By Pilot Officer Sam Brooks, London. Special Operator, 101 Sqn Royal Air Force.
THEY say you should never go back, nor seek to renew old acquaintances -- you will only be disappointed. I don't really believe it, but then a lot happens in a lifetime, and one is sometimes tempted not just to look ahead...
In the spring of 1943 I was called up and chose to join the RAF for training as aircrew. They said I could elect to be trained as a pilot and wait to join up for a year. Alternatively, they had vacancies for rear gunners -- come next Monday. I was keen to get started but... ummm. There was a third choice, be a wireless operator and come in three months. That sounded like a reasonable compromise, and I took it. August Bank holiday 1943 found me reporting to the ACRC (Air Crew Reception Centre), at Lord’s cricket ground for induction and training.
I joined a squad of 30 likely lads, all destined to train as wireless operators, and we started initial training. Three weeks of inoculations and square bashing to commence. We lived in commandeered luxury flats along Prince Consort Road, marching to be fed in a similarly commandeered cafe at the zoo just across the road in Regents Park.
Then to Bridgnorth to 19 ITW (Initial Training Wing), where we started the rudiments of wireless training and began to absorb Morse code. November came and we moved to Number Two Radio School at Yatesbury in Wiltshire - a huge wooden-hutted camp in the middle of nowhere but with a small grass airfield next door, from which we would be taught wireless operating in the air.
The course we were embarked upon had been of two years duration before the war. Now it had been condensed into six months because of the enormous demand for aircrew in RAF Bomber Command. Enormous? Yes, the Bomber Command strength had built up to an ability to deliver 1,000-bomber raids over Germany on a nightly basis. Losses were significant, sometimes tragically large. They needed Aircrew.
We were all desperately keen and training classes went on from 8am to 6pm, six days a week - Sundays off. Phew! During this time I became friendly with another trainee in the group, Keith Gosling. I came from suburban London; Keith from Frizinghall, Bradford. We were very alike in character and background -- grammar school boys from stable homes, imbued with an ethic for hard work. Middle class, I suppose you would have had to call us. We had similar interests and abilities.
Did I say 'desperately keen'? It's worth repeating. We, and most of the other lads around us, were entirely and selflessly committed to becoming the best wireless operators ever! Neither Keith nor I had the slightest difficulty with the theoretical side of the course, but both found it extremely difficult to conquer the required speed barriers in Morse.
The course ended in the spring and we both passed with excellent marks. My mark on the theory side was 95%, and for operating in the air it was 85%. We proudly became sergeant wireless operators and stood by for posting to OTU (Operational Training Unit), the next stage towards operational flying.
During this time, waiting to be posted, two unusual things happened. First we were both asked to go before a commissioning board with a view to becoming officers. We were not told the results and suspected that we were not selected. The second strangeness came one morning on parade when the NCO in charge called on all those who had learned German at school to step forward. After a moment's hesitation, I did so. So did Keith with two others from the group.
Within a week we four were called in and told that the remainder of our training would be cut by some months as we would be posted to a familiarisation unit to get used to flying in heavy bombers. and we would probably be flying on operations within a month! Our job would be to fly in Lancasters to operate special jamming equipment designed to prevent the Luftwaffe night-fighter pilots from hearing directions from their ground controllers.