Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
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Thank you very much, I did send both a pm and an e-mail via the forum option but hopefully you will have more success.
We have folks that might be able to restore some of his excellent photographs, which I feel is the very least we can do to thank this gentleman for this invaluable piece of historic nostalgia.
Regards
John
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Re Cliffnemo
Hi Josh and Kookabat et al . It was very nice of you to P.M me re my health.I have just returned from hospital and the news is not good. Although I look and feel O.K I have had some bad news (to be confirmed next week.) I do not want to say to much, but I asked the M.O, as I had stopped smoking my pipe and my nightly two pints,was there any point in abstaining, and surprisingly he replied light your pipe and enjoy yourself (nuff said). Josh all the staff at Fazakerley Hospital were perfect , wards clinically clean, and food good. with all the staff very responsive, and the dealt with any request immediately.
Just busy at the moment enjoying a cigar, (brandy later) will try to write at greater length when I have dealt with my emails and facebook. I'm C.f Leach on facebook ,if any one would like to investigate.
CLIFF.
Although the copy reads FACEBOOK after submitting it reads FACE PPRUNE ?
Second attempt at editing F A C E B O O K
Third attempt AND LAST
F
A
C
E
B
O
O
K
Just busy at the moment enjoying a cigar, (brandy later) will try to write at greater length when I have dealt with my emails and facebook. I'm C.f Leach on facebook ,if any one would like to investigate.
CLIFF.
Although the copy reads FACEBOOK after submitting it reads FACE PPRUNE ?
Second attempt at editing F A C E B O O K
Third attempt AND LAST
F
A
C
E
B
O
O
K
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GoJo
GoJoa
Tours were generally 30 operations and usually completed in 6 months, - if you lasted that long. There was a time after D-Day when the number was increased because of the shorter distances, and I knew one man who completed his tour in nine weeks. A rest between tours was usually six months.
The Blue Beam seemed like a more powerful light and the master beam of a clutch - probably coupled to the radar. After the war, a Major in the Ack Ack told me his radar lost contact with an aircraft if it dived more than 400 feet because, "The gyros toppled." Perhaps German radar was better than ours!
I am probably the only corespondent to this thread who knew Reg, so I would never question his claim to have "Corkscrewed all the way to Berlin." I only heard of Corkscrew after I had been shot down, but I tried it out when flying Wellingtons after the war. You would have needed a blacksmith's arms to continue it long in a Halifax, - and a very tolerant Navigator. Normal evasion was altering course and height by small amounts and without a pattern, otherwise the Navigator would have something to say! On my last op we were told only to use height evasion, nothing lateral, until the final bombing run.
TommyOv
In a barrack room of 32 at SFTS there were 21 U/T pilots who were teachers. bank clerks or insurance clerks. One man was a university lecturer and two were from minor public schools. Three had been ground staff. All graduated as Sergeants as, on transfer to a new airfield the staff, the CGI (a former public school master), refused to commission the 13 men selected for commissioning, "because they did not know us."
At the next unit, after two weeks leave, the two public schoolboys appeared as officers. One was the son of a very well known Amateur Golfer!
Fredjhh.
CLIFF.
Glad to see you back, but very sorry to hear of your health problems. Fred.
Tours were generally 30 operations and usually completed in 6 months, - if you lasted that long. There was a time after D-Day when the number was increased because of the shorter distances, and I knew one man who completed his tour in nine weeks. A rest between tours was usually six months.
The Blue Beam seemed like a more powerful light and the master beam of a clutch - probably coupled to the radar. After the war, a Major in the Ack Ack told me his radar lost contact with an aircraft if it dived more than 400 feet because, "The gyros toppled." Perhaps German radar was better than ours!
I am probably the only corespondent to this thread who knew Reg, so I would never question his claim to have "Corkscrewed all the way to Berlin." I only heard of Corkscrew after I had been shot down, but I tried it out when flying Wellingtons after the war. You would have needed a blacksmith's arms to continue it long in a Halifax, - and a very tolerant Navigator. Normal evasion was altering course and height by small amounts and without a pattern, otherwise the Navigator would have something to say! On my last op we were told only to use height evasion, nothing lateral, until the final bombing run.
TommyOv
In a barrack room of 32 at SFTS there were 21 U/T pilots who were teachers. bank clerks or insurance clerks. One man was a university lecturer and two were from minor public schools. Three had been ground staff. All graduated as Sergeants as, on transfer to a new airfield the staff, the CGI (a former public school master), refused to commission the 13 men selected for commissioning, "because they did not know us."
At the next unit, after two weeks leave, the two public schoolboys appeared as officers. One was the son of a very well known Amateur Golfer!
Fredjhh.
CLIFF.
Glad to see you back, but very sorry to hear of your health problems. Fred.
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Hi Fred,
THANK YOU very much for the most informative answers. I do hope my post did not appear to doubt the 'corkscrew' comments as nothing could be further from the truth. I was addicted to this thread as it managed to put me into the aircraft and having read how long it took a fully laden aircraft to reach its designated height, I was just wondering how long it would take to get back up to its correct height, and then would this add extra time carrying out these manoeuvres.
as I type this a voice in my head is asking how the aircraft would keep within formation but I guess the answer was these brave aircrew never really flew in what I term a formation? (question)
I wonder how many folks in subsequent generations fully appreciate what our parents\grandparents actually had to endure. My father NEVER really talked about his experiences, he served on what was called DEMS and just for TankeTrashNav to stop him from asking Mr Google, that is Defensively Equipped Merchant Ships. Okay click here. Research has told me that Russian convoys would last ten days each way and the crew would be lucky to get four hours sleep per day... ten days out, ten days back and conditions that most of us could not begin to imagine. was that any more or any less dangerous??
Respect to you VERY brave men and respect to all those that were prepared to put there lives on the line and THANK YOU VERY MUCH for taking the time to answer my queries..
THANK YOU very much for the most informative answers. I do hope my post did not appear to doubt the 'corkscrew' comments as nothing could be further from the truth. I was addicted to this thread as it managed to put me into the aircraft and having read how long it took a fully laden aircraft to reach its designated height, I was just wondering how long it would take to get back up to its correct height, and then would this add extra time carrying out these manoeuvres.
as I type this a voice in my head is asking how the aircraft would keep within formation but I guess the answer was these brave aircrew never really flew in what I term a formation? (question)
I wonder how many folks in subsequent generations fully appreciate what our parents\grandparents actually had to endure. My father NEVER really talked about his experiences, he served on what was called DEMS and just for TankeTrashNav to stop him from asking Mr Google, that is Defensively Equipped Merchant Ships. Okay click here. Research has told me that Russian convoys would last ten days each way and the crew would be lucky to get four hours sleep per day... ten days out, ten days back and conditions that most of us could not begin to imagine. was that any more or any less dangerous??
Respect to you VERY brave men and respect to all those that were prepared to put there lives on the line and THANK YOU VERY MUCH for taking the time to answer my queries..
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My memoirs
TommyOv
You are right. The popular idea that a pilot must have had a university training, be 7 feet tall,3 feet wide, with a big handlebar moustache was rubbish. As I said in my earlier memoirs...I failed my P.hd at St Saviors Elementry School. Also I did not 'Solo' within the 10 hours, but still managed to qualify as an A1 Instructor and in Singapore had the privilege to certify civilian instructors.
Myths blown!
You are right. The popular idea that a pilot must have had a university training, be 7 feet tall,3 feet wide, with a big handlebar moustache was rubbish. As I said in my earlier memoirs...I failed my P.hd at St Saviors Elementry School. Also I did not 'Solo' within the 10 hours, but still managed to qualify as an A1 Instructor and in Singapore had the privilege to certify civilian instructors.
Myths blown!
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My memoirs
Chapter 9
High Wycombe... First flying.
I was posted to High Wycombe and happily Chas was still with me. The course was 12 hours flying on Tiger Moths. We were expected to go solo at about 8 hours. This course would decide whether we would be selected for Pilot, Navigator, or, I hate to think what. The weather at this time had clamped down and I remember waiting day after day for the cloud base to lift sufficiently for us to be taken on our first air experience trips. One day! This was it, my Instructor said get ready and there we were, airborne, climbing through the drizzle, it seemed for ages when suddenly we broke cloud and I saw the most wonderful sight I had ever seen before. As far as the eye could see was the pure white rolling cloud tops, capped by the clear blue sky above. It was very cold of course because in a Tiger Moth your head is outside and there is no heating system. At one moment my Instructor pointed out to me a lovely picture. It was the shadow of our aircraft on the cloud with a rainbow surrounding it. That day, that view, is for ever in my memory.
The weather cleared and we got down to the task of learning to fly. It was quite exciting. I remember one day when I had been learning Stalling, my Instructor said I must be more positive in pushing the stick forward to recover from the stall. So I was! I pushed the stick forward so hard we finished up in a vertical dive. I was terrified. I thought it was the end.....A quiet voice said “Well that was positive" as he pulled us out of the ensuing dive.
As we progressed there were all the stories of our achievements or failures at the end of the day in our billets. Of course there were the line shooters, the born pilots who were having no trouble at all, and would have soloed that day, if only.. If only. Then there were the miserable ones like me who couldn't land the blessed aircraft. I either thumped the ground with such a bang we bounced back up to circuit height. Or I held off so high I scared the Instructor silly. Of course the inevitable happened Chas came in and said "Soloed yet” knowing of course that I hadn't but he had. "Never mind, he said, you might be lucky enough to be my Navigator".
At eight hours there was a Flight Commanders Check. By this time I had realised that my upper air work must be O.K or I would have been out on my ear by now as some already had been. My problem was landing. However we came in for the landing on my Check Flight and bingo! It greased in on all three perfectly. The Flight Commander was quite impressed. I had passed. My Instructor came storming into the crew room saying “Right... Grogan lets see one of these greasers of yours”. Well up we went but I was back at my old tricks again and still couldn't land. This state of affairs continued until my final Check with the Squadron Commander. Of course most of us were scared of failing these checks because there was no second chance. Once again I pulled off a greaser. I can only, on reflection, think that I was so scared on landing that I sat petrified on the stick and the airspeed decayed naturally to produce a normal landing. With hindsight I do think that a better Instructor should have understood my problems and reached a solution. Anyway I hadn't Soloed and Chas had. It looked as though I was going to have to learn Navigation.
I cannot leave High Wycombe without a mention of the Flight Sergeant I seem to remember his name as Flood. What a terror he was. He used to stand outside his hut near the main gate and the slightest fault would alert him. I'm sure he had eyes in his back. If you were caught out, no mercy, it was not at all difficult to lose your weekend off and that was serious stuff because by this time I had my first girlfriend. Thelma........Nuff said.
High Wycombe... First flying.
I was posted to High Wycombe and happily Chas was still with me. The course was 12 hours flying on Tiger Moths. We were expected to go solo at about 8 hours. This course would decide whether we would be selected for Pilot, Navigator, or, I hate to think what. The weather at this time had clamped down and I remember waiting day after day for the cloud base to lift sufficiently for us to be taken on our first air experience trips. One day! This was it, my Instructor said get ready and there we were, airborne, climbing through the drizzle, it seemed for ages when suddenly we broke cloud and I saw the most wonderful sight I had ever seen before. As far as the eye could see was the pure white rolling cloud tops, capped by the clear blue sky above. It was very cold of course because in a Tiger Moth your head is outside and there is no heating system. At one moment my Instructor pointed out to me a lovely picture. It was the shadow of our aircraft on the cloud with a rainbow surrounding it. That day, that view, is for ever in my memory.
The weather cleared and we got down to the task of learning to fly. It was quite exciting. I remember one day when I had been learning Stalling, my Instructor said I must be more positive in pushing the stick forward to recover from the stall. So I was! I pushed the stick forward so hard we finished up in a vertical dive. I was terrified. I thought it was the end.....A quiet voice said “Well that was positive" as he pulled us out of the ensuing dive.
As we progressed there were all the stories of our achievements or failures at the end of the day in our billets. Of course there were the line shooters, the born pilots who were having no trouble at all, and would have soloed that day, if only.. If only. Then there were the miserable ones like me who couldn't land the blessed aircraft. I either thumped the ground with such a bang we bounced back up to circuit height. Or I held off so high I scared the Instructor silly. Of course the inevitable happened Chas came in and said "Soloed yet” knowing of course that I hadn't but he had. "Never mind, he said, you might be lucky enough to be my Navigator".
At eight hours there was a Flight Commanders Check. By this time I had realised that my upper air work must be O.K or I would have been out on my ear by now as some already had been. My problem was landing. However we came in for the landing on my Check Flight and bingo! It greased in on all three perfectly. The Flight Commander was quite impressed. I had passed. My Instructor came storming into the crew room saying “Right... Grogan lets see one of these greasers of yours”. Well up we went but I was back at my old tricks again and still couldn't land. This state of affairs continued until my final Check with the Squadron Commander. Of course most of us were scared of failing these checks because there was no second chance. Once again I pulled off a greaser. I can only, on reflection, think that I was so scared on landing that I sat petrified on the stick and the airspeed decayed naturally to produce a normal landing. With hindsight I do think that a better Instructor should have understood my problems and reached a solution. Anyway I hadn't Soloed and Chas had. It looked as though I was going to have to learn Navigation.
I cannot leave High Wycombe without a mention of the Flight Sergeant I seem to remember his name as Flood. What a terror he was. He used to stand outside his hut near the main gate and the slightest fault would alert him. I'm sure he had eyes in his back. If you were caught out, no mercy, it was not at all difficult to lose your weekend off and that was serious stuff because by this time I had my first girlfriend. Thelma........Nuff said.
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My memoirs
Chapter 10
Heaton Park Manchester
This was where we were to learn our fate as to what aircrew category we were to become, also where, in the world we would carry out our training. A few would stay in the U.K. but the majority would be sent overseas under the Empire Training Scheme Plan, to South Africa, Rhodesia, Canada or America. During my stay at Heaton Park I was billeted out with a family living in a small semi detached house on the outskirts of Manchester. Mr and Mrs. …….. and their son. On my arrival I was read the house rules. That's Faithers chair so you don't sit in that, you can sit there! Now in the morning you have a choice, Faither, as it was pronounced, uses the bathroom between ten to eight and eight o-clock he will bring you up a cup of tea at seven thirty, you must use the bathroom either before or after him.!!! Well it all sounded a bit funny but it worked very well, we never got in each others way and everyone knew the system. Faither was a very nice man, completely henpecked and Moother ran the house with a rod of iron all five foot nothing of her. When she was in a temper Faither and Son used to hide in the shed at the end of the garden and I used to make myself scarce until the steam stopped coming from the roof!!
We used to go into camp each day and hope that our turn had come for news and it was common knowledge that the landladies would know the details of ones posting long before it was announced to us. We would regularly be taken to a cinema which we filled and have to listen to a whole batch of names being read out L.A.C. Bloggs selected for Pilot training and posted to Rhodesia or wherever, eventually our turn came. We were quite sure that Chas would become a Pilot having soloed at Grading School and that my chances were slim. However, surprise surprise Grogan for Pilot training in the United States and C. Blythe for Navigator training in Canada. Well what a nasty temper he showed that day and I felt very smug as I told him I was confident all along and knew he didn't have what it takes to be a Pilot, but with a bit of luck and if he worked hard he might get to be my Navigator.
In fact, I met up with Chas again at Moncton and learned that although he had been posted to Medicine Hat in Canada for his navigator training, for some unknown reason has training was changed to that of pilot and to prove it he had his wings. We had a good party together but I never saw him again after Monkton.
Heaton Park Manchester
This was where we were to learn our fate as to what aircrew category we were to become, also where, in the world we would carry out our training. A few would stay in the U.K. but the majority would be sent overseas under the Empire Training Scheme Plan, to South Africa, Rhodesia, Canada or America. During my stay at Heaton Park I was billeted out with a family living in a small semi detached house on the outskirts of Manchester. Mr and Mrs. …….. and their son. On my arrival I was read the house rules. That's Faithers chair so you don't sit in that, you can sit there! Now in the morning you have a choice, Faither, as it was pronounced, uses the bathroom between ten to eight and eight o-clock he will bring you up a cup of tea at seven thirty, you must use the bathroom either before or after him.!!! Well it all sounded a bit funny but it worked very well, we never got in each others way and everyone knew the system. Faither was a very nice man, completely henpecked and Moother ran the house with a rod of iron all five foot nothing of her. When she was in a temper Faither and Son used to hide in the shed at the end of the garden and I used to make myself scarce until the steam stopped coming from the roof!!
We used to go into camp each day and hope that our turn had come for news and it was common knowledge that the landladies would know the details of ones posting long before it was announced to us. We would regularly be taken to a cinema which we filled and have to listen to a whole batch of names being read out L.A.C. Bloggs selected for Pilot training and posted to Rhodesia or wherever, eventually our turn came. We were quite sure that Chas would become a Pilot having soloed at Grading School and that my chances were slim. However, surprise surprise Grogan for Pilot training in the United States and C. Blythe for Navigator training in Canada. Well what a nasty temper he showed that day and I felt very smug as I told him I was confident all along and knew he didn't have what it takes to be a Pilot, but with a bit of luck and if he worked hard he might get to be my Navigator.
In fact, I met up with Chas again at Moncton and learned that although he had been posted to Medicine Hat in Canada for his navigator training, for some unknown reason has training was changed to that of pilot and to prove it he had his wings. We had a good party together but I never saw him again after Monkton.
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My memoirs
Chapter
Off to the States by Queen Mary
What excitement!! A posting to Miami U.S.A. All those sun drenched beeches, lovely American dolly birds and the cream of Britons youth!! What a cocktail? And we were ready to mix it. Little did we know at this time that the Miami was in Oklahoma the dust bowl of America, and not Florida as we thought .No matter, we were on our way and after some embarkation leave we boarded a train for Gourock in Scotland. It was quite a long train journey and of course it must be remembered it was war time. The train was packed with all sorts of armed forces and train times were plucked from a hat. Of course no restaurant car. (Even if we had the cash)
Following our arrival at the Port we were obliged to board a lighter to take us to our boat which we then learned was the Queen Mary. What a ship? I recall as we approached her she was getting larger and larger until we were alongside and then she was immense. We, of course, had quite a lot of equipment to carry such as kitbags and the usual full kit strapped to us over our greatcoats. This had to be manhandled off the lighter and up a gangway to enter a large door in the side of the Queen. We were led through a maze of passageways and decks to a reception area where we were allocated our sleeping quarters. I was lucky, though at the time I thought I was cheated because I was allotted a cabin in which there were three bunks when it was designed for two. I had a quick look round the local area and found a magnificent bathroom with hot water. I couldn't believe my luck. Gold plated Dolphins for taps! Hot water. I nipped back for towel and soap and prepared myself for some wartime luxury. I wallowed in the tub for some time then decided it was time to get moving so started to soap myself... nothing happened... it wouldn't lather! It was salt water and needed special soap. I felt grubbier coming out than going in. Not even a bell to summon the Captain?
Most of the large and magnificent stairways were boarded up to prevent damage and of course this luxury liner was now geared for use as a troopship. It is interesting to note that because of her speed she traveled the Atlantic on most of her runs unescorted as it was considered she was too fast for a U Boat to attack her and indeed she completed the war intact. We spent four days waiting to sail I think most of that time was spent returning part of the boat to its original splendor for our special guests because we were to learn in due course that aboard the ship, as well as umpteen thousand of we minions, we had the whole War Cabinet including Churchill, also, a whole group of German Prisoners of War. Ex.U-boat crews. I don't think the latter bothered us much except they were fed before us, but they certainly didn't please the crew of the Queen, many of whom had been torpedoed when on other vessels. I recall one occasion when one of the RAF was on guard duty ( we did have duties on board) over these prisoners he was approached one night by a sailor who had a candle on the end of a long pole and he only wanted to ‘Torch the beard of a U-boat Captain’ whilst he was asleep!!!.
We did not see much of the War Cabinet but they were a very democratic group. They had one half of the boat and we had the other half!! I'm surprised we didn't sail with a forty five degree list to Port.
On one occasion I was in a crowded lift and Air Chief Marshall Sinclair stood in front of me. My nose came about to the level of his medal ribbons and I didn't know whether to salute, shake hands, or point out that I was in the Air Force too!!
We had one near miss as we approached New York. I was down below when suddenly the ship keeled over at an angle I wouldn't have thought possible in such a big vessel. I dashed up top to learn that an American destroyer having underestimated our speed had cut across our bows. This had happened on a previous occasion and the Queen had almost cut the boat in half.
As we approached New York harbour we had a taste of the America we had been used to on the movies. We heard a siren and saw a very fast Naval speedcraft draw up alongside and a very smart American naval officer cry out through a loud-hailer to the Commodore. "We were not to proceed further, but were to anchor in the roads" A voice came from the bridge above "On whose authority” Some authority was quoted and our voice cried out. "That is not sufficient for me" whereupon smarty pants turned and hot footed it back to tell his Dad! Some time later the siren sounded again and this time it was a very senior looking officer (his Dad) covered in gold braid who again informed our driver. "He was not authorized to proceed further". Our voice responded with the statement that. "It was too late for him to change his plans and he would therefore continue". What we didn't know was that there was a Dockers strike and thus no tugs to pull us in. Anyway we continued and as I understand it, it was the first time the Queen had docked without tug assistance. I have no doubt with hindsight that the backing of Churchill helped in making up the Commodore’s mind.
Lying on her side looking very sad was the Normandy in the next dock to us. She had I believe been sabotaged. This I learned much later not to be true. It was a fault in re-fueling which had the result of destabilizing the vessel so that she capsized.
Of course as you may imagine debarking was quite a lengthy business although I cannot remember just when we cleared ship. Our next destination was supposed to be Moncton in Canada but due to some epidemic there we were shipped to a big Army camp at Boston where we stayed for about a week or two. Eventually we made it to Moncton. This was not the nicest place on earth it was cold and overcrowded with potential RAF aircrew but it was the centre for all of us entering and leaving the States.
When we left Moncton we had a four day train journey ahead of us. I recall it was cold to start with but as we progressed further and further south the temperature became very oppressive. The trains were cooled by simply placing ice in troughs in the roof but of course this soon melted and there was a long journey before it was replenished. Although the carriages were sleepers there were no mattresses or bed linen so we had to sleep on the bare boards, which on a moving train were not at all comfortable. What a whinger I am!! It was better than trenches!!!!
We rode through days of Pine forests and open countryside with hardly any sign of habitation. It is a vast Continent. I very much regret now that I did not appreciate my luck to be traveling at His Majesties expense through such beautiful countryside.
On our arrival in Chicago we had almost a full day to wait and we were advised to go to the USO (United Services Organization). This was an eye-opener for us. Remember we had just left a war torn country with its blackouts and food rationing and shortages of everything, so almost everything in America amazed us. These USO's were organized on a voluntary basis to provide comforts for the troops but of course there were not so many troops in the States so the attention we were given was out of this world. On our arrival we were first directed to the restaurant where we had a superb lunch and all sorts of goodies. All free. Following that we went to the reception desk to find out what was on offer by way of entertainment. Because we had only a short time in the city we had to be content with things like a cinema show, places of local interest etc. Had we been there for a number of days we were offered all sorts of possibilities. , families to stay with, shows to go to, hotels, restaurants-Etc-Etc. All for free. The games rooms in the USO's were magnificent. I seem to remember the place taking up two whole floors of a skyscraper.
Well our rail journey continued and at last we arrived in Miami Oklahoma to see the whole of the town’s girls, who had just seen off the last course to pass out and were waiting for us to arrive!!! Of course I only had thoughts of flying and what time was church parade!!!!!
Off to the States by Queen Mary
What excitement!! A posting to Miami U.S.A. All those sun drenched beeches, lovely American dolly birds and the cream of Britons youth!! What a cocktail? And we were ready to mix it. Little did we know at this time that the Miami was in Oklahoma the dust bowl of America, and not Florida as we thought .No matter, we were on our way and after some embarkation leave we boarded a train for Gourock in Scotland. It was quite a long train journey and of course it must be remembered it was war time. The train was packed with all sorts of armed forces and train times were plucked from a hat. Of course no restaurant car. (Even if we had the cash)
Following our arrival at the Port we were obliged to board a lighter to take us to our boat which we then learned was the Queen Mary. What a ship? I recall as we approached her she was getting larger and larger until we were alongside and then she was immense. We, of course, had quite a lot of equipment to carry such as kitbags and the usual full kit strapped to us over our greatcoats. This had to be manhandled off the lighter and up a gangway to enter a large door in the side of the Queen. We were led through a maze of passageways and decks to a reception area where we were allocated our sleeping quarters. I was lucky, though at the time I thought I was cheated because I was allotted a cabin in which there were three bunks when it was designed for two. I had a quick look round the local area and found a magnificent bathroom with hot water. I couldn't believe my luck. Gold plated Dolphins for taps! Hot water. I nipped back for towel and soap and prepared myself for some wartime luxury. I wallowed in the tub for some time then decided it was time to get moving so started to soap myself... nothing happened... it wouldn't lather! It was salt water and needed special soap. I felt grubbier coming out than going in. Not even a bell to summon the Captain?
Most of the large and magnificent stairways were boarded up to prevent damage and of course this luxury liner was now geared for use as a troopship. It is interesting to note that because of her speed she traveled the Atlantic on most of her runs unescorted as it was considered she was too fast for a U Boat to attack her and indeed she completed the war intact. We spent four days waiting to sail I think most of that time was spent returning part of the boat to its original splendor for our special guests because we were to learn in due course that aboard the ship, as well as umpteen thousand of we minions, we had the whole War Cabinet including Churchill, also, a whole group of German Prisoners of War. Ex.U-boat crews. I don't think the latter bothered us much except they were fed before us, but they certainly didn't please the crew of the Queen, many of whom had been torpedoed when on other vessels. I recall one occasion when one of the RAF was on guard duty ( we did have duties on board) over these prisoners he was approached one night by a sailor who had a candle on the end of a long pole and he only wanted to ‘Torch the beard of a U-boat Captain’ whilst he was asleep!!!.
We did not see much of the War Cabinet but they were a very democratic group. They had one half of the boat and we had the other half!! I'm surprised we didn't sail with a forty five degree list to Port.
On one occasion I was in a crowded lift and Air Chief Marshall Sinclair stood in front of me. My nose came about to the level of his medal ribbons and I didn't know whether to salute, shake hands, or point out that I was in the Air Force too!!
We had one near miss as we approached New York. I was down below when suddenly the ship keeled over at an angle I wouldn't have thought possible in such a big vessel. I dashed up top to learn that an American destroyer having underestimated our speed had cut across our bows. This had happened on a previous occasion and the Queen had almost cut the boat in half.
As we approached New York harbour we had a taste of the America we had been used to on the movies. We heard a siren and saw a very fast Naval speedcraft draw up alongside and a very smart American naval officer cry out through a loud-hailer to the Commodore. "We were not to proceed further, but were to anchor in the roads" A voice came from the bridge above "On whose authority” Some authority was quoted and our voice cried out. "That is not sufficient for me" whereupon smarty pants turned and hot footed it back to tell his Dad! Some time later the siren sounded again and this time it was a very senior looking officer (his Dad) covered in gold braid who again informed our driver. "He was not authorized to proceed further". Our voice responded with the statement that. "It was too late for him to change his plans and he would therefore continue". What we didn't know was that there was a Dockers strike and thus no tugs to pull us in. Anyway we continued and as I understand it, it was the first time the Queen had docked without tug assistance. I have no doubt with hindsight that the backing of Churchill helped in making up the Commodore’s mind.
Lying on her side looking very sad was the Normandy in the next dock to us. She had I believe been sabotaged. This I learned much later not to be true. It was a fault in re-fueling which had the result of destabilizing the vessel so that she capsized.
Of course as you may imagine debarking was quite a lengthy business although I cannot remember just when we cleared ship. Our next destination was supposed to be Moncton in Canada but due to some epidemic there we were shipped to a big Army camp at Boston where we stayed for about a week or two. Eventually we made it to Moncton. This was not the nicest place on earth it was cold and overcrowded with potential RAF aircrew but it was the centre for all of us entering and leaving the States.
When we left Moncton we had a four day train journey ahead of us. I recall it was cold to start with but as we progressed further and further south the temperature became very oppressive. The trains were cooled by simply placing ice in troughs in the roof but of course this soon melted and there was a long journey before it was replenished. Although the carriages were sleepers there were no mattresses or bed linen so we had to sleep on the bare boards, which on a moving train were not at all comfortable. What a whinger I am!! It was better than trenches!!!!
We rode through days of Pine forests and open countryside with hardly any sign of habitation. It is a vast Continent. I very much regret now that I did not appreciate my luck to be traveling at His Majesties expense through such beautiful countryside.
On our arrival in Chicago we had almost a full day to wait and we were advised to go to the USO (United Services Organization). This was an eye-opener for us. Remember we had just left a war torn country with its blackouts and food rationing and shortages of everything, so almost everything in America amazed us. These USO's were organized on a voluntary basis to provide comforts for the troops but of course there were not so many troops in the States so the attention we were given was out of this world. On our arrival we were first directed to the restaurant where we had a superb lunch and all sorts of goodies. All free. Following that we went to the reception desk to find out what was on offer by way of entertainment. Because we had only a short time in the city we had to be content with things like a cinema show, places of local interest etc. Had we been there for a number of days we were offered all sorts of possibilities. , families to stay with, shows to go to, hotels, restaurants-Etc-Etc. All for free. The games rooms in the USO's were magnificent. I seem to remember the place taking up two whole floors of a skyscraper.
Well our rail journey continued and at last we arrived in Miami Oklahoma to see the whole of the town’s girls, who had just seen off the last course to pass out and were waiting for us to arrive!!! Of course I only had thoughts of flying and what time was church parade!!!!!
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When I read these posts I find myself back in the 1940's fighting the good fight but thanks to Youtube reality can rapidly set in.
Look at this footage and then reflect...... Those are not small Messerschmitt cannon shells, they are
How on earth can anyone survive these types of attack? Yes that poor rear gunner is awfully exposed but sadly those shells will pass right through that aircraft without slowing down and woe betide anyone or anything that got in the path of their destructive power. I accept the attacked aircraft are American but they were the ones flying day missions which I assume is easier for the gun camera to record events.
RESPECT, respect to all service personnel no matter what the colour of their uniform and thank god this type of footage never saw the light of day during those very dark days and if this footage is too distressing then PLEASE send me a pm and it will be gone.
Look at this footage and then reflect...... Those are not small Messerschmitt cannon shells, they are
How on earth can anyone survive these types of attack? Yes that poor rear gunner is awfully exposed but sadly those shells will pass right through that aircraft without slowing down and woe betide anyone or anything that got in the path of their destructive power. I accept the attacked aircraft are American but they were the ones flying day missions which I assume is easier for the gun camera to record events.
RESPECT, respect to all service personnel no matter what the colour of their uniform and thank god this type of footage never saw the light of day during those very dark days and if this footage is too distressing then PLEASE send me a pm and it will be gone.
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Paddy,
Fantastic stuff. I have copies of several letters written by an Australian rear gunner while he was in transit across the States on his way to the UK. He completed his training in Australia so was only there for a matter of weeks, but his impressions - of bars open every day until midnight (gasp!) and of the scenery and the never-ending piles of food mirror what you've written here. So impressed was he that he was considering settling there after the war. Sadly, he never lived long enough to see the end, failing to return from Lille 10MAY44.
Cliff - sorry to hear of your health problems, but glad to ehar from you again. Enjoy those pints!
Adam
Fantastic stuff. I have copies of several letters written by an Australian rear gunner while he was in transit across the States on his way to the UK. He completed his training in Australia so was only there for a matter of weeks, but his impressions - of bars open every day until midnight (gasp!) and of the scenery and the never-ending piles of food mirror what you've written here. So impressed was he that he was considering settling there after the war. Sadly, he never lived long enough to see the end, failing to return from Lille 10MAY44.
Cliff - sorry to hear of your health problems, but glad to ehar from you again. Enjoy those pints!
Adam
padhist: Thanks for the memoirs, glad to have them in print for future PPRuners to marvel at.
For what it may be worth, hopefully your recollections of Jimmy Connors and Pat Downey may be "misremembered" as I cannot find any matching CWGC entries for a J Connors or P Downey. In fact, few Connors or Downeys, so they may have "gone into the bag" rather than "for a Burton" (unless you have changed the names)......
Similarly, although you may not have met Chas again, it looks as if he also survived the War.
Cliff, your inimitable fortitude shows through yet again. May 2012 see you complete all you wish for. My thoughts are with you and your family.
kookabat: FWIW, If the letters are from Gilbert Pate, his pilot was the only survivor of the 12 bombers lost on the Lille Operation. Bomber Command lost 83 dead with only S/L Smith surviving after being blown clear when the Lanc exploded. If there can be any comfort in it, Gilbert and the rest of his crew are tended by the local people at Lezennes.
If they are from F/Sgt Allen, then his remains were not specifically identified and he is commemorated at Runnymede.
If from George Dann, he is in Foret sur Marque with 5 of his crew. Theirs was an all RAAF crew.
I'm sure you already have far more info, but for other followers of the thread, it may bring it into sharper focus. In fact Bomber Command lost 26 aircraft that night, not just the 11 or 12 lost at Lille.
Yet the survivors (and replacements) continued to take to the skies, night after night knowing that they were the principle way of slowing the German war machine.
For what it may be worth, hopefully your recollections of Jimmy Connors and Pat Downey may be "misremembered" as I cannot find any matching CWGC entries for a J Connors or P Downey. In fact, few Connors or Downeys, so they may have "gone into the bag" rather than "for a Burton" (unless you have changed the names)......
Similarly, although you may not have met Chas again, it looks as if he also survived the War.
Cliff, your inimitable fortitude shows through yet again. May 2012 see you complete all you wish for. My thoughts are with you and your family.
kookabat: FWIW, If the letters are from Gilbert Pate, his pilot was the only survivor of the 12 bombers lost on the Lille Operation. Bomber Command lost 83 dead with only S/L Smith surviving after being blown clear when the Lanc exploded. If there can be any comfort in it, Gilbert and the rest of his crew are tended by the local people at Lezennes.
If they are from F/Sgt Allen, then his remains were not specifically identified and he is commemorated at Runnymede.
If from George Dann, he is in Foret sur Marque with 5 of his crew. Theirs was an all RAAF crew.
I'm sure you already have far more info, but for other followers of the thread, it may bring it into sharper focus. In fact Bomber Command lost 26 aircraft that night, not just the 11 or 12 lost at Lille.
Yet the survivors (and replacements) continued to take to the skies, night after night knowing that they were the principle way of slowing the German war machine.
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Icare,
Many thanks. I am still amazed at the information you chaps can unearth. Makes me realise what a 'Sprog' I am with computers. Also I remain amazed at how few of my old aircrew mates are on the web.
Many thanks. I am still amazed at the information you chaps can unearth. Makes me realise what a 'Sprog' I am with computers. Also I remain amazed at how few of my old aircrew mates are on the web.
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My memoirs
Chapter 12
Miami Oklahoma
The Spartan School of Aeronautics.
This was it!! What we had all been waiting for...Flying. But of course there was the dreaded drill and the Physical Training and the Ground School. But first of all the School itself. This was a civilian flying training establishment, offering training at a certain cost to the RAF with the agreement of the American Government. It was known as No. 3 BFTS. (British Flying Training School). We had a Wing Commander C.O. and some RAF Officers and one Corporal PTI. The Flying instruction was carried out by American pilots.
The accommodation was excellent, far better than we had been used to in the UK. The main surprise though was the layout of the toilets for the junior courses. If you can visualise the arrangement. A large room with two rows of about eight wash basins back to back in the centre of the room. Then behind each of these rows was a line of toilets (Sit downers with no partitions) each backing on to the wall, again about eight to a row. Got the picture? Whilst you are sitting you look at the back of the chap who is washing in front of you and the other side of the room is a mirror image...Eight squatting and eight washing each side of the room!! And of course the queue waiting. Well I was always rather shy and you can imagine my horror at the thought of performing in front of an audience. But like all things, one got used to it and it became the norm to wait one's turn for a squat with the daily paper after breakfast or sometimes just chatting with one's neighbor on either side. Of course sometimes the conversation became a little strained. It is odd how you become accustomed to situations though; I remember on my first leave, when in the Hotel Loo for the first time, I couldn't perform because I felt too lonely.
The course was divided up into Flights each Flight having a Cadet in charge. One half of the course would be carrying out flying instruction whilst the other half was doing ground school work. The flying began on Fairchild PT19's. Small low wing monoplanes with open cockpits, mostly the instructor was in the rear. After Primary Instruction we went on to Advance flying in Harvard’s. Again low wing monoplanes but having retractable undercarriages and closing hoods. The difference between the two aircraft seemed enormous to me at the time...I recall looking into the cockpit of the Harvard for the first time and thinking it looked so complicated I would never master it.
There is little point in going too deeply into the ground school side of the course, to most it would just be a bore. The same applies to the PT and drill. Suffice to say that we had a lot of it and at times it was pretty exacting. There were periodic tests and these had to be passed or you were up for the CHOP. You can imagine how humiliating that would have been.
The interesting part for us was the flying. That always made the adrenaline flow, sometimes a bit too fast, but it was always exciting. My first Instructor on Primary was a Mr. Koepnick. He was a bit older than most of the instructors and said he had been an Airline Pilot at one time. I remember only too well my first trip with him. He inverted the plane and said "Are you holding on tight" Well, I was holding so tight I thought the sides of the plane would cave in. Then he said "Put your left hand up in the air" My left hand shot up and back down again to its handhold so fast I hardly lost my grip. He made me do the same with my right hand. Then he said “Right now put both hands up and keep them there" It took all my courage to hang there on the straps, but hang I did. And that's how he made me trust in the straps. It was a good lesson.
I had my old problem with landings and it took me a long time to go solo I'm sure I must have been considered for the CHOP during this period but the God's were kind to me and eventually the day came when he climbed out of the plane and said "Right off you go, one circuit and back to me here." Talk about being scared silly I couldn't believe it. You can imagine my feelings on the final approach I could see polished oak and flowers all the way down. But it worked; she planted herself on the grass like a real lady. I'm sure some other hand was on the Pushenpullenschtik it certainly could not have been Der Dumpkoff Mit Der Pushenpullenschtic.
As we progressed the training intensified with solo Aerobatics - Spinning- Formation Flying among many other exercises and then on to Night Flying. Unlike car driving when you start night flying it is like starting all over from the beginning. You must have attained a high standard of Instrument flying and nothing seems the same at night as in the day. It requires a lot of practice to become comfortable. One night, during the early part of night flying training, I had just left the plane having done my stint; Koepnic had installed my co-student Hill aboard for his turn. Now, we were using the secondary airfield which was just a large square of grass having a single line of Paraffin Flares down the middle to light up a landing path and about three flares at right angles to give a lead in. Well, Hill, after settling in, opened up the throttle and trundled off into the distance. I thought his direction was a little odd so I hesitantly pointed this out to Keopnic who promptly blew his top and yelled for the 'Bloodwagon'. They chased off after Hill who had tried to take off at 90 degrees to the correct take off path. When they got to him he was stationary, very close to the field boundary. He said very calmly “I ran out of lights and thought something was wrong so I stopped” That was Hill.
Eventually we passed out from Primary training and became Senior Cadets ready to begin our Advanced Training on Harvard’s. These were considered to be 'Hot Rods' compared to the Primary Trainers. There were many occasions when I frightened myself on these aircraft. But I suppose the worst time was when I set off on my first solo night flying cross country. The Met report had been good with no mention of cloud. The course was a simple triangle around the local area. After take off I climbed to my planned height and found myself in cloud. I decided that it couldn't be extensive and that I would continue on instruments. I was still in cloud when I reached my first turning point where I carried out the usual standard turn onto my next course still on instruments. This continued round the course until I decided I had to descend to identify my position. I was lost...I could recognise nothing. I searched around for lights which would mean something to me when I came across a grass airfield with just boundary lights. There was no control tower. I decided to make an emergency landing. I could see that the field was very short so I came in with nose up and plenty of power. As I approached I saw in my landing light some power cables this frightened me silly. At the same time my landing gear horn blasted me, indicating I had left my wheels up!! Go round again. All I wanted was to get on to Terra Firmer. I had to make three approaches before I got it right. I landed and came to a halt close to the far side boundary. I taxied to where I saw an office lit up. Shut the engine down and went in to introduce myself. Inside was a very lovely looking young lady who turned out to be the Meteorologist. The airfield I had chosen was a Met Centre having an emergency landing field attached, anyway after asking her to phone my base to report my location I just lay on the floor and flaked out. (Always my answer to crisis). After a short nap I was talking to her and she told me that an aircraft had nosed dived into a road somewhere close. We looked at the map and I realised that it must be one of our chaps. I learned later it was Walter Elliot one of our flight. He must have become disorientated in cloud and spun in. I always think I owed my survival to old Koepnic who insisted on a high degree of instrument flying. My efforts could not have been too bad because I did not get a wigging and I detected that the instructors who came to get me thought I did a good job of getting into that field at night. There were fifteen students killed during the total period of the school's war time training.
I did break one Harvard on landing. A classic ground loop. This I think was due, apart from my stupidity and inexperience, to the difficulty of controlling the rudders with such short legs... Stop laughing. Many of us had handicaps. I remember Graham an ex Special Branch Policeman, he was sick every time he flew and had to take a bag up with him, frequently having to clean out the cockpit. Short hairy legs were plentiful, it was the smooth feminine one’s in short supply.
The flying area around the base was quite unique. The land was completely flat save for the man made hills from the debris of the Zinc Mines at Pitcher, a small mining town close by. This part of America had been 'donated' to the Indians by the generosity of the American People. That was before they realised there was OIL. Then they could hardly take it back so they had to pay the Indians Royalties from the Oil revenues. The land was almost desert so they brought in engineers to create roads running true North and South, East and West, dividing the land up into one mile square sections. These were sold off at give away prices to Homesteaders in order to get the area inhabited. How this little bit of history affected us was that it created a grid of roads over which we could navigate almost without the use of a compass. This navigational benefit was splendid until we came to carry out cross country flying away from our area, then we were forced to rely on normal compass Navigation. The most exciting moment for us was when at the end of the course we went on our final, long cross country. Unfortunately for us we missed out on the Texas one and we went to De Moines via Wichita. At the time this seemed an enormous trek taking about eight hours flying in all, but it was a good test of our flying and navigation ability. At this time we all had about 180Hrs flying experience.
I had my final handling check with the Deputy Chief flying Instructor on 27. November.1943. and was duly presented with my wings, at a parade soon after, by an American General......... .I WAS A PILOT
Miami Oklahoma
The Spartan School of Aeronautics.
This was it!! What we had all been waiting for...Flying. But of course there was the dreaded drill and the Physical Training and the Ground School. But first of all the School itself. This was a civilian flying training establishment, offering training at a certain cost to the RAF with the agreement of the American Government. It was known as No. 3 BFTS. (British Flying Training School). We had a Wing Commander C.O. and some RAF Officers and one Corporal PTI. The Flying instruction was carried out by American pilots.
The accommodation was excellent, far better than we had been used to in the UK. The main surprise though was the layout of the toilets for the junior courses. If you can visualise the arrangement. A large room with two rows of about eight wash basins back to back in the centre of the room. Then behind each of these rows was a line of toilets (Sit downers with no partitions) each backing on to the wall, again about eight to a row. Got the picture? Whilst you are sitting you look at the back of the chap who is washing in front of you and the other side of the room is a mirror image...Eight squatting and eight washing each side of the room!! And of course the queue waiting. Well I was always rather shy and you can imagine my horror at the thought of performing in front of an audience. But like all things, one got used to it and it became the norm to wait one's turn for a squat with the daily paper after breakfast or sometimes just chatting with one's neighbor on either side. Of course sometimes the conversation became a little strained. It is odd how you become accustomed to situations though; I remember on my first leave, when in the Hotel Loo for the first time, I couldn't perform because I felt too lonely.
The course was divided up into Flights each Flight having a Cadet in charge. One half of the course would be carrying out flying instruction whilst the other half was doing ground school work. The flying began on Fairchild PT19's. Small low wing monoplanes with open cockpits, mostly the instructor was in the rear. After Primary Instruction we went on to Advance flying in Harvard’s. Again low wing monoplanes but having retractable undercarriages and closing hoods. The difference between the two aircraft seemed enormous to me at the time...I recall looking into the cockpit of the Harvard for the first time and thinking it looked so complicated I would never master it.
There is little point in going too deeply into the ground school side of the course, to most it would just be a bore. The same applies to the PT and drill. Suffice to say that we had a lot of it and at times it was pretty exacting. There were periodic tests and these had to be passed or you were up for the CHOP. You can imagine how humiliating that would have been.
The interesting part for us was the flying. That always made the adrenaline flow, sometimes a bit too fast, but it was always exciting. My first Instructor on Primary was a Mr. Koepnick. He was a bit older than most of the instructors and said he had been an Airline Pilot at one time. I remember only too well my first trip with him. He inverted the plane and said "Are you holding on tight" Well, I was holding so tight I thought the sides of the plane would cave in. Then he said "Put your left hand up in the air" My left hand shot up and back down again to its handhold so fast I hardly lost my grip. He made me do the same with my right hand. Then he said “Right now put both hands up and keep them there" It took all my courage to hang there on the straps, but hang I did. And that's how he made me trust in the straps. It was a good lesson.
I had my old problem with landings and it took me a long time to go solo I'm sure I must have been considered for the CHOP during this period but the God's were kind to me and eventually the day came when he climbed out of the plane and said "Right off you go, one circuit and back to me here." Talk about being scared silly I couldn't believe it. You can imagine my feelings on the final approach I could see polished oak and flowers all the way down. But it worked; she planted herself on the grass like a real lady. I'm sure some other hand was on the Pushenpullenschtik it certainly could not have been Der Dumpkoff Mit Der Pushenpullenschtic.
As we progressed the training intensified with solo Aerobatics - Spinning- Formation Flying among many other exercises and then on to Night Flying. Unlike car driving when you start night flying it is like starting all over from the beginning. You must have attained a high standard of Instrument flying and nothing seems the same at night as in the day. It requires a lot of practice to become comfortable. One night, during the early part of night flying training, I had just left the plane having done my stint; Koepnic had installed my co-student Hill aboard for his turn. Now, we were using the secondary airfield which was just a large square of grass having a single line of Paraffin Flares down the middle to light up a landing path and about three flares at right angles to give a lead in. Well, Hill, after settling in, opened up the throttle and trundled off into the distance. I thought his direction was a little odd so I hesitantly pointed this out to Keopnic who promptly blew his top and yelled for the 'Bloodwagon'. They chased off after Hill who had tried to take off at 90 degrees to the correct take off path. When they got to him he was stationary, very close to the field boundary. He said very calmly “I ran out of lights and thought something was wrong so I stopped” That was Hill.
Eventually we passed out from Primary training and became Senior Cadets ready to begin our Advanced Training on Harvard’s. These were considered to be 'Hot Rods' compared to the Primary Trainers. There were many occasions when I frightened myself on these aircraft. But I suppose the worst time was when I set off on my first solo night flying cross country. The Met report had been good with no mention of cloud. The course was a simple triangle around the local area. After take off I climbed to my planned height and found myself in cloud. I decided that it couldn't be extensive and that I would continue on instruments. I was still in cloud when I reached my first turning point where I carried out the usual standard turn onto my next course still on instruments. This continued round the course until I decided I had to descend to identify my position. I was lost...I could recognise nothing. I searched around for lights which would mean something to me when I came across a grass airfield with just boundary lights. There was no control tower. I decided to make an emergency landing. I could see that the field was very short so I came in with nose up and plenty of power. As I approached I saw in my landing light some power cables this frightened me silly. At the same time my landing gear horn blasted me, indicating I had left my wheels up!! Go round again. All I wanted was to get on to Terra Firmer. I had to make three approaches before I got it right. I landed and came to a halt close to the far side boundary. I taxied to where I saw an office lit up. Shut the engine down and went in to introduce myself. Inside was a very lovely looking young lady who turned out to be the Meteorologist. The airfield I had chosen was a Met Centre having an emergency landing field attached, anyway after asking her to phone my base to report my location I just lay on the floor and flaked out. (Always my answer to crisis). After a short nap I was talking to her and she told me that an aircraft had nosed dived into a road somewhere close. We looked at the map and I realised that it must be one of our chaps. I learned later it was Walter Elliot one of our flight. He must have become disorientated in cloud and spun in. I always think I owed my survival to old Koepnic who insisted on a high degree of instrument flying. My efforts could not have been too bad because I did not get a wigging and I detected that the instructors who came to get me thought I did a good job of getting into that field at night. There were fifteen students killed during the total period of the school's war time training.
I did break one Harvard on landing. A classic ground loop. This I think was due, apart from my stupidity and inexperience, to the difficulty of controlling the rudders with such short legs... Stop laughing. Many of us had handicaps. I remember Graham an ex Special Branch Policeman, he was sick every time he flew and had to take a bag up with him, frequently having to clean out the cockpit. Short hairy legs were plentiful, it was the smooth feminine one’s in short supply.
The flying area around the base was quite unique. The land was completely flat save for the man made hills from the debris of the Zinc Mines at Pitcher, a small mining town close by. This part of America had been 'donated' to the Indians by the generosity of the American People. That was before they realised there was OIL. Then they could hardly take it back so they had to pay the Indians Royalties from the Oil revenues. The land was almost desert so they brought in engineers to create roads running true North and South, East and West, dividing the land up into one mile square sections. These were sold off at give away prices to Homesteaders in order to get the area inhabited. How this little bit of history affected us was that it created a grid of roads over which we could navigate almost without the use of a compass. This navigational benefit was splendid until we came to carry out cross country flying away from our area, then we were forced to rely on normal compass Navigation. The most exciting moment for us was when at the end of the course we went on our final, long cross country. Unfortunately for us we missed out on the Texas one and we went to De Moines via Wichita. At the time this seemed an enormous trek taking about eight hours flying in all, but it was a good test of our flying and navigation ability. At this time we all had about 180Hrs flying experience.
I had my final handling check with the Deputy Chief flying Instructor on 27. November.1943. and was duly presented with my wings, at a parade soon after, by an American General......... .I WAS A PILOT
DIRECTOR
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Does this ring a bell?
Night Take Off
Beneath our wheels the flares and glim-lamps race
Each gooseneck stretching taut, then only space
Descends as now the leading-lights are past
And three-dimensioned darkness holds us fast.
We are of night and night hugs close her own,
The long black caverns of her sleeves are thrown
Around us and she bids the circling clouds
Encompass us with vapour as with shrouds.
by Ariel Poems of a Flight Lieutenant 1942
Night Take Off
Beneath our wheels the flares and glim-lamps race
Each gooseneck stretching taut, then only space
Descends as now the leading-lights are past
And three-dimensioned darkness holds us fast.
We are of night and night hugs close her own,
The long black caverns of her sleeves are thrown
Around us and she bids the circling clouds
Encompass us with vapour as with shrouds.
by Ariel Poems of a Flight Lieutenant 1942
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Ahh Icare9, you're just being clever now!! Indeed the letters are from Gilbert Pate - my great uncle was his navigator and also rests in Lezennes. I visited the graves in 2009 on the anniversary of the raid from which they failed to return - the locals put on a small ceremony at the gravesite, attended by the Mayor and a small media contingent. Quite overwhelming, really.
Phil Smith - the only survivor, as you say, of the 84 men lost that night - only passed away in 2003. My family and I discovered he was still alive in 1996 and we became quite good friends until his death - I remain in touch with his widow. Phil never knew exactly what happened to the aircraft. All he remembered was everything going hot and dry and red, and then he was falling. He evaded capture, being sheltered by a French family about 50km south of Lille, until the invasion forces passed in September 1944. Quite a remarkable man!
I traced Gilbert Pate's family last year, which is where the letters come from.
Adam
Phil Smith - the only survivor, as you say, of the 84 men lost that night - only passed away in 2003. My family and I discovered he was still alive in 1996 and we became quite good friends until his death - I remain in touch with his widow. Phil never knew exactly what happened to the aircraft. All he remembered was everything going hot and dry and red, and then he was falling. He evaded capture, being sheltered by a French family about 50km south of Lille, until the invasion forces passed in September 1944. Quite a remarkable man!
I traced Gilbert Pate's family last year, which is where the letters come from.
Adam
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Tommyov
What has happened to this Thread it seems to have come to a grinding halt. Of course it could be something to do with me!!
Please give me a buzz
[email protected]
What has happened to this Thread it seems to have come to a grinding halt. Of course it could be something to do with me!!
Please give me a buzz
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What has happened to this Thread it seems to have come to a grinding halt. Of course it could be something to do with me!!
This is by far and away the best thread on this forum and that is down to the likes of your very good self.
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Thank you glojo.
However I live in Brittany. Now you have given me the courage to continue my Chapter 13
Harrogate
Having passed out of No 3 BFTS we again travelled back to Moncton to be boarded on our ship for the return journey to the UK. We had about two weeks wait in the freezing temperatures of Nova Scotia. I met Chas Blyth again he having completed his pilot training at Medicine Hat in Canada.
I recall leaving our barracks at about 2am one morning for our embarkation at Halifax. I put on all the clothing I possibly could, to combat the cold, but as I exited the main door the freezing wind just cut through me as though I was naked. I was pleased to get away from that Godforsaken place.
We embarked on the Mauritania and I was again mistaken in thinking that as I was going back a Sergeant having come out as an IRK I would get some special treatment. I did, but not the sort I had in mind I didn't get a cabin this time I got a Hammock! and I thought I would be clever I tied it between two posts and having another post close by with a light my thought was that I would be able to read until I was tired enough to sleep then all would be OK. It was, while the ship was at anchor but I hadn't given a thought to the fact, that when we were under way the blooming thing would sway. Well, the first night, instead of sleeping, each time we swayed to the right I was banged up against the post with the light. I changed my location to what I thought looked a quiet unused passageway only to find that every five minutes one of the crew would pass under my hammock and not duck sufficiently, so giving me a header up the backside and that each five minutes can get to be a bore.
We ate in a rather shabby mess hall and one day I was the last to leave the table. I had some leavings on my plate and I was scraping these into a large basin at the end of the table which I thought was for slops when the food orderly said " What are you doing, that was the food for another three people" I said " They will never know"
There were many hundreds of American soldiers on board and we were very surprised one morning about two days out from UK to find that they were all rigged out in full battle kit. When we asked what it was for they replied we were now in the War Zone!!
Of course we were old hands at war and they had yet to see one!
(My Father once told me. The only war I saw was when I came home on leave)
Following our disembarkation we were posted to Harrowgate after of course, a period of leave. Naturally I was very proud to show off my wings at home and I was very surprised to find that there was a different relationship between my Father and me. I think I had proved myself to him; I had succeeded in what I set out to do and not cried out for help. My Mother on the other hand never really understood what it was all about. I remember when she read my log book and asked me what SOLO FLYING meant. When I explained that that was when I flew by myself, she said " Oh just you and the instructor" I replied “No, just me" Well I could see she could not adjust to that idea and she never asked me a thing about flying from that day on.
Harrowgate was a pain. Not in the sense that it was uncomfortable but if you can imagine thousands of newly qualified aircrew all housed in the big hotels of this old fashioned Spa town, all with unbounding energy and nowhere to unleash it. We were to be tied to this place for about a year during which we were sent off on various courses mainly I'm sure to keep us quiet and out of mischief. I did two Pre- AFU's (Advanced Flying Unit) for three months each. Flying Tiger Moths. Plus a number of other small courses and detachments. One of the latter was to RAF Wickenby a bomber station which was very active at that time. We felt even more frustrated there because we were the only aircrew on the station without an active role to play.
The reason for this hold up in our progress was that the casualties in aircrew had slowed down and therefore the operational stations had no immediate need of us. I am sure many people would be shocked to learn how some aircrews were used during this period. For instance as Farm Hands, Firemen on railway engines etc. It used to be a joke when we passed a train crew on a station to say "Aircrew Mate?"
I was on a course I forget where, when an AMO (Air Ministry Order) came in advising us that the Fleet Air Arm wanted trained pilots from the RAF to transfer for Naval Flight Training for the Japanese offensive. Well Cliff, Fin and me, discussed this and came to the conclusion that it was the only way we would see any war at all so we agreed we would opt for it. Well, we did. But the next day we thought it was not such a good idea and decided against it. However, life is full of little surprises and unknown to us some weeks later there was a parade in which the list of names for transfer were read out. We naturally were not on it. One of the chaps who was in on the original discussion was on the parade and explained that we had been keen to volunteer. So, our names were added without our knowledge.
You can imagine our feelings when some time later we found ourselves posted to Tealing (Scotland) on a Harvard 'Selection course' Selection for what?? It was not until we arrived there that we found it was selection for the Fleet Air Arm. Of course it's no problem passing tests you don't particularly wish to succeed in, so, we all passed, and found ourselves on our way to Lee on Solent to join the Navy. Were there three more unlikely looking sailors than us I doubt it.
However I live in Brittany. Now you have given me the courage to continue my Chapter 13
Harrogate
Having passed out of No 3 BFTS we again travelled back to Moncton to be boarded on our ship for the return journey to the UK. We had about two weeks wait in the freezing temperatures of Nova Scotia. I met Chas Blyth again he having completed his pilot training at Medicine Hat in Canada.
I recall leaving our barracks at about 2am one morning for our embarkation at Halifax. I put on all the clothing I possibly could, to combat the cold, but as I exited the main door the freezing wind just cut through me as though I was naked. I was pleased to get away from that Godforsaken place.
We embarked on the Mauritania and I was again mistaken in thinking that as I was going back a Sergeant having come out as an IRK I would get some special treatment. I did, but not the sort I had in mind I didn't get a cabin this time I got a Hammock! and I thought I would be clever I tied it between two posts and having another post close by with a light my thought was that I would be able to read until I was tired enough to sleep then all would be OK. It was, while the ship was at anchor but I hadn't given a thought to the fact, that when we were under way the blooming thing would sway. Well, the first night, instead of sleeping, each time we swayed to the right I was banged up against the post with the light. I changed my location to what I thought looked a quiet unused passageway only to find that every five minutes one of the crew would pass under my hammock and not duck sufficiently, so giving me a header up the backside and that each five minutes can get to be a bore.
We ate in a rather shabby mess hall and one day I was the last to leave the table. I had some leavings on my plate and I was scraping these into a large basin at the end of the table which I thought was for slops when the food orderly said " What are you doing, that was the food for another three people" I said " They will never know"
There were many hundreds of American soldiers on board and we were very surprised one morning about two days out from UK to find that they were all rigged out in full battle kit. When we asked what it was for they replied we were now in the War Zone!!
Of course we were old hands at war and they had yet to see one!
(My Father once told me. The only war I saw was when I came home on leave)
Following our disembarkation we were posted to Harrowgate after of course, a period of leave. Naturally I was very proud to show off my wings at home and I was very surprised to find that there was a different relationship between my Father and me. I think I had proved myself to him; I had succeeded in what I set out to do and not cried out for help. My Mother on the other hand never really understood what it was all about. I remember when she read my log book and asked me what SOLO FLYING meant. When I explained that that was when I flew by myself, she said " Oh just you and the instructor" I replied “No, just me" Well I could see she could not adjust to that idea and she never asked me a thing about flying from that day on.
Harrowgate was a pain. Not in the sense that it was uncomfortable but if you can imagine thousands of newly qualified aircrew all housed in the big hotels of this old fashioned Spa town, all with unbounding energy and nowhere to unleash it. We were to be tied to this place for about a year during which we were sent off on various courses mainly I'm sure to keep us quiet and out of mischief. I did two Pre- AFU's (Advanced Flying Unit) for three months each. Flying Tiger Moths. Plus a number of other small courses and detachments. One of the latter was to RAF Wickenby a bomber station which was very active at that time. We felt even more frustrated there because we were the only aircrew on the station without an active role to play.
The reason for this hold up in our progress was that the casualties in aircrew had slowed down and therefore the operational stations had no immediate need of us. I am sure many people would be shocked to learn how some aircrews were used during this period. For instance as Farm Hands, Firemen on railway engines etc. It used to be a joke when we passed a train crew on a station to say "Aircrew Mate?"
I was on a course I forget where, when an AMO (Air Ministry Order) came in advising us that the Fleet Air Arm wanted trained pilots from the RAF to transfer for Naval Flight Training for the Japanese offensive. Well Cliff, Fin and me, discussed this and came to the conclusion that it was the only way we would see any war at all so we agreed we would opt for it. Well, we did. But the next day we thought it was not such a good idea and decided against it. However, life is full of little surprises and unknown to us some weeks later there was a parade in which the list of names for transfer were read out. We naturally were not on it. One of the chaps who was in on the original discussion was on the parade and explained that we had been keen to volunteer. So, our names were added without our knowledge.
You can imagine our feelings when some time later we found ourselves posted to Tealing (Scotland) on a Harvard 'Selection course' Selection for what?? It was not until we arrived there that we found it was selection for the Fleet Air Arm. Of course it's no problem passing tests you don't particularly wish to succeed in, so, we all passed, and found ourselves on our way to Lee on Solent to join the Navy. Were there three more unlikely looking sailors than us I doubt it.
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Chapter 17
Fleet Air Arm. Lee on Solent. Ireland. Isle of Man. Jan 45-May 46
The arrangements laid down in the Air Ministry Order for our transfer to the FAA were such that Sergeants would transfer in the rank of Acting Petty Officer and would be upgraded after one year to Petty Officer. Flight Sergeants would be transferred in the rank of Chief Petty Officer. This does not sound too bad, but one had to understand the Navy and at this time we certainly did not! We were all due for our Flight Sergeant promotion but it had not yet been promulgated. This meant we were destined to Navy 'Square Rig' until we could show evidence of our promotion! Square Rig is a sailor’s suit, bell bottom trousers and a sea scout’s hat!
Anyway, the damage was done and we had to make the best of it. We duly arrived at Lee on Solent Naval Barracks to be kitted out and formally entered to the FAA. This was to be the beginning of one of the most hilarious episodes of my service life, apart from the flying, which was quite a different matter. We were directed to a massive great barrack block, built I imagine in the days of Nelson. We were greeted at reception by an old Petty Officer, who must have known Nelson. He could not understand what we were doing there, a group of NCO Pilots from the RAF what the hell did we want. Eventually he was persuaded that he had to accommodate us. "OK" he said “what are you G, T, or UA". One of us replied that Cliff was Catholic and the rest were C of E. We were serious but he did not see the funny side at all. He said "Are you Grog, Tee Total, or under-age". We then learned what it all meant. G meant we wished to have our rum allocation, T indicated temperance thus renouncing one's rum ration, and UA meant under age and not entitled. We decided that we could hardly accept a rum ration whilst flying so opted for the extra sixpence a day on our pay in lieu of rum.
While all this had been going on, Fin had been to have a look inside the barracks sleeping quarters. He came out saying " J… C…. they are hanging from the rafters in there!" Well, we all went in to have a look and sure enough he was not exaggerating, there were hammocks hanging everywhere and double bunks covering almost every bit of floor space, to the extent that in many cases one would have to clamber through someone's bunk to arrive at one's own. There were massive great wooden 'pens' already full of naval kit just thrown in to get them out of the way until they were required. We decided that this was not for us and we would look for 'digs' in town. This we did and found lodgings with some old lady.
We eventually got all our new kit and gave up our RAF uniforms. Looking like three sea scouts we turned up for our first parade in the Navy. We were chatting together on the crowded parade ground when a whistle blew, and as if by magic the whole Navy was lined up smartly in their respective positions EXCEPT you know who! We stood like three Nanas albeit at attention. "What are you three doing' a voice bellowed.” We don't know where to go Sir" "What! What watch are you" “We don't know Sir" "What! You don't know! What division are you"? "We don’t know Sir". "You don't know! Get off my parade ground!
At least this little incident had the effect of getting us noticed and we then made contact with the first person who knew all about us, he was to be our Divisional Officer.
Of course we were none too pleased to be wandering around the town looking like sea cadets but we did have a lot of funny moments. I recall one day sitting to lunch in the mess hall, on a bench, next to a massive great Acting Petty Officer who looked at me in surprise and said, "Wot are you". "A pilot" I replied. He let out a great guffaw of laughter, gave me a gentle shove which almost sent me off the end of the bench and said, "You, a little squirt like you--- A pilot - Ger Off". He, by the way had a funny little badge which 1 thought was a whip but I learned was an ancient badge for sail menders. A needle and thread!
Anyway we eventually got our orders to move on and our first flying posting was to 758 Squadron. Naval Air Instrument Flying School, Hinstock. This was only a six-day course during which I did over eight hour’s instrument flying on Oxfords.
We then went to R.N.A.S. Crimond for conversion training to Barracuda's with 717 Squadron. We did about thirty five hours flying by day and by night and generally learned how to handle the beast. A beast it was. It was generally understood to be the result of an Admiralty committee who wanted an aircraft capable of landing on a deck, having a three man crew of pilot, navigator and air gunner and able to carry bombs, torpedoes flares etc. All this with one engine. Fortunately, the Rolls Royce Merlin and later the Griffen. I must say having flown with these engines throughout my Navy flying and for many years following, I never had one let me down
Our next posting was to Easthaven, on the East coast of Scotland in April 1945. This was quite an intensive course which although was less than thirty hours flying in one month, involved me in forty sorties, one hundred and twenty nine landings, high dive bombing by day and by night and eight landings on the aircraft carrier HMS SMITER. Although scared silly by this high dive bombing stuff, I seemed to have got the hang of it because I had an above average assessment.
The carrier landings were naturally the high light of the course and we had waited impatiently for a couple of days for low cloud to clear so at least we could see the ship. At last we were off. I was leading the second flight of three aircraft in vic formation under a cloud base of about one thousand feet. The ship was just off the Firth of Forth and I must say I was glad my first sight of her was from a low altitude. She already looked tiny from our height. However, we pressed on and it became my turn to enter the circuit having already instructed my wing men to take up their circuit positions, remember three aircraft were ahead of me and were already being struck down forward of the crash barriers. There was a twenty five knot wind over the deck, which was very helpful. Soon after turning in on my final approach I caught sight of the Batsman and was committed to his commands. It is a serious offence to ignore the batsman once you are under his control. ...Left a bit, left wing down, steady... steady, too fast … steady... Crikey doesn't it look small and the whole deck appears to be cluttered. I have aircraft in front of me albeit on the far side of the crash barrier and the control island rushing up on my right and the Batsman flapping like a mad thing at me, he indicates CUT... I chop the throttles… There is a deathly pause as I hang in the air then...Thump... bang... wallop I am down. Have I got a wire? ..Yeees I'm dragged to a sudden halt and I haven't hit the barrier... You can if you catch the last wire, known as the Jesus Christ wire. Little men like gnomes urge me forward over the barriers now lying flat, to park close behind the three-parked aircraft. There is already another aircraft being batted-in behind me and I am conscience of the need to hurry…. I'm too close.... My prop is chewing a lump out of the wing of the lead aircraft! I stop the engine and hear a voice over the Loud Hailer... "Send that pilot up to the bridge” I crawl out, slink down the oleo leg, slide across the deck and slither up the stairs, sorry I mean gangway, passed the Commander Flying who is busy controlling the flying and ushered into the presence. The six foot something Naval boat driver is looking straight ahead ignoring me for some minutes, then says "Why" How do you answer that, the urge was to say I only did it for a joke, but he did not look the humorous type. I was sent below to complete a crash report and by the time I had completed mine I was giving instruction to the queue behind me, when I went back up on deck I realised my little effort was as nothing compared to some of the others.
All carrier landings in those days were dicey; the number of accidents incredible, we had no angled deck, the length of the ship was 492 feet only two thirds of that landing area. The aircraft were underpowered and the Batsmen - well what would you be like if you were a pilot on punishment duty? Taking off was equally hazardous if you were in the first aircraft off, a large part of the deck was taken up by the rest of the aircraft, thus leaving you less take off run and that with an under powered aircraft was no fun.
However, we had passed the course! Once again we asked to go on Captains Requestmen to have our rank made up to Chief Petty Officer. This always caused a stir. Captains could not understand how we could expect to be promoted from Acting Petty Officers to Chief Petty Officers. Of course, without the necessary Fleet Orders we had no chance anyway.
An overseas posting!! Well almost. The Isle of Man: Ronaldsway on the southern tip of the island. 713 Squadron. This is where we get crewed up and is the final course before our draft to do battle with the Japs. We were introduced to a Lt Cdr who was to be our leader from now on. The theory was that following this course we continue our squadron work-up on route to the Far East by carrier. We were expected to be operational on arrival. This was the first time I had had a crew of my own to fly with and I was looking forward to it. But what a drip of a navigator I was landed with. His work was OK but his attitude abysmal. Maybe it was not really his fault, more that of the Navy. You see he was an Officer and I was a Rating. It must be understood that the Air Arm was not geared to accommodate non-officer pilots. To give just one example of this, on one occasion the night flying orders were displayed in the Officers Mess only. We were unaware of them so did not arrive for flying. After that they tried without success to invite us to tea in their mess so that we could receive Night flying briefing Navy style.
The course was very intensive and after one solo trip to suss out the area I was flying with my crew on anti submarine bombing practice. I think on this course I carried out the most dangerous flying I have ever done. We carried out night high dive-bombing exercises when we used to climb to ten thousand feet, find the target by radar, drop a 4.5” white flare to light the target then wing over in an almost vertical dive… Of course this caused the gyro's to topple... so after releasing the bomb and pulling out of the dive we were on primary instruments and no night vision, having looked at the reflected light from the flare. Another dicey little exercise was low level night formation flying over the oggin. With no navigation lights just little blue fairy lights on the wingtips and tail.
Life was not all hell though; we used to take the Pash Wagon (Train) to Douglas every Saturday afternoon. The Pubs were open all day so there was no need to rush. So why did we. We would eat, drink and be generally stupid until it was time to return on the last train home. The first class compartments were locked to keep the riff-raff out. They had a habit of-crawling along the outside of the train searching for accommodating WRENS. On one occasion, Cliff and I returned sober. We swore we would never make that mistake again, it was sheer hell.
We had a brainwave once. We decided to opt for our rum ration because our drinking was becoming too expensive. We thought that if we had a good tot of rum before setting out for the city, we would not have to buy so much grog in town. What a mistake that was, we were tippled from start to finish, spent more than usual and got up to all sorts of mischief.
One morning our Divisional Officer called us to report for Captains Requestmen. The long awaited Admiralty Fleet Order had at last caught up with us and we were duly promoted to Chief Petty Officers. Not though, without some doubts from the Captain who had never before witnessed Acting Petty Officers move up to Chiefs and certainly not at our young ages… Anyway, Chiefs we were and typical of the service we had to move into the Chiefs Quarters right away. We had had our new uniforms ready for this moment since Lee on Solent. I must say the transition to the Chefs mess was an unforgettable experience. To start with there are very few Chiefs on a ship and they are what their title says they are: they run the ship. Of course our case was different, we had the title because we were pilots and not because of our experience in running things. But this group of' Oldies' really had the Navy sewn up; I have never been as comfortable and as well looked after since, even in Officers messes.
At the end of the course there was to be a course party and some commissions were to be announced. Cliff; Fin and I were pretty confident that we would be among these because we had all done well at all stages of the course and the Divisional Officer had hinted as much. In the event however, I was not selected and a chap by the name of J.......... was. This chap had put up a really poor showing on the course and we had all been surprised that he got through it at all. The Squadron Commander called me to one side very embarrassed and told me there had been a mistake and Jefferies name had been made in error, it should have been mine. I was not to worry, on return from our embarkation leave the matter would be put right. ... During our embarkation leave the Bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, so we did not embark! !
Now we were in a real pickle. ..No more war. ..No more service. ..What do you do with a drunken sailor!!
We decided to go to Admiralty House and face them with the problem! What a laugh that was. I don't think it had ever happened before. There we were three Chiefs - Pilots, asking them what they had in mind for us and whatever it was it had to be flying. I think they had the last laugh. We were posted to Eglinton. Northern lreland. ..Target towing on Martinet's - 194 Squadron.
This was a six-month holiday camp with flying thrown in. I flew about eighty hours and apart from that we were 1eft entirely to ourselves. Of course we got up to a lot of mischief, we had access to a lot of ammunition. 303 rounds and point 5 cannon shells, we used to open these up and make rockets using aluminium tubing, and at times slipping a 303 into the crew room stove and making ourselves scarce before it exploded scattering hot coal dust everywhere.
Fleet Air Arm. Lee on Solent. Ireland. Isle of Man. Jan 45-May 46
The arrangements laid down in the Air Ministry Order for our transfer to the FAA were such that Sergeants would transfer in the rank of Acting Petty Officer and would be upgraded after one year to Petty Officer. Flight Sergeants would be transferred in the rank of Chief Petty Officer. This does not sound too bad, but one had to understand the Navy and at this time we certainly did not! We were all due for our Flight Sergeant promotion but it had not yet been promulgated. This meant we were destined to Navy 'Square Rig' until we could show evidence of our promotion! Square Rig is a sailor’s suit, bell bottom trousers and a sea scout’s hat!
Anyway, the damage was done and we had to make the best of it. We duly arrived at Lee on Solent Naval Barracks to be kitted out and formally entered to the FAA. This was to be the beginning of one of the most hilarious episodes of my service life, apart from the flying, which was quite a different matter. We were directed to a massive great barrack block, built I imagine in the days of Nelson. We were greeted at reception by an old Petty Officer, who must have known Nelson. He could not understand what we were doing there, a group of NCO Pilots from the RAF what the hell did we want. Eventually he was persuaded that he had to accommodate us. "OK" he said “what are you G, T, or UA". One of us replied that Cliff was Catholic and the rest were C of E. We were serious but he did not see the funny side at all. He said "Are you Grog, Tee Total, or under-age". We then learned what it all meant. G meant we wished to have our rum allocation, T indicated temperance thus renouncing one's rum ration, and UA meant under age and not entitled. We decided that we could hardly accept a rum ration whilst flying so opted for the extra sixpence a day on our pay in lieu of rum.
While all this had been going on, Fin had been to have a look inside the barracks sleeping quarters. He came out saying " J… C…. they are hanging from the rafters in there!" Well, we all went in to have a look and sure enough he was not exaggerating, there were hammocks hanging everywhere and double bunks covering almost every bit of floor space, to the extent that in many cases one would have to clamber through someone's bunk to arrive at one's own. There were massive great wooden 'pens' already full of naval kit just thrown in to get them out of the way until they were required. We decided that this was not for us and we would look for 'digs' in town. This we did and found lodgings with some old lady.
We eventually got all our new kit and gave up our RAF uniforms. Looking like three sea scouts we turned up for our first parade in the Navy. We were chatting together on the crowded parade ground when a whistle blew, and as if by magic the whole Navy was lined up smartly in their respective positions EXCEPT you know who! We stood like three Nanas albeit at attention. "What are you three doing' a voice bellowed.” We don't know where to go Sir" "What! What watch are you" “We don't know Sir" "What! You don't know! What division are you"? "We don’t know Sir". "You don't know! Get off my parade ground!
At least this little incident had the effect of getting us noticed and we then made contact with the first person who knew all about us, he was to be our Divisional Officer.
Of course we were none too pleased to be wandering around the town looking like sea cadets but we did have a lot of funny moments. I recall one day sitting to lunch in the mess hall, on a bench, next to a massive great Acting Petty Officer who looked at me in surprise and said, "Wot are you". "A pilot" I replied. He let out a great guffaw of laughter, gave me a gentle shove which almost sent me off the end of the bench and said, "You, a little squirt like you--- A pilot - Ger Off". He, by the way had a funny little badge which 1 thought was a whip but I learned was an ancient badge for sail menders. A needle and thread!
Anyway we eventually got our orders to move on and our first flying posting was to 758 Squadron. Naval Air Instrument Flying School, Hinstock. This was only a six-day course during which I did over eight hour’s instrument flying on Oxfords.
We then went to R.N.A.S. Crimond for conversion training to Barracuda's with 717 Squadron. We did about thirty five hours flying by day and by night and generally learned how to handle the beast. A beast it was. It was generally understood to be the result of an Admiralty committee who wanted an aircraft capable of landing on a deck, having a three man crew of pilot, navigator and air gunner and able to carry bombs, torpedoes flares etc. All this with one engine. Fortunately, the Rolls Royce Merlin and later the Griffen. I must say having flown with these engines throughout my Navy flying and for many years following, I never had one let me down
Our next posting was to Easthaven, on the East coast of Scotland in April 1945. This was quite an intensive course which although was less than thirty hours flying in one month, involved me in forty sorties, one hundred and twenty nine landings, high dive bombing by day and by night and eight landings on the aircraft carrier HMS SMITER. Although scared silly by this high dive bombing stuff, I seemed to have got the hang of it because I had an above average assessment.
The carrier landings were naturally the high light of the course and we had waited impatiently for a couple of days for low cloud to clear so at least we could see the ship. At last we were off. I was leading the second flight of three aircraft in vic formation under a cloud base of about one thousand feet. The ship was just off the Firth of Forth and I must say I was glad my first sight of her was from a low altitude. She already looked tiny from our height. However, we pressed on and it became my turn to enter the circuit having already instructed my wing men to take up their circuit positions, remember three aircraft were ahead of me and were already being struck down forward of the crash barriers. There was a twenty five knot wind over the deck, which was very helpful. Soon after turning in on my final approach I caught sight of the Batsman and was committed to his commands. It is a serious offence to ignore the batsman once you are under his control. ...Left a bit, left wing down, steady... steady, too fast … steady... Crikey doesn't it look small and the whole deck appears to be cluttered. I have aircraft in front of me albeit on the far side of the crash barrier and the control island rushing up on my right and the Batsman flapping like a mad thing at me, he indicates CUT... I chop the throttles… There is a deathly pause as I hang in the air then...Thump... bang... wallop I am down. Have I got a wire? ..Yeees I'm dragged to a sudden halt and I haven't hit the barrier... You can if you catch the last wire, known as the Jesus Christ wire. Little men like gnomes urge me forward over the barriers now lying flat, to park close behind the three-parked aircraft. There is already another aircraft being batted-in behind me and I am conscience of the need to hurry…. I'm too close.... My prop is chewing a lump out of the wing of the lead aircraft! I stop the engine and hear a voice over the Loud Hailer... "Send that pilot up to the bridge” I crawl out, slink down the oleo leg, slide across the deck and slither up the stairs, sorry I mean gangway, passed the Commander Flying who is busy controlling the flying and ushered into the presence. The six foot something Naval boat driver is looking straight ahead ignoring me for some minutes, then says "Why" How do you answer that, the urge was to say I only did it for a joke, but he did not look the humorous type. I was sent below to complete a crash report and by the time I had completed mine I was giving instruction to the queue behind me, when I went back up on deck I realised my little effort was as nothing compared to some of the others.
All carrier landings in those days were dicey; the number of accidents incredible, we had no angled deck, the length of the ship was 492 feet only two thirds of that landing area. The aircraft were underpowered and the Batsmen - well what would you be like if you were a pilot on punishment duty? Taking off was equally hazardous if you were in the first aircraft off, a large part of the deck was taken up by the rest of the aircraft, thus leaving you less take off run and that with an under powered aircraft was no fun.
However, we had passed the course! Once again we asked to go on Captains Requestmen to have our rank made up to Chief Petty Officer. This always caused a stir. Captains could not understand how we could expect to be promoted from Acting Petty Officers to Chief Petty Officers. Of course, without the necessary Fleet Orders we had no chance anyway.
An overseas posting!! Well almost. The Isle of Man: Ronaldsway on the southern tip of the island. 713 Squadron. This is where we get crewed up and is the final course before our draft to do battle with the Japs. We were introduced to a Lt Cdr who was to be our leader from now on. The theory was that following this course we continue our squadron work-up on route to the Far East by carrier. We were expected to be operational on arrival. This was the first time I had had a crew of my own to fly with and I was looking forward to it. But what a drip of a navigator I was landed with. His work was OK but his attitude abysmal. Maybe it was not really his fault, more that of the Navy. You see he was an Officer and I was a Rating. It must be understood that the Air Arm was not geared to accommodate non-officer pilots. To give just one example of this, on one occasion the night flying orders were displayed in the Officers Mess only. We were unaware of them so did not arrive for flying. After that they tried without success to invite us to tea in their mess so that we could receive Night flying briefing Navy style.
The course was very intensive and after one solo trip to suss out the area I was flying with my crew on anti submarine bombing practice. I think on this course I carried out the most dangerous flying I have ever done. We carried out night high dive-bombing exercises when we used to climb to ten thousand feet, find the target by radar, drop a 4.5” white flare to light the target then wing over in an almost vertical dive… Of course this caused the gyro's to topple... so after releasing the bomb and pulling out of the dive we were on primary instruments and no night vision, having looked at the reflected light from the flare. Another dicey little exercise was low level night formation flying over the oggin. With no navigation lights just little blue fairy lights on the wingtips and tail.
Life was not all hell though; we used to take the Pash Wagon (Train) to Douglas every Saturday afternoon. The Pubs were open all day so there was no need to rush. So why did we. We would eat, drink and be generally stupid until it was time to return on the last train home. The first class compartments were locked to keep the riff-raff out. They had a habit of-crawling along the outside of the train searching for accommodating WRENS. On one occasion, Cliff and I returned sober. We swore we would never make that mistake again, it was sheer hell.
We had a brainwave once. We decided to opt for our rum ration because our drinking was becoming too expensive. We thought that if we had a good tot of rum before setting out for the city, we would not have to buy so much grog in town. What a mistake that was, we were tippled from start to finish, spent more than usual and got up to all sorts of mischief.
One morning our Divisional Officer called us to report for Captains Requestmen. The long awaited Admiralty Fleet Order had at last caught up with us and we were duly promoted to Chief Petty Officers. Not though, without some doubts from the Captain who had never before witnessed Acting Petty Officers move up to Chiefs and certainly not at our young ages… Anyway, Chiefs we were and typical of the service we had to move into the Chiefs Quarters right away. We had had our new uniforms ready for this moment since Lee on Solent. I must say the transition to the Chefs mess was an unforgettable experience. To start with there are very few Chiefs on a ship and they are what their title says they are: they run the ship. Of course our case was different, we had the title because we were pilots and not because of our experience in running things. But this group of' Oldies' really had the Navy sewn up; I have never been as comfortable and as well looked after since, even in Officers messes.
At the end of the course there was to be a course party and some commissions were to be announced. Cliff; Fin and I were pretty confident that we would be among these because we had all done well at all stages of the course and the Divisional Officer had hinted as much. In the event however, I was not selected and a chap by the name of J.......... was. This chap had put up a really poor showing on the course and we had all been surprised that he got through it at all. The Squadron Commander called me to one side very embarrassed and told me there had been a mistake and Jefferies name had been made in error, it should have been mine. I was not to worry, on return from our embarkation leave the matter would be put right. ... During our embarkation leave the Bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, so we did not embark! !
Now we were in a real pickle. ..No more war. ..No more service. ..What do you do with a drunken sailor!!
We decided to go to Admiralty House and face them with the problem! What a laugh that was. I don't think it had ever happened before. There we were three Chiefs - Pilots, asking them what they had in mind for us and whatever it was it had to be flying. I think they had the last laugh. We were posted to Eglinton. Northern lreland. ..Target towing on Martinet's - 194 Squadron.
This was a six-month holiday camp with flying thrown in. I flew about eighty hours and apart from that we were 1eft entirely to ourselves. Of course we got up to a lot of mischief, we had access to a lot of ammunition. 303 rounds and point 5 cannon shells, we used to open these up and make rockets using aluminium tubing, and at times slipping a 303 into the crew room stove and making ourselves scarce before it exploded scattering hot coal dust everywhere.