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

[regle]

Going for a Burton and on with the story

I think that, unwittingly, a telephone conversation with Andy may have revealed a very possible start to the "Gone for a Burton" story.
I recalled the story of Burtons , the Tailors. They had and may still have, a large store in Blackpool. It was in the prime position of the corner of North Promenade and Church St. (at that time the main shopping street in Blackpool.) It had a huge window which went around the natural curve on the corner of the two streets. To you technically minded you will have grasped that this formed the wide entrance to a natural venturi tube. The natural conclusion was that every time there was a gale , depending on the severity of the wind force, Burton's window blew in. As they were directly on the promenade facing west there were lots of these gales and even storms so the expression " Burton's window has gone again" was probably changed, over the years to "The window's gone for a Burton again ". That's my theory anyway.
We left the "saga" on Jan 28th.1944 when , after my trip to Berlin I was told by the C.O. "Wilky" that my ops were finished and I was given leave to go to St.Helens to see my Wife and newborn baby son , Peter. I had to return to Snaith although the whole of my Flight, C Flight were going to be transferred to nearby Burn to form the nucleus of a new Squadron, 578. On returning to Snaith, Wilky asked me to stay on at the station for a while and gave me the task of flying with several new crews who were arriving to replace the "C" Flight crews who were going to Burn in February. This I did for a week or so and then was asked, again by Wilky to do an Instructor's course to gain an Instructor's certificate and was posted to a charming little Instructors training school at Lulsgate Bottom, near Bristol. One May morning I opened one of the Mess newspapers and saw that I had been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for "conduct during a long and arduous Operational tour". Due to failing health the King had been forced to give up the practice of investing Honours personally so my DFC came through the letter box many months later and the enclosed letter from the King still bears Peter's teethmarks where he tried to eat it when he got hold of it one day.
After a pleasant renewal of acquaintance with the good old Oxford, I received the requisite Instructor's rating and was posted back to 4 Group to 1652 Heavy Conversion Unit at Marston Moor. There I was entrusted with the task of converting "sprog" pilots to the beaten up ,barely airworthy old Halifaxes that were all that Bomber Command could spare for the crews about to be sent to the Squadrons, reeling from the dreadful losses that they were taking. Here I renewed acquaintance with one of the great characters of the RAF. Arthur Caygill was a fellow member of 51 Sqdn. and also a Blackpool Grammar Schoolmate. He was always known as "The Baron" and had finished his tour before I had finished mine. He was notorious for a series of school escapades but his best one and, also his last, was during the Master's temporary absence, Arthur looked out of the classroom window and saw a busload of girls from our Sister school awaiting their driver. He climbed out of the window and took them on a tour around Stanley Park. They probably had a better time than if their proper driver had been there. Trouble was it was the first time that he had ever driven in his life. Whilst at Snaith he had an old Austin seven and on the last trip of his tour, Arthur well and truly beat up the airfield. His Aircraft was seen to ,literally, jump fifty feet higher as he went over the Control Tower when he saw his Austin Seven perched there on the balcony where his Ground Crew had manhandled it with some valuable help from the Engineers' crane.
We were both made Flight Commanders of different Flights at Marston Moor and, as such, were given motor bikes for our personal transport. So Arthur organised a series of moto-cross races around the airfield with the finishing lap up the steps of the Officer's Mess around the ante room, finishing at the bar.
I had, by now, purchased my own very first car. It was a BSA three wheeler that I bought from one of the "erks" on the maintenance flight. It cost me £5 which was a fair amount those days. It was an open topped car that had seen better days but it was put in better shape by our good lads from maintenance who even "won" the perspex nose from a condemned Halifax and attached it to the car so that I had a convertible saloon when I pulled the perspex over me. To my everlasting regret, I never got a photograph of it. Trouble was the exhaust was none existent and when I drove over the Penines to see my new family in a nice little house that Dora's Grandmother (Called "Frosty" but never to her face !) owned, I pulled up outside and all the neighbours came running out to see what they thought sounded like a tank regiment arriving. I persuaded her to come for a ride and she did so but stuffed cotton wool in Peter's little ears. We proudly set off but it soon broke down and we all had to get the tram back. Once ,later, when the car was running comparatively well we went for a run taking Nell, our little dog. The perspex top had "gone for a Burton" by now, so we attached Nell within the car by fixing her lead to one of the hood supports. We had just set off from some traffic lights when we were stopped by shouts and waving of arms from pedestrians. Nell had jumped out of the car and was running like mad on her lead still attached to the car. Luckily she had not come to any harm. Probably because the old BSA could not go fast enough.
One day the Baron suggested that we should go and visit the nearby Tadcaster Brewery of Sam Smith and Sons. Petrol was very strictly rationed of course, but the problem was solved by the Baron who produced about three litres of M.T. Petrol (MT was the Motor Tranport section of the RAF). This petrol was always brightly coloured red so that it could easily be identified. The Directors of Samuel Smith warmly welcomed the two Officers of the RAF although their transport got some funny looks. They would not hear of us sampling the light ale for which the brewery was famous. No, the Director's Cabinet was ceremoniously opened and out came the single malt whisky. It was two rather fragile figures that staggered to the waiting BSA a few hours later. We managed to get it started....there was no self starter so it always had to be cranked.. and wound our way through country lanes in the general direction of Marston Moor. Then the engine began sputtering and I realised that we were running out of petrol. The Baron, as always, had a solution. Under the bonnet, the petrol tank was just in front of the dashboard and gravity fed the carburettor. There was no pump.. So by opening the bonnet then lying along the windscreen with his legs on the offside, the Baron could get his mouth over the tank filler opening and, by blowing hard, put enough pressure in the tank to feed the last remaining drops to the engine. It worked and we were weaving our way along when we heard the sound of a bell, a gong to be precise. All Police Cars "Gonged" you those days. A disbelieving policeman pulled his Wolseley in front of us and nearly collapsed laughing when the Baron, with all the dignity of a Country squire got off the bonnet and said "Is there something wrong, Officer ?". His dignity was somewhat marred by the circle of red around his mouth from the M.T.petrol . The nearly hysterical policeman went to his car, got out a can of petrol, poured it in to our tank, then said " Now, B....r off and for God's sake don't tell anyone you've seen me"
That's it for now but just for your interest there was a tune that was very popular around the thirties.. here's the chorus . No prizes if anyone can remember the verses. Think Harry Roy or Billy Cotton.
"I'm Gertie, the girl with a gong
and I saw your car speed along.
If you go over thirty,
then Gertie gets shirty
And tinkles a tune on her gong. Cheers, Reg