Danny and a Game of Pass the Parcel.
I'm sure this idyllic state of affairs might have lasted over Christmas but for the Autumn Exercise. The RAF had one every year, to keep Groups and Commands up to speed in running a war. This meant a lot more work for them, and they put in bids for extra people. Botttoms of barrels were scraped and dark corners scoured for the workshy. My name came to light, so after a pleasant couple of months at home, I was sent down to make myself useful at HQ Bomber Command (High Wycombe).
Here I ran into S/Ldr (now) Edmondes, last seen in Cannanore, on the Tech Staff there. He'd been chopped down after the war; nearly all wartime people who managed to stay on dropped at least one rank, counting themselves lucky not to have been kicked out into the cold post-war world outside. S/Ldrs are ten-a-penny in a Command HQ and don't count for much. He could do nothing for me: he was an Armaments Officer and I was attached to the Air Staff.
Naively, I'd brought my helmet and goggles. That was a waste of time. It was clear that they'd nothing for their new boy to do. Put him where he can do no harm. Give him to the Command Air Traffic Control Officer. "There's not much for you here", said the CATCO, "Would you like to have a look at ATC at one of the Groups ?"..... "Why not, Sir ?" ....... "Fine, 1 Group at Bawtry Hall, Off you go !" A game of "Pass the Parcel" had begun.
Bawtry Hall was a noble mansion half way up the old Great North Road, near Doncaster. Its gracious facade fronted the usual gaggle of Laing huts in which we lesser breeds lived and worked. I can't remember doing much there, but I settled down with the GATCO and tried to make myself useful.
Part of the Exercise while I was there was a fascinating experiment. It had long been suspected that many of the wartime bomber losses hitherto ascribed to enemy action might really have been mid-air collisions. Hundreds of bombers were channelled into bomber "streams" to saturate the German defences and so reduce losses. In darkness, cloud, rain and snow, in unlit black painted aircraft, flying on parallel tracks at much the same heights to the same target, usually "weaving" to make life hard for the night fighters, you could see what might happen. A mid-air collision is the worst kind of flying accident, nearly always resulting in the death of all on board both aircraft. There would be no witnesses to tell the tale - just two more "missings" to rub off on a blackboard.
They decided to set up a mock attack on the power stations at Newark. Two or three Lincoln squadrons would be formed into a short stream, bundled together just like their wartime forebears. Without navigation lights on a moonless night, they would fly a 300 mile triangular course, avoiding all brightly lit areas. On the appointed time on the run-in to the target, all navigation lights were to be switched on.
Apparently it was terrifying. Crews which had been flying for two hours in what they thought was isolation (and remember that they knew the purpose of the test and were keeping a good look-out) found one or more others dangerously close. The worst situation was the "piggyback". By great good fortune, there had been no collisions. The experiment was never to be repeated.
On which cheerful note,
Goodnight once more,
Danny42C.
Keep the home fires burning !