Danny and Chugalug, thank you for your warm welcome, I'm honoured to join this august squadron on this fascinating thread. Growing up in the RAF made a vast impression on me, especially this story which involves Binbrook.
Douglas Alfred MacLean of Southampton joined the RAF in 1936 and met my father of Belfast in 1938 when they trained as air gunners with 142 Sqn. Airmen named MacLean were nicknamed Dandy after a character in the Weekly News, just as White became Chalky and Wilson was Tug.
They were posted to 142 Sqn at Andover and went to war in 1939, being stationed at Berry-au-Bac in France, where the RAF suffered appalling casualties. When the surviving squadrons returned to Binbrook my father was posted to Halton but kept in close touch with his friend Dandy, who sent him this picture in April 1941.
On the night of June 18 1941 Dandy was rear gunner on a Wellington returning from operations over Germany when it was twice attacked by a night fighter, and he was fatally wounded. My father found later that his son - that's me - had arrived into this world just about the time Dandy was leaving it, somewhere over the North Sea. His telegram to Dandy was returned by the 142 adjutant.
The damaged Wellington struggled back to Binbrook and Dandy was taken home for burial in grave D485, Eastleigh Cemetery, Southampton.
My father would seldom speak of his wartime experiences but encouraged me to remember that Dandy was only one of the 55,573 airmen of Bomber Command who gave their all so that their children could have better lives. He always said that their bravery never received the recognition it deserved.
I have been lucky to have flown in Hastings and wartime Dakota, and to have taxied in a Lincoln, yet one thing has been forgotten: the incredible NOISE. The pilots in the old movies chat nonchalantly away, they hold the mike six inches in front of their face, but my memory is of the tremendous roar and vibration from four big pistons. Without intercom the only way to communicate is to lift the earpiece and shout into the ear, or write a note.
Six hours in the Hastings from Aden to (I think) El Adem had us exhausted, yet young men faced even longer sorties night after night, never mind the perils. I was reminded of this watching the BBMF Lancaster running up, tail turret shaking from side to side, empennage vibrating enough to pop the rivets.
Our generation does not know how lucky we are. Maybe Danny can be coaxed to post again?