fredjhh

The Milan Raid referred to was on 14th/15th February, 1943. My great friend throughout training, Sgt Ivan Hazard, was the Pilot. One crew member baled out. The Navigator was awarded the DSO, (NOT the DFC in the Snaith Knight's extract.) Three members of the crew were awarded the CGM.
Ivan Hazard and George Dove DFM, were recommended for Victoria Crosses but instead received Immediate CGMs. Really outstanding awards for so many members of one crew. Ivan was killed in a flying accident in March 1943 and he is buried in Wolvercote Cemetery, Oxford.
fredhh.

tow1709

Earlier in these memoirs I mentioned how easy the use of the undercarriage control was on the Typhoon. My familiarity with this now led to my undoing.

On 30th June 1945 I took up one of our new Spitfire IX's for 'experience on type'. As on the last occasion that I had flown a Spitfire, I was impressed by the lack of vibration. After 20 minutes I returned to base and commenced my circuit. Everything was going well; I slowed down on the downwind leg and selected wheels-down. On base, I throttled back and selected flaps down and fine pitch. I floated gently over the threshold of the runway and eased back on the stick. I felt the tail wheel touch and a few seconds later the nose dropped and I was looking at a bent propeller blade whilst the aircraft slid along the runway somewhat noisily on its belly. NO WHEELS!

Looking back it was obvious what had happened. Being so used to the Typhoon, I had just flipped the undercarriage lever down, expecting it to lock, not remembering that on the Spitfire you had to physically moved the lever down AND sideways to engage the bottom lock position. I learnt later that I was doubly unlucky in that the ACP (Airfield Control Pilot) had been watching a Miles Master which landed before me and by the time he saw that I had not got any wheels down, he was too late to do anything about it. An eye witness said that he had leapt into the ACP van as soon as he saw me, grabbed the Verey pistol and came out again, firing the pistol practically horizontally as he shot through the door, but the red Verey light passed just behind me. I had checked the u/c warning lights as I came downwind but the sun was directly behind me and I must have taken the reflection as the green lights. Needless to say, I felt a right Charlie sitting in the middle of the airfield whilst I waited for the jeep to arrive to take me back to Flying Control.

Of course, an inquiry was held and as a result my log book was scheduled to be endorsed 'Gross carelessness'. I was also grounded from then on whilst awaiting posting. In fact I did not fly again until Sept. 25th. After being grounded until the end of August I was sent down to Fighter Command Headquarters at Stanmore in Middlesex to receive my posting. I expected to be sent off to a target-towing job which was considered the lowest of the low posting. However, when I arrived it was very obvious that nobody knew that I was due for a naughty-boy posting since I was treated quite normally and the chap in the posting office even asked me if I had any preferences. Incidentally my logbook endorsement also never caught up with me!

I deemed it expedient to try to get out of the country again and I asked if there were any non run-of-the-mill postings available, preferably abroad. He thought a minute and then said "I know, we'll post you to 130 squadron in Norway. They are equipped with Spitfire IX's but don't fly them much as they have other duties". He refused to say more but said "I think you might enjoy it". I reported to Northolt and was flown by Dakota to Norway, landing at Oslo. I remember the trip mainly because the pilot set 'George' the autopilot and then he and the navigator came back into the cargo area and we sat around a packing case playing cards, with the pilot or navigator occasionally going up into the cockpit to check things during the 2 and a bit hours it took us to make the journey.

At Oslo airport I was directed to the RTO (Rail Transport Officer) and issued with a ticket to Kristiansand. Also at the RTO's office I met another pilot being posted to the same destination. He was Swedish and had volunteered early in the war, and was one of the very few Swedish members of the RAF. We travelled together for the two hour journey, he spoke faultless English and of course we talked in English as we travelled.

It was very amusing that, sitting opposite us were two attractive Norwegian girls who spent quite a lot of the time apparently talking about the two of us. As we left, my companion said something to them in Norwegian and my last view was of them blushing furiously. It seems that he had said that we had enjoyed their remarks, not mentioning that I of course was completely ignorant of the language. Swedish and Norwegian are sufficiently similar that my companion was quite able to converse with them. I never did find out his name and when we arrived at Kristiansand he was met by a different vehicle and whisked off somewhere else. I was met by a corporal who drove me the thirty five odd miles to the airfield which was only some two miles away as the crow flies on the other side of the fjord, but by road we had to go all the way round!

The thirty five miles was up the western side of the fjiord, across a bridge and down the Eastern side to the airfield. On all my future visits to the town I travelled by the ferry which plied regularly across the fjord ever hour.

I then officially joined No.130 squadron. After all the usual round of reporting to the various admin sections I had my interview with the C.O. (No mention of the Spitfire prang!) and met the rest of the pilots in the mess. Almost immediately one of the chaps showed me a copy of the “Daily Sketch”, a few days old, and lo and behold, there I was pictured with my foster brother Eric and Wg Cdr Bill Brown, accepting the flag at the ATC Parade in Harrow during my last leave! The headline however gave me a jolt, it said something like “Impostor receives dedicated flag”. It turned out that my acquaintance “Wg Cdr Bill Brown, DSO, DFC & bar, AFC” had never been in the RAF at all!!! He had been turned down on medical grounds and had commenced his deception almost immediately. He had been very circumspect in giving himself promotions and medals in sequence over the years and had even fooled his mother, with whom he was living. She was not too well educated and accepted his stories of being based near London which allowed him to live at home. He even went so far as to leave home in uniform and take with him his holdall containing his set of civilian clothes into which he changed, probably in a public toilet somewhere, before proceeding to his job as a bank clerk!

What had finally led to his unmasking was when he overreached himself by attending the end of course party at Tangmere Fighter Leader’s School where he was thrown in contact with some genuine Battle of Britain pilots. Some of them got suspicious and started enquiries which culminated in his unmasking just after I had left England. The newspaper merely reported his arrest. I never heard any more, I was not called as a witness and I don’t even know if he was brought to trial or what happened after that. I only know that he must have immersed himself completely in his assumed role because he fooled a lot of people, including me! He should have realized that every genuine Battle of Britain pilot was at least aware of some of the names of the others!


[This story made the national newspapers in October 1945 - see link below... tow]

Alan Allport's website: Saturday, 6th October, 1945

As I mentioned earlier in this thread, Peter's eyesight does not now let him use a computer easily. If you have enjoyed reading his memoirs, and there are still a few more instalments to come, send him a Christmas (or New Year) card and tell him so. Addressed c/o his daughter: Mrs Rowena Fuller, Le Fourneau, 21430 Liernais, France will find him. TOW

ancientaviator62

Tow 1709,
Christmas card sent as requested, many thanks to yourself and Peter for the rivetting tale.

kookabat

...and one from me as well. There's some fantastic history on this thread!

tow1709

Having endured the ribbing I received for my unwitting part in the deception played by the so-called Wg Cdr Brown, I was accepted into the squadron and actually flew again on 25th September 1945. I did 35 minutes in a Spitfire IX for ‘Refresher Local Flying’. The next day I spent 1hr 25mins on an Air-Sea rescue search. I continued one trip per day, doing formation flying, aerobatics, and cross-country trips, until October the 5th when I started doing what the main job of 130 Squadron seemed to be, and that was ferrying German aircraft around.

Here I should explain that Kristiansand Airfield was staffed almost entirely by the original Luftwaffe occupants. Only the "Political" officers had been removed. Although there was a ‘’no-fraternisation’’ rule, it was virtually ignored and as soon as I found out which of the German pilots spoke English, I made a point of striking up conversations. It soon appeared that most of the pilots were more interested in flying than in politics and were quite happy that the Political Officer had been removed. We had many discussions about the relative merits of various aircraft. I was interested to learn that they thought that the Typhoon was a dangerous opponent in air-to-air combat whereas I thought that it performed very badly as a fighter!

On October 5th 1945 I was given dual instruction in a Fiesler Storch aircraft, a 40 minute trip to Lister, and I flew the aircraft back to base. The next day, I had a further familiarization flight in the Storch, this time 45 minutes solo. From then on, I only flew a Spitfire twice and during November 1945 managed to fly other German aircraft - notably a Messerschmitt Bf 109 and a Focke Wulf 190!

It was a long time ago, but I can clearly recall some of the impressions that these German aircraft left with me. The Fiesler Storch was truly an amazing aircraft. It was slow, ugly and noisy BUT it could keep airborne at the incredibly slow air speed of about 20 mph. I recall that on my first take-off I taxied into wind, put down 15° of flap, opened the throttle and after rolling forward what seemed to be a just few feet I was airborne. Landing it was a dream since the undercarriage, which was fixed, drooped down in flight like stork’s legs (hence the name) and there was a good metre or more of slack to take up before the weight of the aircraft was fully taken up by the wheels. Thus you could more or less fly the aircraft slowly down towards the ground and only close the throttle and ‘flare out’ after the wheels had touched the ground. I recall that on one flight when there was a fairly strong wind, I managed to slow down enough to actually fly backwards across the airfield. This was a thing that I also managed to do later with a Tiger Moth, but that is for a later chapter.

The Bf 109 and the F-W 190 trips were regrettably only of about 30 - 40 minutes duration each. The Bf 109 reminded me somewhat of a Hurricane to handle, whereas the F-W 190 was again a new experience. The noise and vibration were reminiscent of the Typhoon but there the similarity ended. The most noticeable thing was the incredible lightness of the aileron controls. It seemed that you had only to think of banking for a turn, then you were doing it!

Even on the short flight I had, I could not resist trying a roll with the result that I did two rotations before I managed to level off. I have often thought since that, having flown both the Spitfire and the F-W 190 that it should have been fairly easy for a German pilot to escape from a following Spitfire by rolling violently into an opposite turn. Although the Spitfire could turn inside the F-W 190 the rate of roll on the Spitfire was a good bit slower and the German pilot could be away before the Spitfire could line up again. This rate of roll would not be any great advantage in attacking and in those circumstances the superior rate of turn of the Spitfire would be an advantage.

The squadron did very little flying otherwise, since there was a shortage of tyres, and the rough concrete surface of the runway was very hard on the smooth tyres of the Spitfires. We worked more or less office hours and did nothing at weekends. Consequently I spent some time in Kristiansand socialising.

More soon... TOW

Brian Abraham

Australian Flying: Mosquito Pilot - Col Griffin

Mosquito Pilot - Col Griffin

15 Apr 2010

Flightpath Volume 21 Number 3

WWII RAAF Mosquito pilot Col Griffin - still flying today - shares some of his memories with Kathy Mexted and tells how a wartime recruitment poster set his life on a dramatic and exciting new course.

An Adelaide railway station poster headlined: I’m going to join the RAAF. Are you coming? caught the eye of a 21 year old Col Griffin. Quickly sold on the idea, Col says it took him a while to “make up the academic stage”, but once enlisted he commenced initial training locally at Victor Harbour. “I walked through that, and then went to learn flying at Parafield, soloing in 8 hours 25 minutes. There were some bright arses that went solo in 6:20, but often that was because they had good weather. Others had worse weather and never soloed at all. The system couldn’t wait for them.

“We got through, and while most of the blokes went off to Canada, half a dozen of us went over to Geraldton in WA to fly Avro Ansons. I loved Geraldton, it was such a beautiful place. I was commissioned off course as a ‘Pilot Officer’ (he says, waving his arms in self mockery). “I came from Strathalbyn in South Australia, where I was nothing but a lad in a dusty country town. Within twelve months I was a ‘Pilot Officer’ and I had a uniform, and I had a cap, and boy - was I up myself!” says Col, laughing at the memory of his transformation.

“Within 12 weeks, I was aboard TSS Ceramic bound for England with about 105 flying hours under my belt. We crossed the Pacific, through the Panama Canal, Newport News, New York City and then Halifax where we waited for a convoy before sailing off across the Atlantic. Boy, was I glad to get to England. The U Boats were sinking ships everywhere, and by the time we got there I thought to myself, ‘I’m never going to survive this bloody war.’ (On December 6, 1942, the liner was sunk by U 515 en route to Australia from Britain. She was carrying 656 people as well as a cargo which, because it was war-time, included bombs and ammunition. Only one passenger survived.)

“We were entrained at Liverpool then sat around for five weeks at Bournemouth until they could decide what to do with us. We were interviewed as to what role we wanted to play in the war. They said to me ‘you’re too tall to be a gunner, and you’re not smart enough to be a navigator, how would you like to be a pilot?’ and I said ‘well that’s what I joined for.’ Well everybody wanted to be a ‘Fighter Pilot’ and nobody wanted to be a bomber pilot because the rumour was that it was a pretty dangerous job.

“I was keen to fly the Beaufighter but they told me ‘We don’t know if we can do that, but we’ve got lots of vacancies on Lancasters,’ and I said ‘well if that’s the case then, OK. I don’t mind.’ - So Lancasters it was.”

The next move was to Spitalgate in Grantham where Col learnt to fly Airspeed Oxfords before moving on to Charter Hall in Scotland to fly the Blenheim Mk.I, Mk.IV and the Mk.V or Bisley, and he recalls: “God it was cold in Scotland. I reckon the Bisley was one of the few aeroplanes that would get bird strike from behind. Then they introduced me to the Beaufighters. They were built with radial engines but there was a shortage of these, so they put Merlin engines in them and it became a dog. Once you got it flying, it was nice plane, but it was a dog on the ground. I lost it one day on landing. Went across the middle of the airfield and came out the other side. I went clean through all the vege gardens, and it took me all day to wash the mud off. I was so glad to get out of there.”

Col’s next posting was to 456 RAAF Squadron at Valley on Isle of Anglesey, Wales, where there were Beaufighters. There was also two Mosquitos being re-equipped and Col recalls: “…so I got an endorsement on the Mosquito. It was fast and smooth - the latest and popular. I was one of the lucky few. Here we were posted to Middle Wallop, based between Salisbury and Andover in Hampshire for three or four months, then back to Colerne in Somerset, Fairwood Common, Wales, then RAF Ford.

“By then the allies were grooming themselves for the Second Front, the Americans were flying over Germany, and the Lancaster force was becoming immense. This is when the Germans realised they had been foolish in not developing a heavy bomber force. Compared to Lancasters the Mosquito was like an eagle to fly. Lancasters were being built in the hundreds and the US were flying massive B-17 daylight raids. Being an intruder Squadron it wasn’t just night fighting, as Germans were getting a bit sparse with heavy bombing on Canterbury and destroying cities and people, it was all coming to an end.

Col recalls; “The Germans were building up a night fighter force and they had thousands of night fighters based in Western Europe to oppose British bombers. My Squadron was involved in intruder work. Our duty was to fly over their fields and make a nuisance of ourselves. Drop flares and bombs or shoot up planes on the ground. Our mere presence didn’t terrorise them, but it did scare them. They knew we had hundreds of Mosquitoes and we could put them out any time.”

“It was dangerous, because you never knew how high above the ground you were. We’d fly over at about 10,000 ft and come down to around 1,000 ft. The German airfields were defended with multiple guns. Some of the intruders would bomb runways as well. This continued until the end of the war. By that time I was based at Bradwell Bay near Chelmsford.

“I have nothing but praise for the Mosquito. It had two engines, which made a single engine landing tricky, because it was so streamlined. With one operational engine, when the undercarriage was lowered, you needed a lot of power. Recovery took 1,000 ft, so if you were below that, then you were committed to the landing.

“I only had one single engine landing and it was due to a radiator coolant failure. Coolant leaked out, the temp went up and I shut the engine down. It was in daylight and a piece of cake, because at the time I had experience and been trained for such an event, so I knew exactly what to do.

“I flew 650 hours in the Mosquito. That included Squadron work and training other pilots. About 250 were combat hours. The first time I departed for combat I was frightened as hell. The thought of it was a bit worrying because you had to make a flight plan, and navigational instruments were rudimentary, also we relied heavily on dead reckoning. My navigator, HP ‘Hoppy’ Williams, would plan it on the table. It would always be a black night, and I’d fly the flight plan that he gave me, and he’d map read as much as possible. He was very good, and once we got going, all fear was gone.”

Col then adds “Between 1939 and 1945, fully trained and operational aircrew deaths totalled approximately 75,000. Sixty percent were bomber command personnel. One’s demise came rather cleanly and relatively in the final sense, permanently. No horror, no drama, in most cases they simply did not return from operations to their billets.

“On one occasion I was shot at, the aircraft was damaged, and the radar operator wounded by flak in his buttocks. It came up through the bottom of the aeroplane and through the parachute on which he was sitting.

“We were based at Arundel, in Sussex, at RAF Station Ford. It was right on the coast where many shot-up aircraft landed with wounded on board, often including the poor rear airgunner shot dead and frozen stiff with the winter wind whistling through his busted turret. What a hell of a job getting his body out for identification and recording by our Squadron Doctor! The Americans suffered no less on their daily forays before the Mustang fighter could accompany them and mix with the enemy defenders.

“While I was stationed at Ford, I witnessed an incredible event. A damaged B-17 crash landed there one afternoon. Coming in at speed with one gear leg dangling, the pilot pushed his machine onto the ground, creating a spectacular cartwheel, followed by a thump and instant fire. The ground rescue services were on the spot in an instant, rescuing crew. Some were limping, some were OK, but one bloke who was on fire ran back into his blazing aircraft and died. Why? Who knows who could give a reason? For days, I wished that I’d not witnessed that moment. It was one of the most upsetting, inexplicable, graphic scenes I’ve ever witnessed. No wonder the horrors of W.W.I affected our Diggers well into the thirties. Poor buggers.”

As if war doesn’t provide enough drama and danger, Col managed to have one of his most memorable events occur on a day off. One morning he was approached by a young RAF flying officer who wanted to go to Liverpool to meet his girlfriend and Col recounts the event; “‘Will you fly me up?’ the young bloke asked. I said, ‘If they’ve got an aeroplane I will.’ As it was about a two-hour flight each way, we went over to the flying school and I said, ‘Can I have a Mosquito to fly this bloke to see his girlfriend? I’d love to have a bit of a fly alone on the return trip.’

“The WAAF said; ‘All the Mosquitos are occupied but we’ve got a Beaufort over there in the grass. We’ll drag it out and you can take it for a run.’ So we hauled it out of the long grass and got the old thing going. When we got to altitude, there was one hell of a crash from the starboard engine and all the cowling flew off, the prop went into fine pitch and the engine caught alight, so I shut it down to put the fire out. It shed three cylinders and I thought I’d die in the backside.

“I thought to myself ‘What am I doing here? Flying a bloke up to Liverpool and all he wants to do is meet his girlfriend and have a bit of a cuddle, and now we’re in fine pitch and losing altitude rapidly. Someone is either going to get hurt, or die, and that could be me!’ That’s when you wonder, ‘what is my mother going to think?’ and not panic. There was a cleared patch in the trees, so I put it down there but forgot to put the landing gear down. We came to rest in a field of sugar beet and, me with an engine cylinder in my lap. It had come through the side of the aircraft.

“We were out of that plane in a nano-second because the engine was red hot, and I thought it was going to go ‘whoosh’, and I’d have been onions. Anyway, we survived that and the beet farmer came and found us. My mate had a cut forehead and the farmers wife was a nurse. She only had a needle and cotton, so she dipped it in Dettol and stitched him up and washed the blood off his tunic before announcing to the ambulance ‘send him on his way to see his girlfriend’.”

We asked if the mate got to see the girl? Col replied with a great laugh: “Oh did he what! Wounded and all! Somebody from Cranfield came and retrieved me. I had the shimmy shakes.”

D Day
Recalling D Day, Col says “I was over the beach head at Omaha on the night of 5 June, 1944 – in preparation for the landings. We knew the allies were about to attempt to fight their way onto French shores. We had noticed a build up of forces - there was scarcely a leafy lane that didn’t have an article of war ready in it. We had also noticed the huge floating concrete caissons that were going to be towed to the invasion point and then scuttled to make a wharf.

“We found out about the invasion the night before, after the ships had already left. They were so thick; you could have stepped from one ship to another. It was a vast armada and the night flying squadrons were flying out over the channel looking for German bombers, but there were none. That was an anti-climax.

“Around that time it was fairly humdrum, except when we received the shot-up planes in desperate to land, including American Mitchells, Marauders and B-17s. A Mosquito landed short one night. He was using the rudimentary flying beam and got too low, hit the ground and the plane exploded. The wheel came off, jumped the roadway and killed an engineer. It was pretty wild.

After the War
“I flew over Germany about 3 weeks after the war ended and there wasn’t a factory or city that hadn’t been raped by air power. I came home with a total of 1,007 hours as a man who had willingly served his country right to the end.

“Our replacement Commanding Officer (after the preceding one was killed in a flying accident) Bob Cowper is still alive and living in Adelaide. There are very few of our squadron left. I think there is only about six aircrew.

“The journey home was very unpleasant. The ship was crowded with POW’s and only a few women. I landed back in Sydney and caught the train to Melbourne, then the beautiful Adelaide Express home to see mum and dad. That boat trip had knocked a lot out of me. I lost a lot of weight and learnt to smoke. I went through about a three-month period of depression, as I knew I would. After all that excitement, it’s one hell of a let down when you are demobbed. All that excitement, and all of a sudden ‘plonk’, back to Civvy Street – but you pick up the pieces. I loved England and its people. I think all servicemen probably suffered the same problems.”

Following his retirement from the RAAF in 1945, Col worked for Australian National Airlines (ANA), later Ansett ANA, and upon retirement spent ten years at a flying school in Melton. He says he found his old service flying jacket in an army disposal store in Adelaide once, but: “it was oil stained and dirty and held no appeal for me at the time. It was a time when everybody was fed up with the war, and the jacket didn’t seem to have any value, even sentimental value. I realise now I should have just told them I’d lost it and never handed it back.” His service boots have been worn out and long gone, and the only part of his kit to survive are his log books and tunic.

Col still flies upwards of 50 hours per year in his amateur-built high performance RV6, based at Kyneton in Central Victoria. He is an active member of the Kyneton Aero Club, and flies away for lunch on average every second weekend. Having lost touch with his sweetheart Doreen, during the war, they were only reunited in 1997 and have been married for ten years. Walking away from the hangar after doing some air-to-air photography in his RV6, Col was in high spirits and confided with a big smile, “I’m having the time of my life”. On 1 September, 2009 Col celebrated his 90th birthday by flying himself and his wife to Adelaide in their RV6.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I helped another chap, our company E & I engineer, Ed Groot, build the RV-6 and did the test flying on the aircraft. Ed subsequently sold it to Col.

pbeach

Boggie sent me the following photo (split into two parts by his scanner) which was with Stan Gibbon's stuff. We assume it meant something to him, and is probably related to before he joined 51 Sqdn... other than that we "know nothing", so if anybody would like to add any pertinent information it would be appreciated.

pbeach

cliffnemo

I have scanned and append below pages from the Haifax pilot’s notes which Fredjhh was kind enough to post to me. The first two pages are part of the list of contents to give you an idea of subjects covered. If any would like to see any of the pages, or ask any questions, I am quite happy to scan and post them. I also include a scan of the Beam approach page as we have been previously asked questions on this subject.

John Hunt (Elvington Halifax) informs me of a book just published entitled ‘Home is the Halifax’ I think he said the author is Ian Robinson, and describes the full history of the build.

Just found this in Google.
Home Is The Halifax is published by Grub Street and costs £20. Ian Robinson will launch the book at Sherburn airfield on August 12 and it can be pre-ordered through Amazon. I am having trouble copying the other two scans from Photobucket, wil post tomorrow.

ATTENTION, ATTENTION. KILLFROST PASTE ON ALL LEADING EDGES FOR TONIGHT.

Hipper

Pilot's Notes can be obtained for many aircraft here:

Flight Manuals: Aircraft and Helicopter Flight Manuals on CD

In the left column click 'Alphabetical Listing...' and then select the aircraft. They have listed 'Handley Page Halifax'.

I've bought CDs of the Vickers Valiant from them and I got exactly what they said.

Union Jack

VMT to Tow1709 and Brian Abraham for facilitating the wonderful input from Peter Brett and Col Griffin. Absolutely spellbinding stuff and, like so many others of us, I am most grateful to them for sharing their incredible experiences to add so vividly to the stirring contributions from Cliff, and Reg of blessed memory.

Thank you most warmly gentlemen all for that you have done - both "then" and now, and my best wishes to those who are fortunately still with us.

Jack

cliffnemo

Scans of Fred's Halifax pilots notes.
Hold down CTRL and + increases size on my Windows Vista, and have just found out, hold down CTRL and rotate mouse wheel will increase and decrease size of characters.

tow1709

It was in Kristiansand that I met up with a couple of Royal Navy types, a Lieutenant-Commander and a Lieutenant, the latter being equivalent to my rank of Flight-Lieutenant. They were stationed at Kristiansand with an MTB (Motor Torpedo Boat).

On a few weekends, I spent Saturday afternoons with them “patrolling” the Skaggerak. This consisted of getting out of the fjord and then opening up flat-out. Since this craft was driven by two Rolls-Royce Merlin engines and was capable of some fifty knots it was quite an experience. We would burble out of the harbour and cruise gently down out into the open sea, when the skipper would say something like “Here we go lads, hang on” and open up both throttles fully. The change was dramatic. Suddenly the exhausts bellowed, the stern settled and, unless you were ready for it, you were pushed violently backwards to the aft of the bridge. Within seconds the boat was “up on the step” and thumping across any swell there was. After returning from the trip, and when safely moored to the quay again, we repaired to the tiny “wardroom” where we disposed of some navy gin and tonics.

On other weekends I went to Olso where there was a very good Officers’ club. This had been run by the German army and had just carried on under new management when we arrived. However the staff were so used to dealing with German officers that they still referred to us by the equivalent German ranks. I remember being called over the Tannoy as “Leutnant Brett - bitte”. We all found various things about Norway that were interesting and somewhat strange to us. One instance was that it was, at that time anyway, impossible to buy a deck of playing cards. It was evidently illegal to sell them. You could buy all sorts of other games but no ordinary playing cards.

I had two amusing experiences in Oslo. The first was when I was strolling along the main street up towards the Royal Palace, when I noticed that all the military personnel were turning to face the road and saluting. This phenomenon proceeded down the road towards me. Before it reached me I realised that everybody was saluting a cyclist who was riding down the road. It was King Haakon who evidently often bicycled down into town from the palace!

On another occasion, I was walking along a fairly narrow pavement (sidewalk to you Americans!) two German NCO’s were walking towards me deep in conversation. People were stepping off the kerb to let them pass and I nearly did so myself. It suddenly occurred to me that that (a) we had just won the war and (b) I outranked them anyway. I did not stop until they were practically touching me. Obviously they were used to people stepping aside for them, and they both looked up with scowls. I was at least six inches taller than either of them and put on what I hoped was a quizzical expression complete with raised eyebrow - Roger Moore style! The change in their expressions as they took in the uniform and officer's rank badges was a sight to behold. They both sprang to attention and, after some confusion when they nearly gave me a Nazi salute, gave a very creditable normal salute (which I returned) and they then did a smart left turn to step off the kerb into the gutter to go around me. I then noticed all the local Norwegians in the vicinity had been watching this little scene and were now grinning broadly and making appreciative gestures. I waved and smiled back and walked on, feeling I had done my bit to preserve the dignity of the RAF.

The times that I went over to Kristiansand, I travelled via the cross fjord ferry. This was a craft of I think about 300 tonnes driven by a diesel engine. The odd thing about this engine was that, in order to go from forward to astern and vice versa the engine had actually to stop and restart in the opposite direction. This would not normally of be of any consequence but the skipper, who had obviously done this journey several times a day for many years, had developed a rapport with the engineer and knew exactly how long it took to go from full astern to full ahead. On leaving Kristiansand the ferry had to back away from the quay on a curve towards the other side of the basin, then, as the stern approached the far quay it would go full ahead on the opposite tack to finish up pointing out of the harbour mouth. The harrowing part was, when having gone full astern to back away from the quay the engine would slow down and stop whilst we were still travelling backwards at a fair old speed towards the opposite stone quay. The engine would then start to thump and slowly increase revs in the ‘ahead’ mode. In the several times I travelled this way, the ship always stopped and then commenced going ahead when the stern was what seemed to be about three feet from the solid stone quay!

Being the beginning of winter, it was very cold and there was usually a biting wind blowing up the fjord. Consequently, the first passengers aboard made a bee-line for the funnel and crowded round it as it was the only source of heat on the vessel.

More soon ...TOW

cliffnemo

A Merry Christmas and Prosperous New Year to all.

whitebait1

Cheers Cliff! Same to you! Thanks again for your contributions to this thread, it's by far the best thing on PPRuNe!

Merry Christmas and happy new year, everyone!

Viola

To Cliff and all the other contributors and their families: a very happy Christmas and a good New Year.

Thank you for such an interesting thread, and thank you for starting it, Cliff.

It has everything, history, personal stories, technological stuff. Brilliant!

green granite

Indeed MERRY CHRISTMAS TO CLIFF AND EVERYONE ELSE ON THIS THREAD.

tow1709

... from Peter Brett to all those who have sent him greetings cards. He was really delighted to receive them, and they are much appreciated.

There is just one more installment of his memoirs to come, and I will try and post it during the next few days.

A very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all the contributors and readers on this thread.

TOW

JOE-FBS

Thank you to all the veterans for their posts. I have just come to the (current) last page after a fascinating and moving three months working through the thread.

Stone69

I recently had the opportunity to sit in the cockpit of the rebuilt Halifax at the RCAF Museum in Trenton, Ontario. They've done an outstanding job on this aircraft that was submerged in a Norwegian fjiord since the war. Now I've been flying aircraft for fifty years now, and I must say I was shocked to see how poor the visibility was from the pilot's seat. With close to 23,000 hrs in my various logbooks, I am somewhat in awe of the pilots --- most quite low time-- being able to land and take-off with so little forward visibility. I have known pilots who flew these aircraft during the war and I was always very impressed with their very quiet low key manner when I got them to talk about their war time experiences, but they never spoke of this lack of visibility. Unfortunately, they're gone now and I can't talk to them about what I saw or more correctly, couldn't see.....