glory but there is worth, and that outweighs all else. We value that worth, we value those who ensured our freedom. We now must value that freedom or the worth becomes worthless.

[Bergerie1]

Danny42C

A very timely post describing something I have often thought about. My father was the chief officer of a small coastal steamer that had been requisitioned by the Royal Navy. He was a BI Merchant Navy officer now in the RNVR.

They left Singapore on 12 February 1942 at 19.30 with orders to proceed to Batavia via the Durian and Banka Straits. There were nearly 500 people on board, mainly women and children, and they were grossly overcrowded with people sleeping wherever they could, on floors, hatchcovers, decks etc.

They dodged bombs and managed to get as far as the Banka Strait just off Muntok. There they ran into the Japanese fleet at night. Two other similar ships had already been sunk, some of the survivors being picked up by my father's ship. They were ordered to stop and surrender. They did so, after destroying all the secret equipment and documents, feeling they had very little option with so many refugees on board.

The passengers were interned in Sumatra and suffered horribly - you may have seen the BBC series 'Tenko'. My father was sent back to Singapore where he spent the war in Changi jail. He survived and eventually returned to England in October 1945.

He never talked about it other than to tell my mother rats were a delicacy. And I remember him becoming exceedingly cross whenever I left food on my plate. Later, as an adult, I understood why!

The reason I now have so much detail is that I have been researching those events so that I can write it down for my grandchildren.

But I have a question for Danny42C (I have admired your writing very much; thank you) my question is how do you think he and his crew must have felt? Not only for the reasons you have so eloquently described but because they must have felt terrible for having surrendered, even though they had good reason. After the war, when details emerged about how terribly so many prisoners had suffered, he must have felt so responsible - no satisfaction from having done glorious things, only terrible memories.

He died when I was ten years old, I will never know.

[effortless]

Didn't get on with my pa so didn't ask him but I did talk to my mates dad. He flew spits with 317 Wilno. I asked him about his experiences in Siberia just before he died. I also asked his wife what he told her. He did talk about "The Long Walk" down to Persia then India. He talked about training and flying. The Magister and the Martinet featured strongly. He was the one who got me into it. Interestingly he said spitfire for sheer fun but Hurricane for security and a stable gun platform.

He said a few things about other people's suffering and deaths but never complained about his own. The things that stuck in my head were the attitudes of NCOs to the poles during basic and the treatment of Poles etc. during victory parades and celebrations.

I know he saw some dreadful things and did some. But he never explained and never complained. I asked my mate what he told them and he said that he was brought up with the horrors of Auswitz not Vorkuta. When he was a little be asked his mum what dad had been through and she said that he didn't have any lavatory paper. Figure it out! I know now that he was tortured in Russia, starved and beaten in Siberia and suffered typhus and minus 51c temperatures. His wife tells of feeling his spine through his stomach and he had been in the RAF a while by the time she met him.

His grand children are now showing an interest and my mate now feels comfortable talking about him.

[Tankertrashnav]

My father in law, a REME staff sergeant, went over to France on about D plus 3 and went right through to Northern Germany in the next 13 months. Until he succumbed to Alzheimers he would talk at length about his war experiences which did not seem to have affected him adversely, even though he witnessed some horrific events.

More surprisingly, when I had a shop, a regular customer was a chap who had been a POW under the Japanese. He must have been unusual but he seemed to have coped extremely well with the experience, and had just made up his mind when he got home to accept his good luck in having survived and get on with life. He was well into his 80s when I knew him, and fit and well. He was happy to talk about life in the camps, and interestingly he attributed his small stature (only around 5'5") to the fact that the Japanese left him alone pretty much alone, as they took a delight in picking on tall men.

[VX275]

I did an Arnhem battlefield tour with a chap who piloted a Horsa there. He couldn't remember much (or chose not to) about his actions from landing up to his final position fighting on the Oosterbeek perimeter. Finally the guide asked him what actually he did remember. "I remember the bastard paras left without telling me"


For my part I knew little of my father's part in WW2 until after his death when I was given all the letters he had written to my mother. Whilst not going into much detail so as to not frighten my mother its interesting to see by how he writes how the war changes his mood from excitement at the start, through despair as the fighting starts, to resignation as the war takes its toll of his friends. Through all this humour seems to have been his defence, to the point of dismissing a close call with a mortar round which shredded his trousers as being the reason he attended a COs 'O' Group bare arsed below the waist.

[Basil]

As a TA and RAF 'cold warrior' who has never been in combat and came closer to death in industry and the Merchant Navy than I ever did in the mil, my big mistake was to mention to a fireman (firefighter, not boilerman) with whom I was sailing on a square rigger, "You must have seen some pretty dreadful sights."
Five minutes later I was wishing I'd kept my mouth shut.

[potter_bb]

There is the nub of it. Rather than the initiative of grandchildren or their schools per se, it is rather the initiative of the survivors that has moved the goal posts I think.

That initiative manifests itself in many different ways. My children's primary school has an annual visit by a group of Pathfinder aircrew who flew from a nearby airfield. There is the occasional telling of stories from the war, but on their insistence they concentrate on reflecting their wartime teamwork and camaraderie, and continued friendship post-war, in the presentation to an individual or group within the school for achievement that year. The "Pathfinder assembly" is one of the most looked-forward to events in the school calendar, made all the more special a couple of years back by a display by the BBMF Lancaster over the airfield and local church on the day after the assembly.

http://www.cambridge-news.co.uk/SLIDESHOW-Second-World-War-Pathfinder-veterans-reunite-Little-Staughton-spectacular-flyby-Lancaster-bomber/story-22369984-detail/story.html#7

[Martin the Martian]

My dad was in the Paras during WWII, served in Greece and in Italy, and after the war in Palestine when the King David hotel was bombed, before he was demobbed.

He didn't talk much about his experiences, but I know he had performed combat drops, and he did say that his time in Palestine was a lot more dangerous than what he went through in the war. He never had a good word for the Israelis up to the day he died.

I understand why he found it difficult to talk about it, particularly to his family, and I totally respect that, but it does not stop me wishing I knew more about it.

[Smeagol]

As a post-war 'baby boomer' it was my parents' generation who went through WWII and I have a slightly different experience to most as it was my mother who was in uniform, my father being medically unfit for service.

Mum was a Wren and a 'Bomb Range Marker' at naval air stations from St Eval in Cornwall to Donibristle in Fife, Scotland ending the war as a CPO. Whilst she, obviously, never saw 'active service' she was closely involved with naval aircrew who did. She managed to log quite a few hours in Swordfish, Albacores, Barracudas and even a Grumman Martlet! I believe she sat on the pilots lap! Or so she told me.
As a small child in the 1950's she told me of various experiences from her time in the WRNS many good, but some less so, like having to comb the beach at Inskip with her 'girls' to collect pieces of the crew of an aircraft that has crashed during training. And the time she ended up wearing a pilot's 'mae west' after helping to extract a pilot from a burning aircraft and using her uniform blouse to wrap around his burns.

In later life she was a proud member of the Royal Naval Association and enjoyed meeting with other veterans. She passed away two years ago at the age of 97 after a pretty full life.

[Stitchbitch]

Many many times at 'the old aeroplane flight' you would hear "he never mentioned this before" or "this is the first time we've heard that" etc. It was always amazingly humbling to hear first hand the experiences that those who went through the mill of WW.2 had to say, and also to see their families responses. I think they opened up because we were servicemen, there was a kindred spirit and a shared interest.

[JOE-FBS]

Thank you Danny.

BTW, I assume that you and your comrade aircrew know about this:

Project Propeller: Project Propeller 2016 (http://www.projectpropeller.co.uk/2015/09/project-propeller-2016.html)

[Boy_From_Brazil]

My Father, a Wireless Operator flying Lancs with 57 Sqn, very rarely spoke about the war, particularly any of his missions. However a few years before his death, he was reunited with his pilot and the conversation & recollection of shared memories went on for hours. Crews have a very special bond.

His pilot, Bill McRea , wrote an autobiography called Chequer Board of Nights. In it, my Father's role is described in detail. The book describes some incredibly dangerous and arduous missions that my Father never, ever spoke about.

I only found out by chance last week that a movie is being made of one of the missions described in the book! I am really proud that my Father and his mates are being honoured in this way. If anyone is interested, the status of the movie can be found in Facebook, under the same name as the book.

His brother, put a landing craft ashore six times during D-Day. We only found out on the day of his funeral! Another quiet hero.

Cheers
BFB

[AR1]

My Grandfather, was at Dunkirk, this I knew, but that was it. Apart from the odd hurrumph, if a war film was on. Oddly, I was on leave at Christmas in the mid 80's, and while everyone was at midnight mass, bar ourselves. He began to talk, the fall back, crap tanks the chaos,. How he was sure the French were shooting at them at the port. Turned out he was a territorial and had answered a call for volunteers with motor skills to join up, attaching to the Cheshire regiment and out with the BEF.
Once they'd been recovered being about 30, he was sent to the Orkneys or the Shetlands, I can't remember, and three weeks later he died, so never got the chance to dig any further.

On the wifes side, no opportunity at Grandparents other than we know know he joined in 1914 was part of the September 1918 assault on Vierstraat Ridge by the Hampshires. And that was the end of that.

Her father was a guardsman - he guarded royalty and parts of London for the entire war - I'm led to believe they were on ceremonial at commencement and therefore stayed there - But dont know if thats the case.

[AR1]

My Grandfather, was at Dunkirk, this I knew, but that was it. Apart from the odd hurrumph, if a war film was on. Oddly, I was on leave at Christmas in the mid 80's, and while everyone was at midnight mass, bar ourselves. He began to talk, the fall back, crap tanks the chaos,. How he was sure the French were shooting at them at the port. Turned out he was a territorial and had answered a call for volunteers with motor skills to join up, attaching to the Cheshire regiment and out with the BEF.
Once they'd been recovered being about 30, he was sent to the Orkneys or the Shetlands, I can't remember, and three weeks after the converstation he died, so never got the chance to dig any further.

On the wifes side, no opportunity at Grandparents other than we know know he joined in 1914 was part of the September 1918 assault on Vierstraat Ridge by the Hampshires. And that was the end of that.

Her father was a guardsman - he guarded royalty and parts of London for the entire war - I'm led to believe they were on ceremonial at commencement and therefore stayed there - But dont know if thats the case.

[GlobalNav]

Danny, you are the most excellent writer! Thank you for the scope, intelligence, insight, clear expression and most of all - the heart of kindness and understanding behind your thread.

I'm on the "other side of the counter" - often bewildered about how to express my admiration, gratitude and respect for those, like you, who fought the war that they were given. Often, I am not sure what I can say or how I should say it, how it will be received or what their hurts are that hinder a reply. The best I can manage seems to be a handshake and a "thank you" to a vet wearing some symbol of their former service (hats, patches, etc.)

In the US, many veterans have returned with what I would call the "hidden injuries". And, not all returned from a war that the public considered "righteous". But it was no less the war they were given to fight. The citizens of my country, as well as those of yours, are obliged to receive these veterans with gratitude and understanding, and also kindly help them in every way they need (fellowship, employment, medical care, housing). We more easily grasp the need for sacrifice and service during the conflict than we do shouldering the debt we owe these veterans after the conflict ends.

Press on, Danny. Please help us get our act together. And, by the way, thank you for your service, during and, now, after WWII.

[Clockwork Mouse]

I originally posted this on the VJ Celebration thread, but perhaps it merits reposting here.
I think some of today's generation may find this piece of family history educational. My father was a civilian doctor in Malaya and was called up as an MO in the Federated Malay States Volunteer Force (FMSVF), the local TA, when the Japs invaded.

RECOLLECTIONS OF LIFE AS A POW OF THE JAPANESE

This is the transcript of a letter which my father wrote by hand in 1986 to James Bradley, the author of “Towards the Setting Sun”, an account of Bradley’s wartime experiences as a POW and in particular of his escape, subsequent recapture and treatment by the Japanese. Jim Bradley escaped from Songkurai Camp on the Burma-Siam Railway in 1943 with 9 other British and Indian soldiers. Five died in the jungle and the survivors were recaptured. Bradley was tortured but, amazingly, was not executed. He knew Dad, mentions him in the book and sent a signed copy of it to him.

Dad writes:

Many thanks for sending me the book. You did a very good job for the rest of us, particularly the F Force part which, so far as I was aware, had received no publicity whatsoever. It was gratifying for me to learn that the efforts to produce the book had a salutary effect on you, Jim.

My own recollections are extremely vague. On the march up, our policy was that anybody who had to fall out should take a pal whose duty it was to mark the spot where he went off the road to squit. One of my friends, 2nd Lt Dave Jennings, 1 Pahang Bn, FMSVF, stayed at the rear of the column and scooped up the stragglers. I used to join him later in each leg of the walk. I am told that we never lost a man. The midges nearly drove me mad towards the end.

I can remember little about the cholera work. After a day or two I went and lived with my orderlies in a lean-to outside the cholera ward. There were no highlights. Just a relentless round of utter futility trying to save the few saveable, trying to get needles into collapsed veins. Getting up from squatting by the patients on the bamboo slats becoming more difficult as we grew weaker. Ash from the bonfire, which was kept going outside the hut, to mop up the mess on the slats and on the gangway down the middle: it (the ash) was about 9 inches deep all over the gangway by the time we left.

In fact, come to think of it, there were some highlights:
A Nip beat me with a bamboo when I was returning from a visit to the crematorium and your side (I suppose I had forgotten to chuck the bastard a salute).

When we got the daily count wrong and David Price came over – they said he would be shot – but we found the extra corpse.

My chaps knocked off the Japs’ black Labrador and casseroled it in a bucket – I have always regarded Labradors as fine dogs and this one was a Godsend.

Giving an anaesthetic to Lt Col Hudson (appendectomy) on my return to the main camp (I fancied myself as quite an artist with the rag and bottle).

One afternoon I saw a small group of Nips floundering up the road going North. One man, supported by two others, had a rope around his neck: the other end was a few yards ahead over the shoulder of another Nip. We weren’t the only ones!

I don’t think anybody gave you any hope for a successful run, but the gloom caused by news of your recapture was profound.

The trip to Tanbaya was a walk for a few kms to Kami-Songkurai, then truck to a train and so to the “hospital”. The three pagodas were a let-down; the largest was only about 30ft high, it seemed to me. I sat next to a fellow named Renton (?unit) whose name always brings lice to my mind. I lent him a rug (travelling, I had had it since I went to my prepper); it was full of lice when we got back to the camp. Al was lousy (still? or again?) in the truck. When I saw Bruce Hurst and told him, I was banished from the medical hut. Dave Jennings and I settled the men in and saw them “fed” and then reported to Bruce Hurst. Al told us to go to the cookhouse and get some grub. We hadn’t finished before a young Aussie officer came screaming for us accusing us of dereliction of duty. We were “court-martialled” in the morning, but as Bruce Hurst himself was our chief witness for the defence it was a farce. He had the grace to apologise (and later we became firm friends): in fact he embarrassed me and us all by putting me in charge of a regular RAMC Major’s (I only had 2 pips) “work”.

Tanbaya was a vast improvement on Songkurai. The monsoon ended and the forest was less of bamboo.
One was not forever slipping and skidding when walking about.
We were allowed to bathe in a nearby stream, if we could get to and fro on our own feet.

There was some “meat” in the diet and a sort of “fudge” could be bought at Thanbyuzayat and was occasionally brought in. The meat was revolting and putrid, but it may have had a slight effect on our survival.

It was here that I suffered from two afflictions which I do not recall seeing among my own patients; painless abscesses about the size of half a tennis ball; and jaundice. Mercifully the abscesses healed up after Frankie Cahill (Australian surgeon) incised and drained them. I do not know the cause of the jaundice; it was afebrile, but eating required a real effort; it lasted about 10 days.

Malnutrition was still a problem at Tambaya. I did not have ulcer patients, but Bruce Hurst ordered me personally to do the dressings on sores which affected the knuckles of a fairly well known young violinist. I spent about 11⁄2 hours daily on him and we managed to mark time. (I suspect that his chums were passing over morsels of the “meat” to him).

I recollect being called upon to amputate a man’s leg above the knee. Frankie Cahill looked on, but was not fit enough to operate that day. Jock Emery (see Duckworth’s broadcast) gave the anaesthetic. We amputated above the knee (the ulcers were on the lower leg) and all seemed well. Two days later the stump was all ulcer. Seemingly healthy tissue in such men just had no kick.

I remember little of the return to Kanburi; I had almost non-stop squits. No blood, so I would not call it dysentery. We were in open wagons on that trip and I managed to do my jobs squatting on the couplings. At one point we stopped for a few hours. I was parked in the shade of a tree with what I assumed was a private slit-trench latrine. I was told later that it was my grave!

Luck again came to my rescue and the trots eased off during the remainder of the journey. I don’t remember getting from the train to the camp, but it must have been only a fairly short walk. There we met up with K Force (I think). Anyhow there were some fit MOs and ORs who were able to help out with our survivors.

I had a small ulcer under the inside “knuckle” of my foot (L); very painful and smelly. I had visions of the underlying artery being involved and of bleeding to death one night. (This happened to some patients; probably the best way of dying if that was one’s fate). But I didn’t want to die then. We were in the “egg belt” and things were looking promising for a change. Lt Col Houston scraped the ulcer (under partial anaesthesia) but I was horrified when they took the dressing off; we were back to square one (just like my amputation patient, I thought). However, I had been on 4 – 6 duck eggs per day for about 10 days and a few days later, when the “dressing” was removed, there was pink granulation tissue.

Everybody flogged watches or whatever at Kanburi. I got 80 tickals for a watch which I kept in my pack most of the time.

The eggs were cheap (10 cents) and we could also get little dried fish (size of a sprat). Everybody started to improve; it was wonderful.

After that I remained “fit” until the end.

In Changi I worked in Medical Ward 1 with Eric Cruikshank until the end. I never had any more gut-rot and was in reasonable nick.

You remark that F Force should be written up. I can’t imagine that there is a survivor who could do the job. A compilation of the sources of information which you cite might be the only possibility.

You also remark that you hope the medical personnel got some recognition. Well some did. I was fortunate that my name was in the lucky dip and came out with an MBE stuck to it. My Father-in-law sent me a copy of the London Gazette. Of the medical personnel on that list a WO also got the MBE and two RAMC officers did so (Max Pemberton, the surgeon, and Capt WH McDonald); and there were numerous “mentioned in despatches”; 32 officers, 1 WO, 24 other NCOs and 25 privates. I think that a lot of the ORs deserved better than that.

It was kind of you to name me on page 56, but not really deserved. I was only one of many who tried to do something. (Incidentally, I was not in the RAMC, I was the dogsbody of 3 (VR) Field Ambulance, FMSVF (Federated Malay States Volunteer Force)).

PS.


Dear Lindy, (James Bradley’s wife, who wrote the foreword to his book).
Your last sentence – “In Jim’s war there was no glory” – I know what you meant, I think. But I looked up “glory” in the Concise OD and one of the many definitions does fit; “honourable fame”. And as I said to Group Captain Cheshire, Jim is my notion of a real hero.

Dad was part of F Force on the Burma-Siam railway. The Japanese decided to build the railway to assist with their invasion of India, using allied POWs held in Singapore in the work force. The POWs were divided into batches, Forces, for the task. Most Forces moved all the way to the railhead in Burma by train in cattle trucks, 30 men per truck. F Force left Singapore on 28 April 1943 with about 7,000 men, British and Australian, but was disembarked at Bampong in Siam. They then had to march on foot for the remaining distance through mountainous jungle during the monsoon at night, 185 miles in nearly three weeks, to five jungle camps near the Burma/Siam border. Many died. Songkurai camp, where Dad ran the cholera hospital, was the worst camp on the railway with a death rate at its peak of 25 per day. Of 1,580 F Force personnel who arrived at Songkurai Camp in May 1943, only 180 were still alive in 1945.

[TLDNMCL]

I have nothing much to say other than Danny's original post is one of the few pieces on here to make me stop and think; subsequent contributons from others seem to indicate that they feel the same way. Excellent post, thank you.

[Danny42C]

Kilty2 (your #4),

First let me welcome you into the good fellowship of PPRuNe (you won't regret it !) And may I draw attention to the "Gaining an Pilot's Brevet in WWII" Thread. This, the best of all Threads on the best of all Forums on PPRuNe (at least, we think so), is full, from Page 1, of first-hand stories about flying in the war in which your Father served, and which deals in the times he would have known so well.

Now there must be an Army (Artillery ?) Forum comparable to "PPRuNe" - look it up, and if your SWMBO's Dad is not putting his two cent's worth in already, get him going. Time is very short for all of us of the "Old Brigade" now, an enormous store of priceless memories has been lost already, we can't afford to lose any more.

Cheers, Danny42C.

[Danny42C]

Skua (your #7),

Thank you, (and thanks to the others who have been so kind as to compliment me on my writing).

For that I'm grateful to the times in which English was rigorously taught, and corporal punishment was the norm in all schools in the land !

Churchill memorably said:
...I would not have boys beaten at school. Except for not learning English. And I would beat them very hard for that !"...
Danny42C

[Danny42C]

Bergerie1 (your #9),
...But I have a question for Danny42C (I have admired your writing very much; thank you) my question is how do you think he and his crew must have felt? Not only for the reasons you have so eloquently described but because they must have felt terrible for having surrendered, even though they had good reason. After the war, when details emerged about how terribly so many prisoners had suffered, he must have felt so responsible - no satisfaction from having done glorious things, only terrible memories...
They must have felt awful, although they did the right thing. When further resistance is futile, and can only result in more (non-combatant) deaths, surrender is the only option. How do you think General Percival felt, when he had to surrender Singapore to a force half his size, the alternative being to condemn many of the population to die of thirst ? (the Japs had control of the freshwater supply).

After the surrender, your father had no responsibility for the sufferings of the prisoners. That shame lies fairly and squarely at Japan's door.

Now you might be interested in this quotation from my Post p.148 #2946 on "Pilot's Brevet":
...I am pleased you make mention of the Merchant Navy crews, for in many ways they were the forgotten men of WW2. In the RAF, even suffering the dreadful losses of Bomber Command at home, at least they had interludes of a few days of (relative) safety, and a little comfort, between operational sorties.

But to live a life where you are constantly in deadly peril, with the "Sword of Damocles" of a sudden torpedo always over your head, day and night, must have demanded a special kind of courage. Wearing no uniform (apart from IIRC, a little "MN" lapel badge) to earn public respect, often working in the most miserable conditions, they brought in the food, raw materials and the war supplies without which we could not survive - never mind fight a war. They were not richly paid, and deserve a little honour now...
You must be rightly proud of your father.

Danny42C

[Danny42C]

effortless (your #10),

Presumably your mate's Dad was on a Spitfire detachment in Russia. Too late to ask now, but several years ago there was on the UK market a petrol additive in the form of marble-sized litle spheres of some tin compound; these things were supposed to act as a catalyst in your tank and enable you to run on much lower octane rating fuel. The "blurb" said the inventor was involved in the maintenance of the Spitfires in Russia, apparently these magic things enabled the Merlins to run on low-octane Russian fuel (sounds like a tale to me). But my then garage owner swore by them, used them in his big old BMW and said they let him run on unleaded fuel with no problem. Didn't try them myself.

There is a very good book about the "Long Walk", I have it somewhere.
...he said spitfire for sheer fun but Hurricane for security and a stable gun platform...
Probably right (I had only a handful of hours in the Hurricane, and was never in combat with the Spitfire). The Hurricane was said to be able to take more punishment.

Under the (metaphorical) clag ? Surely not ! - it wasn't Shoreham's fault (if fault there be at all).

Danny42C

[Danny42C]

JOE-FBS (your #18),

Yes - but am far too frail and immobile now to take advantage of this supremely generous Project (more power to its elbow). I only hope Mr Marshall (?) and his staff take care to confirm the bona fides of the old-timers who join them. There are "Walter Mittys" about in our age group ! :*

Danny42C

[Danny42C]

Boy From Brazil (your #19),
... My Father, a Wireless Operator flying Lancs with 57 Sqn, very rarely spoke about the war, particularly any of his missions. However a few years before his death, he was reunited with his pilot and the conversation & recollection of shared memories went on for hours. Crews have a very special bond.

His pilot, Bill McRea , wrote an autobiography called Chequer Board of Nights. In it, my Father's role is described in detail. The book describes some incredibly dangerous and arduous missions that my Father never, ever spoke about.

I only found out by chance last week that a movie is being made of one of the missions described in the book! I am really proud that my Father and his mates are being honoured in this way. If anyone is interested, the status of the movie can be found in Facebook, under the same name as the book...
The title is from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khyyam:
“Tis all a Chequer-board of nights and days
Where Destiny with men for Pieces plays:
Hither and thither moves, and mates,and slays,
And one by one back in the Closet lays.”
Should be a good film (might see it in about five year's time, when it's downgraded to "Freeview" - and if I'm still alive !)

Danny42C

[Danny42C]

Clockwork Mouse (your #23),

A graphic description of the miseries of Japanese imprisonment. There but for the grace of God, go I ! If I hadn't noticed my loss of oil pressure when I did, we might have had to bale out over Jap-held Burma, been unlucky, and got captured. (Story "Pilot's Brevet", p.143 #2860).

Danny42C.

[b24sonthomas]

Thanks for the interesting thread.

My dad flew B-24's out of N. Africa and Italy during WWII. He would answer questions about his experiences, but would not really talk about it unless asked. You could also tell he would leave a lot out. "I flew 13 and a half missions!" he would laugh. But it clearly was meant to deflect much more talking about it. He was shot down by flak on mission 14, then spent the next year in Stalag Luft 1 with Gabreski and other airmen.

One time I asked him if he was ever attacked by fighters, and he really balked, and never answered the question. I got the feeling to never ask that question again. I just dropped it.

Years later I read "I Flew for the Fuhrer" by Heinz Knoke. Knoke describes his attacks on American bombers by a head on attack, aiming to kill the pilots in order to knock out the plane. You tube videos have gun camera film attacks on B-24's where you see hits going right into the crew cabin. They are terrifying films. I then understood why my father refused to speak about the subject. An attack by fighters (at least early in the war) meant certain death for the pilots even if the rest of the plane survived.

After the war my dad never had any interest in flying an aircraft again.

[Boy_From_Brazil]

Danny42C

You are spot on using the quote from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khyyam!

I will personally make sure that you get a copy of the DVD when the film is released. Could you please PM me your postal address. The release date is still unclear.

Best regards

BFB

[BigDotStu]

My cousin's uncle landed on D-Day +1 or +2, and only started to speak about it in the last year or two before he died. I'm not sure he really spoke much of what actually happened, but more about the fact that he would regularly have flashback nightmares that were so realistic it was as if he was back on the battlefield - to the extent that he could smell it as well as see and hear it - before waking up in a cold sweat.

My grandfather served in the RA (mostly UK based HAA followed by time in North Africa and Italy I believe), but died a few years before I was born. Dad knows nothing more of what his dad actually did in the war (mainly because he didn't talk about it), although he has recently been researching this and digging in to the available war records.

Another example of "the war you were given" - my grandfather spent a lot of his time in the UK and was able to get home, whereas Horace definitely experienced one of the more traumatic actions of the war, and it affected him deeply for the rest of his life.

[Tim00]

Every word from Danny is a gem.

It must have been difficult for all concerned in post-war Japan. Dad was posted there from '46 to '47 before returning to flying. I don't know how these things are arranged, but as a Flt Lt Nav instructor he ended up as DAPM chasing armed robbers & such in Otaki, & I have some interesting old newspaper cuttings of these scrapes.

My mother had a pearl necklace which had been presented to dad by a Japanese father. Apparently the man's daughter had been raped by two RAF people, and dad's efforts ensured that they were tried & convicted. I can only imagine the strange set of circumstances and emotions in Japan at that time.

[Bergerie1]

Danny,

I am. I just wish he had lived long enough for me to have really known him.

[Treble one]

I met an aged chap in the course of volunteering at a well known aviation museum several years ago now. Very pleasant, and very unassuming with a twinkle in his eye, but very quiet.

I found out from a mutual friend that he used to fly Spitfires during the war- I was researching the aircraft as part of a tour I was preparing so I asked, would he mind sharing his thoughts about the aircraft (well who better to get an opinion from than a bloke who's flown one).

Over the course of several months, we met up whilst volunteering and he was very patient with me and answered all my questions. He then started talking about his WWII experiences.

It turns out this quiet, unassuming and highly modest man was a Spitfire FR pilot for the SAAF, and served in the Desert, into Italy and ended up in Austria at a Luftwaffe airbase. He was also a DFC and bar, and later went on to serve with the RAF, commanded his own FR squadron in Germany and had various positions at FCHQ and in flying training before leaving the service to run a successful business.

I was very honoured that he took the time to tell me of his experiences (he had not done so very much previously). A typical man of his generation.

He even told me the story of how he won one of his DFC's, which actually made my toes curl a little at the very though of doing what he did.

Sadly missed-a lovely kind, gentle bloke. RIP 'Mac'.

[Wander00]

My Dad was in the Fire Service in NW London, but spent much of 1940 and 1941 in Central London and the City. Hardly ever talked about his experiences, but did show my brother and me his fireman's belt and tin hat, and an inert German incendiary bomb. He must have seen some horrific sights on a day to day basis, and endured some pretty awful conditions. I suspect that, and Woodbines, led to his early death at not quite 65.


After Mum died we found even the few photographs he had shown my brother and me had disappeared, although another copy of one was shown on Tony Robinson's "Blitz" series on TV a few years ago - six appliances in a row at the kerbside, all burned out. Dad's appliance was one of them, that was the day he was posted "missing" three times in 24 hours.

[CyclicRick]

My father fought in the Korean war with the South Staffords and only told me one or two little anecdotes which I will never forget. Finding any information about it is truly a difficult task, it's called the forgotten war for a reason.
I had the privilege of chatting to a lovely old chap at my cousins wedding one day and after telling him I was ex AAC (cold war hero!) he then proceeded to tell me that he was at Arnhem as a Para! Well that was the end of any other entertainment on offer for me. He told me so much about it, riveting stuff and such a modest and humble man, praise for everyone else but himself.
He even mentioned that (if you remember 'A Bridge Too Far') that he was with Urqhart as they were running between the houses dodging the Germans!
Strangely it is also very rare to talk to someone from 'the other side' about their experiences which is why I was very surprised to meet an ex Luftwaffe anti-aircraft gunner who was stationed in France during the war who confessed that he had no idea if they ever hit anything but had a bloody good go at it, and even more interesting was a an old chap who was stationed on the Moehne dam the night it was attacked, he mentioned that they all knew straight away they were in for it and ran off the dam to safety after firing a few token rounds at the Lancs.
I'm still trying to find out more about my Fathers exploits.
We really do need to talk to these people as much as we can, they have a story that needs to be told.

[effortless]

Danny42c (#28)

No he was sentenced to 8 years in Siberia, walked to Persia and India. Did basic in Brighton, qualified in Hucknal I believe and didn't fly in anger until D + 3 I understand. He was one of the heroes of Ghent when the polish pilots refused to leave during the German push back. His family didn't know this until they visited his daughter in Ghent and he was recognised.

[Molemot]

The trouble is, it seems to be that one is always too young to ask the questions when those that know are still around...or, sometimes, the nature of their work was too secret. My grandad was always happy to talk about his time as a flight mechanic in the RFC in WW1, and I remember looking at his photograph album (which disappeared in mysterious circumstances after his death). There were two photographs in it I remember... one of a Vickers Gunbus with two doughty chaps dressed in long leather coats, and the second of the same aeroplane ten minutes or so later, as a total wreck...and the two chaps covered up on stretchers. He was later shanghaied into the Guards Machine Gun Corps, of which he never spoke a word; no chance of ever finding out more, as fire and bombing destroyed the records of the Machine Gun Corps.

My father was involved with radar and so forth in WW2; he was, to start with, a Calculator Maintenance Engineer...this was the equipment that gave the WAAFs on the plotting table the co-ordinates to plot from the raw radar data...Later he was at Trimingham in Norfolk with the "Mouse" station of the Oboe navigation and bombing system. He said they could, by remote control, drop a bomb down a factory chimney in the Ruhr....unless someone opened the door to the equipment hut, at which point the change in temperature would wreck the calibration!

After the war he was responsible for the maintenance of the first ever application of electronics to telephone switching...electronic directors, which decoded the dialed number to the required routing through the London network of telephones and replaced the electromechanical system. This system, using vacuum tubes called cold cathode counters, was, I understand, designed by Tommy Flowers at the Post Office Research Station at Dollis Hill; there he had built the world's first programmable computer - "Colossus" - installed at Bletchley Park, which had been used to decode the "Lorenz" cipher. These electronic directors sprang from this wartime effort, and were installed at Richmond telephone exchange, in South West London. Dad had spent a year at Dollis Hill with the team, learning how the system worked. The Leading Technical Officer at Richmond had been a prisoner of the Japanese, and said that the prisoners used to teach each other about whatever it was they knew....it kept their minds off their plight..and that was where he had learned about automatic telephony, as it was in the 1940s and up to the electronic era. One day some Japanese engineers were scheduled to come and view the electronic directors, and he had to be given the day off as it was considered that their presence would adversely affect him.
He was well liked throughout the service, and had never been known to be late; so, on the day he retired, all the clocks in the exchange were set forward by an hour and, when he arrived at 0750 as usual, the line had been drawn and he was nearly an hour late! Every one had been briefed for this, and no matter who he telephoned, they all kept up the story. He was more than somewhat bewildered, and it was only at lunchtime they let him in on what had happened.....

[Fareastdriver]

There was a well known RAF helicopter pilot in the 1970, Alex Tarwid. His father was a Count and was in charge of the Polish railway system when Germany invaded Poland. Alex was high borne and was an officer in the Polish cavalry. They didn't do very well against the Panzers and eventually after being routed he trekked through Russia and Persia and joined the Royal Air Force.

He married a charming British girl and stayed with the RAF after the war; which was probably just as well. He never talked about the invasion of Poland; possibly through shame or other reasons. He was good at explaining the sign language for operating undercarriages, flaps etc. but never described what happened during that period.

I don't know whether he is still alive, I hope he is, but what a story he could tell.

[Danny42C]

Boy From Brazil (your #33),

Thank you for a most generous offer ! But I'll wait until the release date, if you don't mind, before PM - ing you my address. Reason ? - I might not be here then, but nattering with Cliff Leach and Reg Levy et al (I hope), and my relicts may not welcome posthumous gifts !

Danny.

[thing]

My Grandfather was a Methodist minister before he went off to WWI to do his spiritual job for the troops. When he came back he left the church saying 'There is no God.' When anyone ever asked him about WWI his answer was always the same. 'There is no God.' That was all he ever had to say about WWI.

My Uncle Al was a Sherman flail tank driver; he landed on D Day and fought in every major battle up until Bastogne when his tank was hit, he was the only survivor although badly burned. He never talked about his time in the war except to his wife, my Aunt Maj who was a WAAF driver at Elvington during the war, used to drive the crews out to the bombers, she is still with us and bright as a button.

On the other hand my Uncle Roy who fought with the RA in Italy on Auster spotters would talk the hind legs off a donkey. He was a quiet man generally but all you had to do was mention something like 'When were the Anzio landings, I can't remember' and he would look into the distance and talk for hours.

Different folks, different strokes I suppose.

[Danny42C]

Molemot,

When you first mentioned
...My father was involved with radar and so forth in WW2; he was, to start with, a Calculator Maintenance Engineer..
These would have been the "Comptometers" which were in use in those days. But I immediately thought "Ultra", only to find that you have the story, later on, of the Post Office engineer who put into practice Turing's momentous ideas.

"Colossus" played a major part in winning the war, and one of the most wonderful things in the whole "Ultra" story was that German Intelligence, right to the end, could never accept that "Enigma" could be broken (and indeed the full story was not made public here for fifty (?) years).

Danny.

[Lantern10]

My father also would not talk about WW11. After he passed away I did ask mum some questions, all she would tell me that he was in the first column to drive into Belsen after the Germans had departed. She said he was horrified by what he saw.

[DON T]

My dad was in the RA in Burma during WWII. He didn't say much but one thing he did say was, 'Why were Germans captured by the allies called German prisoners of war, while allied troops captured by the Japenese called Japenese prisoners of war. We never took any Japenese prisoners.'

[Union Jack]

Very touched by everything I have read here, started so eloquently - as ever - by Danny.

As punctuation to Don T's interesting post, from Service records seen in the Naval Secretary's Office, the formal expression was "Prisoner of War in German/Japanese hands".

Jack

[S'land]

My experience is that it depends on what type of memory it was. My father was Army and was in India before WWII broke out. He would often talk about pre-war India and any enjoyable experiences during the war. This included being transferred to the Middle East and finding a book shop in Cairo which sold English language books and had an excellent section on classical music. However, he would most definitely not talk about the actions he had been in.

When I was eleven years old we moved and our new next door neighbour turned out to have been a sergeant in my father's regiment. Naturally they reminisced about old times and I could, by keeping out of sight and eavesdropping, hear some of the tales. It was noticeable that when I, my sister or the sergeants’ daughters were present they both stopped reminiscing and changed the subject.

I also noticed this trait in other relatives. When I was younger it used to frustrate me that my grandfathers, uncles, aunts and parents would not talk about their experiences. There was a wealth memory that has been lost from WWI in Europe, the Middle East, Asia and Africa to post WWII in the same areas (including an Uncle on the Russian Convoys). Now I am older I think that I understand. It really is the shared experience that makes you want to talk. Sometimes the reality can only be expressed if you already know what happened.

[teeteringhead]

Wander00My Dad was in the Fire Service in NW London, but spent much of 1940 and 1941 in Central London and the City. Likewise but for NW London read SE.

Rarely if ever spoke about the hard stuff, but frequently about the banter and fun - which there also was much of. A number of his wartime mates subsequently worked for him full- or part-time in his (radio and television) shop, including one who remained in the Fire Brigade post-war and rose to become a Divisional Officer, (London by then had 10 or 11 divisions, so he was fairly high up) but still worked on some Saturdays in the shop.

One thing he did mention - chillingly - was at the time of some post-earthquake rescue news report. He said that often when digging out bodies from the rubble, fingers were literally worn away in futile attempts to dig their way out after being buried alive........ :(

Fareeastdriver Flew with Tarwid on a number of occasions but never knew that bit of background. Haven't heard of his demise - would kind of expect to - but (after quick check of old Retired List), he would now be 94.

Not impossible to still be around at that age - ask Danny!

[Wander00]

TTH - I have a couple of books that might interest you, I will dig them out and let you have the titles. I also have one or two wartime publications, to replace those at home when I was a child and subsequently disappeared - one has the picture on the cover of firemen going up house stairs with a hose, that was also used on the collecting stockings for the Fire Service Benevolent Fund. The original painting was by a fellow member of Dad's crew.


The night the City Temple was bombed Dad and Ernest Lough were on the same crew. The City Temple was where as a boy Ernest Lough recorded "Oh for the Wings of a Dove". Down in the FI in 86 opening Mt Pleasant there were 3 of us RAF officers at MPA; the boss was a wg cdr nav from Lyneham.One day amongst the dross on the radio (FIBS) came Ernest Lough. I made some comment about Dad and EL having been on the same crew that night in 1941. "In that case" said the boss, "that night your Dad and mine were on the same crew!" BIG silence.

[Molemot]

Danny...

These beasts weren't general purpose calculators... they were made from the same sort of electromechanical switching gear that the GPO used in automatic telephony...uniselectors and so forth. Dad being a Post Office technician.... People with these skills were needed to maintain these calculating devices. It was a special deal...he joined on a Monday and was a Corporal by Friday!! Radar gave the range and elevation of the target, and the calculator converted this to the relevant map square on the plotting table, in real time. It's only in the past decade or so I found out what it was he was dealing with!

[ExV238]

What an excellent thread, on a subject close to my heart.

My father had two cousins, both of whom served as aircrew in RAF Bomber Command during WW2. One, Albert, was a rear gunner, and an only child. He was killed on his 4th operational sortie at the age of 23 in 1944. The other, Eric, was a wireless operator, who completed several operational tours and survived the war. He then returned to his peacetime occupation of banking.

Thus was the overall aircrew casualty rate in Bomber Command (roughly 50%) reflected in our family.

I knew Eric in his later years. He lived alone and was a somewhat reserved but very pleasant man. I well remember my father and I visiting the RAF Museum at Hendon with him; I was a young boy fascinated (obsessed?) by aviation and such a trip was very exciting for me. I could not understand why Eric should not be equally pleased to come with us and tell me all about the aircraft in which he had spent what I assumed must have been the high points of his life. In fact, as I remember it he almost had to be persuaded to join us, and seemed rather withdrawn during the visit. It became clear, even to a youngster, that Eric had very mixed feelings about anything associated with his time in the RAF and I grew up assuming that he was trying to expunge his memories. I respected his position and avoided raising the subject with him, even after going on to become an RAF pilot myself.

Eric died some years ago and, such is the way of things, I realised too late how little I knew of his life. Talking to my father and aunt, I learned that Eric had talked little of his wartime experiences. However, he had confided in them how hard the loss of his cousin had been and that every single morning thereafter he had given thanks for another day of life.

After his funeral my father and I helped to sort out Eric's possessions, of which there were few. However, to our great surprise, hidden well away on top of a wardrobe we found his leather flying helmet, oxygen mask, flying gloves and 'chip bag' uniform hat. He must have 'retained' them on being demobbed. I have them still, along with his logbooks. He had made numerous notes in the latter, with additional details of notable sorties and some very human and personal memories. Some of them were eye-watering, in both possible senses of that expression...

I think many have great difficulty reconciling a desire to talk about experiences with an equal desire to respect those who died. Eric's solution seems to have been to preserve his own memories with pride but great discretion, in a very personal way.

[Royalistflyer]

My brother and I were Air Force, but my father was an Army officer who, despite being Artillery, spent most of his time in a jeep with a big machine gun behind enemy "lines" (actually non-existent). I got virtually nothing out of him other than overhearing one story of his duelling with a disabled enemy submarine which had a much bigger deck gun than his. I also overheard that his brother was killed not by the Germans but by the Americans attacking our lines in the night. Apart from that - nothing. My elder brother who was in Korea and Malaysia - he installed a very un-official gun camera behind the pilot's seat for unofficial footage - got some beautiful shots of dumb rockets heading for a target which was almost above the level of the attacking aircraft.

[Danny42C]

Royalistflyer (your #54),
...My father was an Army officer who, despite being Artillery, spent most of his time in a jeep with a big machine gun behind enemy "lines" (actually non-existent). I got virtually nothing out of him other than overhearing one story of his duelling with a disabled enemy submarine which had a much bigger deck gun than his...
Combined Operations ? What a story is here !
... I also overheard that his brother was killed not by the Germans but by the Americans attacking our lines in the night...
Blue on blue. There has never been a war in which this has not happened - and never will be. Sad but unavoidable.

Danny.

[Danny42C]

ExV238 (your #52)
...What an excellent thread, on a subject close to my heart...
Thank you !
...I have them still, along with his logbooks. He had made numerous notes in the latter, with additional details of notable sorties and some very human and personal memories. Some of them were eye-watering, in both possible senses of that expression...
May I point you to the best Thread of all (IMHO) on ths Forum - the "Pilot's Brevet in WWII", of course - and respectfully suggest that, if you have the time, you might edit Eric's memoirs and Post them there.

They will be eagerly mulled over and commented on by a knowledgeable and friendly group of old and not-so-old veterans, who "speak his language" and remember how it was and why. I'm sure Eric would approve, and in this way you would do him lasting honour.

Just a thought,

Danny42C.

[tdracer]

My dad was one of the early combatants in WWII on the American side. He had belonged to a National Guard unit prior to the Pearl Harbor attack and so was almost immediately mobilized. He was shipped to the South Pacific mid-1942, and landed on Guadalcanal in early November 1942. He remained in theater until 1946, saw action on Guadalcanal, New Guiney, and the Philippines before becoming part of the occupation force in Japan after the surrender. During his time in occupied Japan he got a 'dear John' letter (I guess in his case it was a 'dear Joe' :suspect:). He was introduced to my mom shortly after his return to the US while still 'on the rebound' - something I didn't find out about until I was an adult but helped explain much of the friction in their marriage while I was a kid :(.

He didn't talk about his WWII experience much, with a few notable exceptions. He was wounded on Guadalcanal in 1942 on US Thanksgiving day - and he repeated this story every year on Thanksgiving when I was a kid. Short version, he was supposed to relieve a buddy at a forward observation post. Before he was going to head out, his buddy radioed in that he was already there, and my dad was already at his buddy's next assignment, so they should swap assignments and just say where they where and my dad concurred. Shortly thereafter, a mortar shell landed in my dad's foxhole - he got a piece of shrapnel in his neck, the other three guys in the foxhole were much more seriously wounded (one lost his foot). While my dad was in the field hospital, feeling sorry for himself since he wasn't supposed to be in that foxhole, he found out an artillery round had fallen short and landed on the outpost he was supposed to be manning, killing everyone. Sort of added a new dimension to 'Thanksgiving'.

On Guadalcanal, my dad had been the company intelligence officer - which meant he was allowed to have a camera, and he had a photo album from his time on Guadalcanal. He liked to sit down with us kids and go through it - talking about those dark but memorable days.
Some of it was hard for a child to listen to or appreciate - such as 'this was my buddy Bob- he was killed by a Jap sniper the day after this was taken' :sad:. As I got older, I was better able to appreciate what he'd gone through, and became very interested in WWII history, especially with regard to the Pacific theater.
I always wonder about people who say, given the chance to live their life again, they'd not change a single thing :confused: - really, never a decision they regretted? :confused: One of my biggest was right before my dad died, we'd traveled to a family reunion. My dad had sat down with one of my cousins to go through that Guadalcanal photo album (that cousin had lost an uncle on the other family tree in one of the sea battles around Guadalcanal). My mom asked me if I'd like to listen in and I responded to the effect of 'I'd heard it before' and went back to the magazine I was reading - it never occurred to me that might be the last chance I'd ever have to hear it (he was in apparently good health and 'only' 70). That night he had a severe asthma attack, stopped breathing, and went into a coma - 48 hours later he was dead :(

Post war, my had dad kept in touch with several of his military buddies, and regularly went to the reunions. I have a memory of one visiting us at our house - the guy had lost a leg to a land mine - and they spent many hours talking alone on the back porch (another regret - I wish I'd listened in):(

One of my more interesting memories is, back in the mid-1980s, I'd read a book about the history of war. One thing claimed in the book was that researchers had discovered that well over half of the soldiers in WWII (all sides) were sufficiently adverse to killing that they either didn't fire their weapons, or intentionally fired to not hit anyone.:confused: I thought this rather hard to believe so I asked my dad about it. His response was strange - along the line of 'that's a very interesting claim'. I got the very distinct feeling it was something he really didn't want to talk about. Knowing my dad, I find it hard to believe that it applied directly to him (for most my life, he'd hated the Japanese with a passion - I don't recall him ever referring to anyone Japanese as other than a disgusted "Jap" - in fact I knew 20 years before their bankruptcy that General Motors was in trouble when he - a lifelong GM guy - bought my mom a Subaru) but maybe he knew it applied to fellow soldiers.:sad:

[Box Brownie]

An excellent thread - thank you Danny. Reading it took me back about ten years. I travelled from Warwickshire to Boston one Sunday to pick up a part for my Riley car. Arriving at a bungalow, the old boy invited me in for a cup of tea. We sat at the kitchen table and talked, no mention of the Riley part. Eventually he started talking of his time as a POW in Japan. Tears began to roll down his cheek. At the end he quietly said 'I have never spoken about that time before'. A friend of mine was the CO of the only unit of L5's that operated in Burma. He would talk about his time in Burma, often saying 'We lived like animals'. Luckily John wanted to talk and I have three hours of him on tape.

[MOSTAFA]

My father joined as a regular soldier in 1938 into the Wiltshire Regiment, posted to India, they moved into Burma as soon as the war started, he fought the Japanese as a MMG gunner (Vickers) until his mother was killed in a German bombing raid (Penryn) in 1941 in 1942 he applied to do anything where he could take up the fight against the Germans. He volunteered to join the Parachute Regiment, on completion of his training posted to the 13th Lancashire Bn, he parachuted into Normandy just after midnight on the 6th June, wounded on the 8th. Repatriated and repaired for the Christmas offensive in the Ardennes, Bure included. Back in time for Op Varsity, very badly wounded on the second day, most of his back and shoulder (shrapnel) was missing - it looked like somebody had made a shell scrape out of most of his upper right torso. It fascinated me as a boy watching him shave with a vest on. Recovered to be fit enough to move to SE Asia on VE Day to take up the fight against the Japanese again.

Fantastic father who hardly said a word - he died at 93 a few years ago, in a motorcycle accident and yes he's was driving! Nobody else involved.

RIP Dad xx

[CyclicRick]

Heads up.
There is a fantastic series on Netflix (other on demand sites available!) at the moment called 'The War', a Ken Burns film series of seven ( most about two hours long )which covers the stories of four different US towns and their populations experiences of WWII and directly relates to this thread except they ARE talking. Can't recommend it enough.

[lsd]

Fond memories of Alec Tarwid - aka "the Red Baron". Some of the discussions in the crew-room between him and Tom Pavey would conclude in heated Polish, with one describing the other as a peasant, and the other as a snob. Alec lived for flying and when in his office next to me could be seen heading down the corridor as fast as possible whenever his phone rang. His flying skills were pretty awesome, his briefings brief to say the least and you had to be on your toes to keep up with him - if only to witness him chopping off the back-pack whip aerial of the gunner radioman just ahead of him at Grimes Graves. But he got along just fine with the CO at GAF Fassberg when over a bottle of Highland Cream they reminisced about their WW2 experiences on opposite sides - but to us on the squadron I cannot recollect any memories retold.

[Raikum]

My Dad, for reasons that remain unknown, volunteered for the FAA in 1940 and was trained as pilot at Luton..I don't know which course he was on. During the invasion scare his training was interupted and he was sent down to Portsmouth to defend the port and was sadly blown up suffering a major head injury which hospitalised him for 6 months and eventually led to his medical discharge.

One day when I was perhaps 15 I saw a photo of a 20 or so young men in a drawer in my Dad's desk; on the back of which were written in line a series of names and underneath each name a date. Intrigued, I asked my Dad about it and he told me that this was the course photo with the name of each of the course members. The dates, he said with tears pouring down his face, were the dates of their deaths. They were all killed and he was the only survivor. The Irony is that being blown up in the Portsmouth blitz saved his life......and led to mine. He never talked about it again to me even when I asked him. I think his survivors guilt dominated the rest of his life.

[racedo]

A friend of mine originally from Minnesota told me of his dad in WW2.
He was an electricians mate on a CVE - Escort / Jeep Carrier in the Pacific.

Tom said his dad didn't talk much about his service and as an Escort Carrier they were not designed to be in full battle like Enterprise / Coral Sea / Yorktown etc. Their role was to ensure that Fast Attack carriers had the planes required and to support invasions / provide aircraft for newly invaded islands.

On shore leave in New Zealand his dad took a bus from the city they were in way way out into the countryside just to be away from it all.

Stopping at a small village he talked with someone and he talked about growing up in Minnesota and about going fishing when ever he could.
A fishing rod mysteriously appeared and a suggestion of where the best spot was in a local river.

Plan was to spend hours there, if he caught a fish then good, but after less than an hour a man appeared reminding him that he was required to have a licence for fishing and he was responsible for checking them. His presence was known to everybody in the village.

Not knowing whether he had committed a major offence, he was then shocked when guy sat down beside him for a chat. After while got up to leave telling him "as it was first offense he would allow him off" and hopefully when he returns next time he buys one and shook his hand and left.

After a good days fishing he returned the fishing rod and relayed his meeting and got told, yup he saw you and came asking who you were, then decided he should go up and wanted to say hello.

[Danny42C]

Raikum (your #61),
[QUOTE]...So moving these memories..My Dad, for reasons that remain unknown, volunteered for the FAA in 1940 and was trained as pilot at Luton.....
My Post p.114 #1227...on "Pilot'S Brevet in WWII" may help:
... So, with Churchill's words ringing in their ears, just about every red-blooded young man in Britain (and the Empire), with School Certificate and in the age group (17 and a half to 23) flocked to volunteer as RAF aircrew. I was one of them. All wanted to be pilots, of course. There would be many hurdles ahead: it was reckoned that only 2% of all original applicants got to wear the coveted double wing. People were almost down on their knees to get into the RAF, it could afford to be fussy. Most of the rejections were in the first phase...
This was qualified by my p.126 #2504:
...Second thoughts.
Now that the end of my training was in sight, and before I finish with Hawarden, I think it might be useful for me, and hopefully interesting to you, for me to look over the last fifteen months for some loose ends I've left, and for things left unsaid which perhaps ought to have ben said.

To begin wth, why did I volunteer for the RAF in the first place? Patriotism is almost a dirty word today, but that was at the heart of it. Of course we were thrilled to have the chance to learn to fly for free (what youngster, even today, wouldn't be?) But deep down we all knew that this was a job which had to be done, and we young men of our generation, who had the fitness and schooling to do it, must step forward, for there was no one else. We only had to look around at the devastation of our towns and cities, and the massacre of men, women and children in the Blitz. It was our duty to stop this, and we would be less than men if we didn't do it.

Having said that, I must admit that for me (and, I rather suspect, for many others, another less creditable reason may have played some part. We can all laugh now at Corporal Jones ("they don't like it up 'em!") and at the bloodcurdling yells of bayonet practice on TV. But the real thing isn't funny at all. Can you really envisage what it takes to thrust six inches of cold steel into another human being's guts, twist it so that it doesn't stick (doing still more damage), pull it out and then do it again and again (against all your civilised instincts?) I remember a terrible chapter in "All Quiet on the Western Front", where the German narrator, marooned between the lines in a shellhole with a French poilu, with whom he at first becomes friends, is forced by circumstances to disembowel his new "oppo". (Hitler banned the book in Germany as pacifist propaganda). As usual, Kipling has the words for it:

"I do not love my country's foes / Nor call 'em ''eroes - Still , / Where is the sense in 'ating those / 'Oom you are paid to kill?"

There was a way out: accept the risk of death for yourself, but volunteer for a technical arm like the Air Force or the Navy, where you will kill clinically, at a distance, where you won't see " the whites of his eyes". Was this a form of cowardice? Probably. All I know is, I take my hat off to the PBI, who had to do the dirty work.

I would like to hear what my fellow ex-war PPruners have to say about this..
Hope this may explain your father's motives.

Danny42C.

[effortless]

Dad never said much about the war when he came back.

Funnily enough, fighter pilots did talk about it in my experience. Bomber crew less so. Couldn't get Burma vets to say much.

I knew someone who fought in North Africa then all the way up through Italy. I took the trouble to ask him. He didn't say much apart from commenting on the poles. He hated them but he was in the SS.

He told me that they returned to Germany expecting to be defeated soldiers, defeated heroes but they were shipped on a tour of Dachau to show them what they were responsible for. He complained that it had nothing to do with him at the time. He and his comrades were fighting men. "Didn't always act honourably perhaps but then who did?" He was bitter about it and in denial all his life.

Where I was brought up, German POWs were allowed to work on farms. One of them married a local girl. He was depth charged. He hated gulls. Said they took out the eyes of survivors.

[Saintsman]

Although i was in the RAF during the 70s & 80s, my contribution bares no comparison to what I've read here. I'm embarrassed to say we used to complain about our conditions.

I suppose a lot of people don't talk about what they experienced because they are not actually asked. I don't recall really asking anyone myself. I must make more effort.

My children have no idea what I did apart from working on aeroplanes. They don't know anything about the Cold War. Fortunately I've no horror stories to tell, but never the less what we did was important. I should tell them, though I'm not sure they would be interested.

[Pontius Navigator]

My old man was sunk by a Jap submarine off Java. He said they got ashore but he didnt say they were 37 miles out. I think they were picked up by a US Warship. They were landed and taken to a hill school. They managed to get on a boat to Australia and survived the passage.

He had the Italy Star, Burma Star, Pacific clasp, Atlantic Star and France and Germany clasp. I have no idea where he went to get them as his ship record doesnt cover any relevant convoys. He then went to the Pacific after VJ day and visited the bomb sites. He thought it wonderful and had no doubts of the correctness to the decision.

[Phil_R]

My grandfather was in the RAF during World War 2; I know this because I have (somewhere) the paperwork he was given on being discharged. He was some sort of technician on radio equipment somewhere in north Africa.

Unfortunately, that's all we know about it, although presumably the RAF could look him up via his service number. He told stories about watching cats fight scorpions in the desert and claimed during lighter moments to have been awarded the Spam Medal and the Shelter Medal.

But no, didn't talk about it much.

P

[Bergerie1]

Pontius,

I agree about the rightness of that decision - as horrible as it was, probably less people were killed (both Japanese and Allies) than would have been the case had the war been continued by conventional means. And I am also pretty sure very few POWs would have returned alive had not the Japanese been made to capitulate so quickly.

[harrym]

Danny, ref your #63:

Quote: "There was a way out: accept the risk of death for yourself, but volunteer for a technical arm like the Air Force or the Navy, where you will kill clinically, at a distance, where you won't see " the whites of his eyes". Was this a form of cowardice? Probably. All I know is, I take my hat off to the PBI, who had to do the dirty work."



Yes Danny, you have got my baser motives in going for aircrew dead right! Of course there was also a (reasonably) strong element of wanting to do the ‘right thing’, but I too certainly found the idea of close combat distinctly unappealing nor I did not fancy the idea of being sunk – never mind being prone to seasickness anyway. Above all, the prospect of being taught to fly while getting paid at the same time was a distinct plus.

Totally concur with your view of the PBI, who always get the short straw in any war that’s going.

harrym

[Danny42C]

Pontius Navigator (your #66) and Bergerie1 (#68),
...and visited the bomb sites. He thought it wonderful and had no doubts of the correctness to the decision...
Nor had I (I was in India at the time). The casualties (Allied and Japanese civilian) of a seaborne invasion of Japan would have far exceeded even the horrific total caused by the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Japanese home armies would certainly have fought to the last man and the last round. I had a personal interest - one of the Allied casualties might well have been me !



Phil R (your #67),
...He told stories about watching cats fight scorpions in the desert...
Never heard that one before - but it would certainly have been worth seeing ! Who came off best, did he say ? For years after I got back I could not rid myself of the habit of shaking my slippers before putting them one - just in case there was a scorpion snoozing in the toe !



harrym (your #69),

Glad to see that I'm not the only one !

Regards to all, Danny.

[teeteringhead]

Wander00 TTH - I have a couple of books that might interest you, I will dig them out and let you have the titles. Thanks for that - I've got some relevant books (somewhere!) too and will let you know of those. :ok:

[Phil_R]

Who came off best, did he say ?

Cats, reportedly.

I know what you mean about the shoe-shaking. On a trip to Colombia last year I made a point of sealing them in my luggage.

P

[handsfree]

Wander00, as your dad was in the London Fire Service during the Blitz
you may be interested in a book called "The Longest Night: Voices from the London Blitz: The worst night of the London Blitz" by Gavin Mortimer.

An excellent read of contemporary witness accounts with photos.
Available on Amazon (or other book stores)

[Buster11]

My father was a commercial artist and illustrator between the Wars. He joined the Royal Naval Air Service in the First World War in May 1918, initially at Greenwich, was transferred briefly to the Royal Flying Corps and then to the newly-formed RAF, where he flew De Havilland 9As and R.E-8s; luckily the War ended before he flew operationally. In 1939 he joined the RAF Volunteer Reserve and was called up on the outbreak of War, doing his training as a codes and ciphers officer at RAF Uxbridge.
In late 1939 he was posted to HQ 202 Group in Cairo, travelling there by sea; he was there for about a year and then moved to RAF HQ at Heraklion in Crete, flying there in a Sunderland. He sent home large numbers of photographs of Egypt and Crete, all with copious details on the back. He was most enthusiastic about the Cretan scenery and he did numerous sketches while he was there.


When the German parachute and glider-borne landings on Crete took place in May 1941 he was operating from a cave above the airfield and saw the strafing and landings on the airfield from a slightly safer spot than some. I have some notes he made of his activities on May 20th, the day the German glider and parachute assault began.


“Left cave at 8 a.m. with Trumble, F/Lt Howlett. Joined near Heraklion by pilots without aircraft (and therefore off duty), Bennett …….. in car for Hissaria (Messara?) area. Had been all night at . (cave?) with Steele and other cy. offs. (who slept there for safety). Though warned that attack might come had no reason to suppose imminent tho’ bombing fairly heavy during night.

Heard later from cy. off. of Black Watch at Warburg that they (in their HQ cave 50 yards from ours) knew attack expected May 20th. F/Lt Babcock (of Maleme area) also
knew of impending attack expected May 20th – why had not Cania notified us?

Maleme appears to have been unaware since Groom at Athens reported to have shown cyphers etc. captured there to Lewis Daly (?)

Other ranks from ‘drome allowed into Heraklion during afternoon of 20th (with arms), so it appears no-one there expecting anything. No messages rec’d up to say 2.00 p.m. F/Lt Cooper assumed duties in Trumble’s absence. Yet Deakin en route for Cania stopped before reaching Rethimno & told that place in Goon hands, returning to Herak. Found it under fire.

At Aja Dekka (?) found Argyle & Suth. in evident state of readiness and anticipation. On way there we stopped to inspect possible landing strip sites. At A.D. inspected several though later on arrival of Deak. and Martin (?) Trumble refused to show them selected (?) site, giving me the impression that they had already been given particulars of it.

After lunch at A.D. we went 4 or 5 miles west still looking for sites. About 2.30 we began return to Herak, but had not gone far when we were suddenly attacked by e. aircraft (at about 800 ft.). Proceeded on way after their passing, having stopped and left car to take cover ‘neath trees, but in hills NE of A.D. were again attacked and had to take cover. A mile or 2 further on, hurriedly pulling in under cover of trees by roadside to take cover again car stopped in swampy patch. On trying to re-start wheel slip etc. Took us an age to get her out (during which we were again visited by e. aircraft). Proceeded across bridge and down towards Herak. Stopped by roadside under cover for rest at about 4.30 for hour. To us came RAF lorry (with petrol tins cargo) towing another, reporting that they’d been bombed just outside Herak. by Goons and that parachutists had landed and retreat cut off All returned to Aya Dekka ….. HQ in olive grove just W. of village near St. Titus church ruins.”


He was eventually captured and flown to Athens under armed guard in a Junkers 52. From there he went by rail in a cattle truck across Jugoslavia and Austria to the Dulag Luft transit and interrogation camp near Frankfurt-am-Main. I think it was immediately after that that he was moved briefly to Marlag und Milag Nord, which seems odd as I believe the camp was for Merchant Navy prisoners.


I'll include some more details of his later activities in another post.

[Phil_R]

Wander00, as your dad was in the London Fire Service during the Blitz

...as was my other grandfather!

(Well, part-time, anyway. Too old, but volunteered and ended up working on fire boats).

[teeteringhead]

Too old, but volunteered and ended up working on fire boats Nothing wrong with that - they played their part, not least in pumping Thames water for the fire appliances near the River - normal mains tended not to work when bombed!

And then one of them - Massey Shaw - went to Dunkirk and back 3 times......

[papajuliet]

My father had what could be said to be a "good war". He was an RAF pre-war regular and spent much of his time opening up RAF airfields in the west country.
An uncle, a Lancaster pilot, was killed on a Berlin raid - he, memorably, said that he didn't like flying at night.
Other uncles were in the RAF and the Army. One [ a gunner ] who came out of Calais in 1940, then went to North Africa, Sicily and Italy. He would never speak of his experiences.
Another [ older uncle ] was in WW1. With the arrogance of youth I once asked what it was like - he roared "WHAT WAS IT LIKE, WHAT WAS IT LIKE....!!" - I quickly shut up.
My father in law was an infantryman [ Desert Rats ]. He went through Alamein, North Africa, Sicily, Italy, back to the UK, then Normandy through NW Europe into Germany. For years afterwards he suffered "flashbacks". It took a great deal to get him talking about his experiences and, even then, the memories were of the humour.Interestingly he respected the Germans, thought little of the Italians and even less of the Yanks.
What I also found interesting was that they all, without exception, came out of the war as committed Labour supporters and it seems to have been their experience of the officer class, at close quarters, which made them like that.

[Wander00]

TTH (and others)


Books are


The Longest Night (10/11 May 1941 (Pub 2005) - the "City" Blitz - ISTR it was a night of an equinoctal low Spring Tide, and there were huge problems getting water to the appliances, which is where the fire boats came in!


Firemen at War 1981 by Neil Wallington


Fire! Fire! (First Pub 1944) by Jack While


All interesting stuff. Unfortunately there are few records of the Fire Brigade and firemen and women, in London at least, as ironically the records were destroyed by fire!


interestingly, and for me amazing, my Mum who at the start of the war was 28, and was very slight, and short in stature, was a Firewatcher, and used to go round putting out incendiaries that fell in Pinner and Eastcote - and all I recall is a slightly nervous woman who would not say boo to a goose. Clearly there was some steel there somewhere!

[tdracer]

Pontius Navigator (your #66) and Bergerie1 (#68),

Nor had I (I was in India at the time). The casualties (Allied and Japanese civilian) of a seaborne invasion of Japan would have far exceeded even the horrific total caused by the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Japanese home armies would certainly have fought to the last man and the last round. I had a personal interest - one of the Allied casualties might well have been me !


Precious few people who lived through WWII (and were old enough to understand what was going on) have questioned the decision to drop the atomic bombs. My dad was training for the invasion of Japan at the time the bombs were dropped - he was a platoon leader for what was to be the second wave of the initial landings. They had been told to expect over 80% casualties :eek:. Dropping those bombs likely saved millions of lives.

[Bergerie1]

tdracer,

Not only the high level of casualties to be expected in the invasion, but also, all POWs would most probably would have been killed. See the link here:- https://www.forces-war-records.co.uk/prisoners-of-war-of-the-japanese-1939-1945

This is what is said in the introduction:- "After the war, it became clear that there existed a high command order – issued from the War Ministry in Tokyo – to kill all remaining POWs."

[Phil_R]

And then one of them - Massey Shaw - went to Dunkirk and back 3 times......

I don't believe my grandfather was on board for the Dunkirk trips, but that's the boat.

P

[Danny42C]

papajuliet (your #78),

It was widely believed that it was the troop's votes in '45 (at home and overseas) that put Attlee and the Labour Government in office.

They adored Churchill - but not the Conservatives !

Danny.

[Danny42C]

Buster11 (your #75),

A perfect example of the "fog of war !"

Danny.

[Robert Cooper]

Getting back to the OP, my dad never said much either. He was with Bomber Command for the duration and did not say much about operations except how much he liked the commonwealth crews he was with. They always shared their food parcels from home with the Brits who had nothing. The Salvation Army always turned out with tea and sandwiches at the aircraft dispersals when ops were on, no matter how bad the weather, even though the NAFI never appeared!!

Bob C

[Danny42C]

tdracer (your #56),
...One thing claimed in the book was that researchers had discovered that well over half of the soldiers in WWII (all sides) were sufficiently adverse to killing that they either didn't fire their weapons, or intentionally fired to not hit anyone. I thought this rather hard to believe so I asked my dad about it. His response was strange - along the line of 'that's a very interesting claim'. I got the very distinct feeling it was something he really didn't want to talk about. Knowing my dad, I find it hard to believe that it applied directly to him...
Longer ago than I can clearly remember, I read a statement somewhere that, in WWI, roughly 700 rounds of small arms ammo were fired for every single casualty from rifle or MG fire. Don't ask me how the figures were arrived at !

Even today, we see scenes of fire-fight on TV, in which a chap pokes his head out of cover, blasts a dozen rounds off a Kalashnikov in the general direction of the opposition, then dives back in again with absolutely no idea of aiming at all.

Conversely, my Dad told me of the "Mad Minute" they were trained for in WW1. This consisted of taking up a fixed position (kneeling on one leg, or prone), then firing 15 aimed shots with the SMLE in one minute at a visible enemy, then rising, advancing or retreating a few yards as circumstances directed, then having another "Mad Minute", and so on.

I believe that this tactic, during the Mons Retreat, caused the advancing Germans to hugely over-estimate the number of machine guns our Expeditionary Force had at its disposal.

Danny.

[Robert Cooper]

tdracer

most air gunners of my experience shot to kill. Don't know about WWI, but in WWII that was the aim of the game.

Bob C

[Buster11]

After my mother received the initial printed card from Germany, on which new PoWs simply filled in their name, rank and service number, we started to get letter cards from my father. All were, of course, censored both by the Germans and by the British before they arrived on our doormat. My father wrote all his letters from prison camp in a very neat upper-case script about 1.5mm high, and occasionally words or lines had been very thoroughly blocked out by a censor. A few months after he was captured we received a small bundle of his letters, accompanied by a note from the British censor saying that it was believed that my father was sending coded information, and asking if my mother could help. My godmother was staying with us at the time and the two of them puzzled over the letters for some time. She noticed that several of his letters mentioned that he was trying to change his writing and asked if we had noticed any change; eventually we found that if we sighted along each line of script an occasional letter was fractionally higher than the others and these larger letters formed the messages.
My father was in Oflag Xc, near Lübeck, then Oflag VIB at Warburg and Oflag XXIB at Schubin. From October 1942 until almost the end of the War he was in Stalag Luft 3 at Sagan, between Berlin and Wrocław, or Breslau as it then was known. After a while some of his letters had references to the activities of “Mr. Delvet and his friends”; some told us that “50 of D.D’s students had failed their exams”. My parents were very keen on the countryside and wildlife and I was brought up on Beatrix Potter books among many others. My mother soon realised that these references were to a character in one of the Potter books, Diggory Delvet, who was a mole, and that my father was telling us of tunneling attempts, most of which were unsuccessful. In early 1943 he told us that “..some of Rainey’s old friends” had arrived, though segregated from the RAF compound and that a voluntary collection had been organised for them. “Rainey” was one of my parents’ friends who had communist leanings, and this told us that Soviet prisoners had arrived. He also wrote that it was true that they had snow on their boots; after the War we learned that those first Soviet prisoners had no shelter that winter and that the RAF prisoners had thrown food and clothing into their compound to try to keep them alive.
For a while after the unsuccessful Dieppe landing British PoWs were handcuffed, apparently in retaliation for the use of handcuffs on German prisoners by the Canadian troops bringing them back to the UK.
One of his letters told us that he was doing five days solitary confinement in “the cooler” for being late on one of the morning parades at Oflag XX1B; so many had been late that it was not till he was in Stalag Luft 3 that he served his sentence, for there had been a long queue of ‘offenders’. He wrote that his mistake was to give his right name (“but don’t tell Buster11”); most of the others gave names like Crippen and M. Mouse and were never found when there became space for them to start their sentence.
My father organised art classes for prisoners and made a ‘samizdat’-type manual for students; he did posters for the many plays put on in the camp theatre, some of which the German staff attended, little suspecting the activities that took place under the stage. One of his letters mentioned that he’d been making papier maché masks for one of the plays and “for some of D.D’s activities”. Dummies were sometimes taken on the morning parades to hide the fact that there were fewer prisoners in camp than were counted the previous evening. Forging passes and documents and making fake German rubber stamps from shoe soles or sometimes as potato prints was another of his activities. He developed a technique of glazing the faked photos on passes by using repeated layers of saliva.
Throughout his time in prison camp he sketched and painted and he brought home numerous sketchbooks covering all sorts of camp activities. He made the mistake of lending some to the makers of the film The Wooden Horse, based on the famous escape from Stalag Luft 3; none were ever returned. I leant some others to the authors of a book on another escape, Flak and Ferrets, to help their research, and unfortunately the thatched cottage where one lived burnt down before the book was finished and most of the remainder of the sketchbooks were lost.
As the rapid Soviet advance approached Sagan in early 1945 the Germans marched the prisoners westward; with some notice of this my father had made a sledge. My father was one of the older officers, at 45, and conditions on the march were very bad; it was mid-winter and one of the younger ones, Tony Ingram, was on the point of just lying down in the snow and waiting to be shot, but my father repeatedly urged him on and for many years after the War we received a Christmas card from him. Prisoners were housed in barns and disused factories overnight; in one of the few letters we received after this my father mentioned that as they were marched through villages this was the first time he had seen any children for several years.
Eventually they reached Stalag IIIA at Luckenwalde. We got very few letters from that camp, the last being dated March 25th, 1945; presumably the chaotic conditions meant that PoW mail was a pretty low priority. His few letters from Jan. 11th onwards were received around a year later and stamped “Recovered PoW Mail from Europe Recently Received by British P.O”. We also received a couple of my mother’s letters to my father, sent in late 1944; they were stamped “This letter formed part of undelivered mails which fell into the hands of the Allied forces in Germany. It is undeliverable as addressed, and is therefore returned to you”.
Stalag IIIA had held prisoners from a number of nations and these included the USSR; one of my father’s watercolours was of a sumptuously decorated Russian Orthodox church that Soviet prisoners had created from one of the huts. In view of the fact that some sections of Stalag IIIA had been used earlier in the War during attempts by the Germans to recruit units formed of Allied prisoners I wonder whether improved conditions had been provided for those the Germans had hoped to ‘turn’.
In mid-April the Soviet army liberated the camp; my father’s sketchbooks included drawings of Soviet soldiers and he mentioned that there were several women in the unit. There were problems with immediate repatriation, though, and by May 7th the prisoners were still confined to camp. Food rations were inadequate and as well as the 16,000 prisoners of mixed nationality there was an influx of Italian refugees. I have the letter from the Senior British Officer to the Russian Commandant for Repatriation outlining the problems; in it he demands immediate repatriation and resigns his responsibility for all but the British prisoners. Eventually my father, along with other RAF prisoners, was moved to Halle airfield, from which he was flown in a USAAF C-47 to Cosford, where he was de-loused, provided with a de-mob suit and from which he finally came back to my mother and me, after five and a half years absence.

[Danny42C]

Buster11,

What a wonderful record of your father's POW days ! And what a simple and ingenious way to smuggle information past the German censors - but I have to say that they must have had little training in, or experience of cryptography, to be taken in by such a basic ruse. Alone the fact that:
... My father wrote all his letters from prison camp in a very neat upper-case script about 1.5mm high...
instead of cursive script, which any educated man would be expected to use, should have alerted them at once - and that the British censor had to appeal to your mother for help does not inspire much confidence in their abilities, either.

The Long March west in the depths of a mid-European winter must have been a terrible affair. When I was on the ATC School at Shawbury, one of my fellow instructors had taken part in that March as a POW. He related how one chap was obliged to squat in the roadside snow to defecate, only to receive a volley of abuse and threats from a guard (or so he interpreted it). A friend more literate in German assured him that the guard only had his best interests at heart - he was warning of the danger of piles from contact with the snow ! (I do not know what medical basis there is for this).

The loss of his watercolours is a tragedy; I would have thought that any surviving ones should have an arrangement whereby they eventually find a home in the IWM. And I'm surprised that the USAAF C-47 which repatriated him made landfall in Cosford. I thought that Manston and East Anglian airfields were used for the purpose, as that enabled the "rescue" transports and bombers to make more trips in the day. Perhaps the C-47 was going on to (?) Burtonwood, and had picked him up "ad hoc" as they had room for a few more in the back.

All these are fascinating detais which flesh out the wonderful stories on this and other Threads.

Thank you, Buster11. Danny.

[West Coast]

Buster

Amazing story. I hope for your families sake someone's captured (beyond PPRUNE) his stories. It should be mandatory reading for the Buster family for ages to come.

One of my greatest regrets was not recording my father's story.

[papajuliet]

According to the Cosford history book, 106 PRC [Personnel Reception Unit] was formed on 7 March 1945 to deal with ex-POWs from Germany. The original plan was that they would be flown into nearby Seighford or Wheaton Aston. In the event the majority arrived at Wing or Westcott from where they were dispatched by train to Cosford Halt railway station.

[Wander00]

We should not forget those who made it to the end of the war, but did not survive to enjoy the peace. On 3 December a number of us from RAFA Sud Ouest joined the French in commemorating the 28 crew and passengers in a Liberator returning to UK for Christmas. the aircraft was struck by lightning and crashed near Rochefort on 3 Dec 45. they were not the only service personnel so lost.

[teeteringhead]

And the Cosford Hospital (of blessed memory :E) was used for POWs so flying direct would have been a good idea, no?

From this (https://www.forces-war-records.co.uk/units/3544/raf-hospital-cosford/) website:
This major military hospital was built on the site of RAF Cosford in 1940 and used the name RAF Cosford Military Hospital.

As a major military hospital, RAF Cosford military hospital played a major role in prisoners-of-war repatriation at the end of the War. Dispite its planned life of only 10 years,the hospital remained open until 31 December 1977.

[larssnowpharter]

My father didn't join the RAF until after WW2; he had been in a neutral Air Force during the latter half of the War. His brother was, however, lost on the Burmah Railroad but unfortunately the family has split up over the years and we have no details of him.

My father in law was in the Black Watch and was wounded at Dunkirk. A shrapnel wound in the scrotum he said. Later in the was he was posted to Iceland and basically sat out the war there. At least that's his story.

More interesting are two other characters I knew quite well and met during an exchange tour with the Italian Air Force.

The first was a young lieutenant in the Alpini (the Italian Mountain Division). He fought with the Germans on the Eastern Front against the Russians. We would often sit over a meal and he would tell the the harrowing stories of what went on. Eventually his unit was left to cover a German retreat and he was captured.

He spent 5 years in camps in Siberia before making his way home to N Italy. He even bought some of his men back with him. His family thought he had been killed until he knocked on the door of his house.

He was awarded the Silver Star for the work he did helping his remaining men survive in captivity. A remarkable gentlemen!

I attended his funeral and met his son, a lawyer, a discovered he knew nothing about the detail of his father's adventures. I thought the son deserved to know a bit more and filled in some of the gaps at least as related by his father. I hope this did not betray any confidences.

The other aquaintance, alas I could not call him a friend, was in the Italian Air Force as a pilot and retired as a Colonel. He was from a semi-aristocatic background and flew throughout WW2 and after the Italian surrender.

Strangely enough he also flew one of the captured Spitfires in either Germany or France.

He took great pleasure in showing me his logbooks that recorded, as I recall, a total of 11 Allied aircraft destroyed mostly with a Macchi 205 although there was one in a C200 while in Sicily.

After the Italian surrender he continued to fly mostly from Italy to Yugoslavia.

His recollections given to me in his study surrounded by souvenirs of his service were lucid, laced with fascist propoganda ("our pilots were more skilled, you just had more aircraft") and backed up with documentation. I wonder what happened to it all.

Lastly, from an earlier conflict, my grandfather was an engineering officer in the RNVR and survived both the Battle of the Falkland Islands and the Battle of Jutland. Alas, he died when I was 9 but he was a keen photographer (unusual for the day) and his albums have been giver to museums. The few photos left show flashes on the horizon, charts and survivors being picked up.

[Buster11]

WC. I sent most of the material about my father's wartime activities to the BBC's WW2 People's War on-line archive a few years ago. There's a mass of material there and it's actually a fascinating archive, dealing as much with the less dramatic but no less interesting events in the UK as with the sharp end of the War.

[rlh19190]

I just acted you to let you know that he is still alive and has some incredible stories to tell. he is an incredible man! There was a well known RAF helicopter pilot in the 1970, Alex Tarwid. His father was a Count and was in charge of the Polish railway system when Germany invaded Poland. Alex was high borne and was an officer in the Polish cavalry. They didn't do very well against the Panzers and eventually after being routed he trekked through Russia and Persia and joined the Royal Air Force.

He married a charming British girl and stayed with the RAF after the war; which was probably just as well. He never talked about the invasion of Poland; possibly through shame or other reasons. He was good at explaining the sign language for operating undercarriages, flaps etc. but never described what happened during that period.

I don't know whether he is still alive, I hope he is, but what a story he could tell.

[oldpax]

My dad joined underage in the Northumberland fusiliers,sent to France and ended up outside Metz.When the Nazis started their "Blitzkrieg"they were caught napping and started the retreat to Dunkirk.Dad complained that they were left behind but got back by boat from further down the coast .Sent home on leave and then sent to Blackpool to recieve new equipment and of on a troopship to north africa where he was captured at Tobruk.Sent by boat to Italy and on to Germany and POW for the rest of the war.His older brother was a POW in changi(hated the japanese and would not have anything "made in Japan in the house"!Another brother was RN(he left the local dredger for the RN and it was sunk by mine the day after).Younger brother was in Korea!My mother and aunt were in the aux fire service and I was in the RAF !!Dad only ever spoke about this when the "man from the Pru"came with his superintendant who had been in the Cheshire regt and dad and he had been virtually next to each other all the way through the war!!!!Danny 42c,all the family are from Amble!!!

[FantomZorbin]

I just acted you to let you know that he is still alive and has some incredible stories to tell. he is an incredible man!rih19190
If you are able, please introduce Alex Tarwid to the "Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II (http://www.pprune.org/military-aviation/329990-gaining-r-f-pilots-brevet-ww-ii.html)" thread ... the title belies the fact that this is the cyber-crew room for all such aircrew (and others!) and his experiences would enrich the richest aviation forum. He would be so welcome to join in, the armchairs are cosy, coffee excellent and the company unique.
FZ

[Treble one]

My paternal grandfather was a gunner in the RA (I think-possibly DLI though)-he was definitely on 24 pounders-I believe they were known as 'nine mile snipers'.


He was attached to the 4th Indian Division (they didn't have their own artillery)-so was part of the 8th Army in the Deserts of north Africa, and then up into Italy.


He was injured at Monte Cassino and invalided home for a short period-my father was born whilst he was away, so when a strange man came to their front door when he was a toddler.....he didn't recognise his own dad.....


I never knew him that well as he died when I was a youngster. I do know that we still have his ceremonial kukri that he was allowed to wear on parade because of his attachment to the Indian Division.

[Danny42C]

I'm surprised and gratified that this old Thread of mine has been resurrected from the dead and given a new lease of life. Thank you, rlh19190 (#95), and oldpax (#96) - [yes, Amble is only 64 mi. up the coast from us and so likely to be even more cold and miserable on a day like today !]

Sadly, many of the Dads have gone to their rewards by now (and the rest are not far off), but among all the nostalgia, please spare a moment to read my #1 again, and consider the point I was making. Is it valid ? (any survivors of WWII alive, did you think along these lines - or is it just me ?)
oldpax:
...Dad only ever spoke about this when the "man from the Pru"came with his superintendant who had been inthe Cheshire regt and dad and he had been virtually next to each other all the way through the war!!!!...
Reminds me of the time when I joined Customs & Excise after retiring from RAF. My district manager ("Surveyor" in Customs parlance), one Jack Reddy, turned out to have been a sergeant in 81st (West African) Divn. in the Arakan (Burma) in '43-'45 !

All the old names came tumbling out - Maungdaw, Buthidong, the Tunnels, the "Okeydoke" (Ngakyedouk) Pass etc. He was very appreciative of our efforts with the "Vengeance". Not much Government work got done that morning !

Danny.

[tarantonight]

Just back from another Somme visit.

An absolute must in my humble view.

TN.