Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II
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Danny42C
Thanks Danny for your sympathy. Not a day goes by without me thinking of my beloved Jean Norma. I too never thought it would happen to me.
That's life!
That's life!
Last edited by Walter603; 24th Jan 2016 at 08:27. Reason: Wrong title
Since I posted the second episode of Frank’s war story, it is interesting that Danny’s excellent new thread has shown that many, who experienced or witnessed the brutal horrors of what Frank calls “the real war”, were reluctant to talk about their experiences. On the lighter side, some have shared how war brought them romance and a partner for life. The third and final episode of Frank’s story has both of these features.
After a short spell in a local POW camp, Frank was put on a ship to Naples and then by train to spend about 2 years in a POW camp at Serviagliano. It was here that he developed many of the manual skills which, apart from stealing, formed the basis of his career in later life.
In September 43 the Italians surrendered and for some reason The War Office ordered all UK prisoners to remain in their prison camps. However, the Senior British Officer at the camp ignored that ruling and Frank, along with two friends, joined about 2000 others in an attempt to make it to Switzerland. For some weeks they were helped by the local population but, when the Germans started to punish anybody who helped them, they tried to make it on their own. They headed North but the rapidly approaching Autumn and wearing out shoes made their progress over the higher ground extremely difficult and they were forced to retreat into a valley where they were spotted and captured by a passing German convoy.
The three of them were put into a cattle truck and started a long train journey to Germany. They spent the time trying to cut a hole in the floor of the truck with three spoons they had been given. They did get through but couldn’t make a big enough hole to escape through. It was during this journey, while still in Italy, they found out what it was like to be on the receiving end of a ground attack when their train was attacked by a flight of Marauders.
Frank and his two friends eventually arrived at Stalag 7A, Germany’s biggest POW camp. He spent a few months there before it was back into a cattle truck for a trip to Leipzig and Stalag 4B where he remained until the Russians arrived and then, he says, he found out what war was really all about.
It was one morning in the Spring of 1945 that the camp residents awoke to find that their German guards had gone. Soon after, the camp was invaded by a lot of local women and children seeking protection from the advancing Russian army. Obviously the prisoners could do nothing and as soon as the Russian soldiers arrived, they took the women and children from the camp and pretty much left the POWs alone. These had been the front line troops and they soon left to carry on fighting the Germans, leaving a bit of a vacuum behind them before the main Russian troops arrived to take over the city. During this time Frank left the camp to forage for food and it was then he discovered the horror of what happened to the German women. Many of them lay dead in the streets with their clothing ripped off.
He found an old bicycle which was ok apart from a flat front tyre and started to extend his searches for food. On one trip he came across an undamaged house which had obviously been occupied by a high ranking family. It sported a grand piano and a well stocked wine cellar. While he was exploring this house, he was accosted by two Russian soldiers and he was terrified that, with his blond hair, they would think that he was a German. However, he managed to convince them that he was American and they let him go. He got back on the bike and continued until he reached the River Elbe and a thoroughly bombed rail bridge. He could see the rails were unbroken, sagging beneath the water, so he made his was across with the water up to his neck. To his great relief the troops on the other side were American and his ordeal was over.
The Americans flew him to Brussels in a Dakota. They flew low over the middle of Cologne and the sight of the widespread devastation of that city, with the Cathedral standing apparently undamaged, reinforced his appreciation of the horrors of the real war.
From Brussels he was flown back to Benson in a Lancaster and then on to Church Fenton where they didn’t know what to do with him. At that time Church Fenton was being used to store surplus American vehicles and Frank used some of his POW skills to try to acquire a Jeep. Eventually they sent him home for 4 months recuperation with about £1800 worth of back pay and his first difficult decision of what car to buy. Initially tempted to spend a considerable part of his pay on a new SS100 for £850 or an MG TB for £500 , he eventually saw sense and bought a brand new Austin Nippy (sporty 2 seat version of the Austin 7) for £130.
Following a few weeks of leave at home, Frank was sent for recuperation to Sunninghill Park (eventually to become the home of Prince Andrew after his marriage to Sarah Ferguson). He drove down from Durham in his new car although petrol rationing made that a bit of a trial. He stopped at a country garage which appeared to be run by an American who asked how much “gas” he wanted. When Frank showed him his paltry petrol coupons he laughed and gave him a couple of Jerry cans of “gas” and sent him on his way.
AT Sunninghill Park he was able to further develop carpentry and metalworking skills he had learned as a POW. This huge country mansion also had a lake and Frank managed to convince the owners that a couple of sailing dinghies would help some of the guests in their recuperation. This allowed him to develop a lifelong interest in sailing and brought him into contact with the WRNS young lady who was soon to become his wife. Ironically, their daughter eventually married a double Olympic Sailing Gold medallist whose father had helped to sink the Bismark in a Swordfish.
So, a brutal World War took a young Frank, from his safe life as a trainee surveyor in his father’s business, through the physical and emotional maelstrom of fighting the enemy, to be deprived of his freedom and live by his wits, to eventually settle happily with his family on the South Coast as a loved and respected teacher of metalwork and carpentry in the local secondary school.
While I was interviewing Frank for his story, it was typical of the man that he kept telling me that his wife, sadly no longer with us, had a story as a WRNS officer which would have been much more interesting than his. At one stage she was a driver for the top brass engaged in the D Day landings. On one trip through the New Forest with a VSO she was so desperate to go to the loo, she stopped the car, made an embarrassed apology and shot off into the trees. She raced back to the car, mumbled her apologies again and drove off. A few minutes later she became aware that her passenger was not with her. Apparently he had taken the opportunity to get out and relieve himself as well.
Footnote:
I intend to give frank a hard copy of this story along with relevant posts which have followed.
After a short spell in a local POW camp, Frank was put on a ship to Naples and then by train to spend about 2 years in a POW camp at Serviagliano. It was here that he developed many of the manual skills which, apart from stealing, formed the basis of his career in later life.
In September 43 the Italians surrendered and for some reason The War Office ordered all UK prisoners to remain in their prison camps. However, the Senior British Officer at the camp ignored that ruling and Frank, along with two friends, joined about 2000 others in an attempt to make it to Switzerland. For some weeks they were helped by the local population but, when the Germans started to punish anybody who helped them, they tried to make it on their own. They headed North but the rapidly approaching Autumn and wearing out shoes made their progress over the higher ground extremely difficult and they were forced to retreat into a valley where they were spotted and captured by a passing German convoy.
The three of them were put into a cattle truck and started a long train journey to Germany. They spent the time trying to cut a hole in the floor of the truck with three spoons they had been given. They did get through but couldn’t make a big enough hole to escape through. It was during this journey, while still in Italy, they found out what it was like to be on the receiving end of a ground attack when their train was attacked by a flight of Marauders.
Frank and his two friends eventually arrived at Stalag 7A, Germany’s biggest POW camp. He spent a few months there before it was back into a cattle truck for a trip to Leipzig and Stalag 4B where he remained until the Russians arrived and then, he says, he found out what war was really all about.
It was one morning in the Spring of 1945 that the camp residents awoke to find that their German guards had gone. Soon after, the camp was invaded by a lot of local women and children seeking protection from the advancing Russian army. Obviously the prisoners could do nothing and as soon as the Russian soldiers arrived, they took the women and children from the camp and pretty much left the POWs alone. These had been the front line troops and they soon left to carry on fighting the Germans, leaving a bit of a vacuum behind them before the main Russian troops arrived to take over the city. During this time Frank left the camp to forage for food and it was then he discovered the horror of what happened to the German women. Many of them lay dead in the streets with their clothing ripped off.
He found an old bicycle which was ok apart from a flat front tyre and started to extend his searches for food. On one trip he came across an undamaged house which had obviously been occupied by a high ranking family. It sported a grand piano and a well stocked wine cellar. While he was exploring this house, he was accosted by two Russian soldiers and he was terrified that, with his blond hair, they would think that he was a German. However, he managed to convince them that he was American and they let him go. He got back on the bike and continued until he reached the River Elbe and a thoroughly bombed rail bridge. He could see the rails were unbroken, sagging beneath the water, so he made his was across with the water up to his neck. To his great relief the troops on the other side were American and his ordeal was over.
The Americans flew him to Brussels in a Dakota. They flew low over the middle of Cologne and the sight of the widespread devastation of that city, with the Cathedral standing apparently undamaged, reinforced his appreciation of the horrors of the real war.
From Brussels he was flown back to Benson in a Lancaster and then on to Church Fenton where they didn’t know what to do with him. At that time Church Fenton was being used to store surplus American vehicles and Frank used some of his POW skills to try to acquire a Jeep. Eventually they sent him home for 4 months recuperation with about £1800 worth of back pay and his first difficult decision of what car to buy. Initially tempted to spend a considerable part of his pay on a new SS100 for £850 or an MG TB for £500 , he eventually saw sense and bought a brand new Austin Nippy (sporty 2 seat version of the Austin 7) for £130.
Following a few weeks of leave at home, Frank was sent for recuperation to Sunninghill Park (eventually to become the home of Prince Andrew after his marriage to Sarah Ferguson). He drove down from Durham in his new car although petrol rationing made that a bit of a trial. He stopped at a country garage which appeared to be run by an American who asked how much “gas” he wanted. When Frank showed him his paltry petrol coupons he laughed and gave him a couple of Jerry cans of “gas” and sent him on his way.
AT Sunninghill Park he was able to further develop carpentry and metalworking skills he had learned as a POW. This huge country mansion also had a lake and Frank managed to convince the owners that a couple of sailing dinghies would help some of the guests in their recuperation. This allowed him to develop a lifelong interest in sailing and brought him into contact with the WRNS young lady who was soon to become his wife. Ironically, their daughter eventually married a double Olympic Sailing Gold medallist whose father had helped to sink the Bismark in a Swordfish.
So, a brutal World War took a young Frank, from his safe life as a trainee surveyor in his father’s business, through the physical and emotional maelstrom of fighting the enemy, to be deprived of his freedom and live by his wits, to eventually settle happily with his family on the South Coast as a loved and respected teacher of metalwork and carpentry in the local secondary school.
While I was interviewing Frank for his story, it was typical of the man that he kept telling me that his wife, sadly no longer with us, had a story as a WRNS officer which would have been much more interesting than his. At one stage she was a driver for the top brass engaged in the D Day landings. On one trip through the New Forest with a VSO she was so desperate to go to the loo, she stopped the car, made an embarrassed apology and shot off into the trees. She raced back to the car, mumbled her apologies again and drove off. A few minutes later she became aware that her passenger was not with her. Apparently he had taken the opportunity to get out and relieve himself as well.
Footnote:
I intend to give frank a hard copy of this story along with relevant posts which have followed.
Tributes Pour In After Death Of Decorated D-Day Air Gunner Hero At 94
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pulse1 (your #8143),
Reading Frank's experiences in Italian captivity, I'm powerfully reminded of a best-seller some years ago: "Love and War in the Apennines" (Eric Newby), Picador (1983) ISBN 978-0-330-28024-2. The usual on-line purveyors have copies (inc a £4.74 Kindle). Wiki has a very good summary.
From Post p.226 #4511:
The story of a driver, a Staff car and a General was widely disseminated in the later stages of the war (maybe it was on TEE EMM ?). So this is the original !
Now I must thank you (and I trust I speak for all) for your successful efforts to winkle his memoirs out of Frank. Please convey our thanks to him also, with our best wishes for his remaining years with us. Might I tentatively suggest that you keep up the relationship and read out to him (or print-out for him) some of the wonderful stories on ourThread ? (The Seat by the Fire is still his !)
Gratefully, Danny.
PS:
It would have been 2/H. They stopped production in 1939 (Wiki). In 1946, I bought a 1931 Standard Big Nine for £165 (which would have been its price new fifteen years before).
It was practically impossible to get a new car then - they all went for export. The prices for the SS 100 and the MG were about right, a new Morris Minor was around £345. Even when the XK 120 took the world by storm (1950 ?) they were priced at £995 (IIRC).
Reading Frank's experiences in Italian captivity, I'm powerfully reminded of a best-seller some years ago: "Love and War in the Apennines" (Eric Newby), Picador (1983) ISBN 978-0-330-28024-2. The usual on-line purveyors have copies (inc a £4.74 Kindle). Wiki has a very good summary.
...They flew low over the middle of Cologne and the sight of the widespread devastation of that city, with the Cathedral standing apparently undamaged, reinforced his appreciation of the horrors of the real war...
...When USAAC General "Hap" Arnold (the instigator of the eponymous Scheme (in which I learned to fly in '41-'42), toured the German cities in 1945, even he was shocked by what he saw. "One gets a feeling of horror," he wrote on seeing Cologne: "Nothing, nothing is left." (D.Tel. "Review" on 19.10.13.)...
Now I must thank you (and I trust I speak for all) for your successful efforts to winkle his memoirs out of Frank. Please convey our thanks to him also, with our best wishes for his remaining years with us. Might I tentatively suggest that you keep up the relationship and read out to him (or print-out for him) some of the wonderful stories on ourThread ? (The Seat by the Fire is still his !)
Gratefully, Danny.
PS:
...Initially tempted to spend a considerable part of his pay on a new SS100 for £850 or an MG TB for £500 , he eventually saw sense and bought a brand new Austin Nippy (sporty 2 seat version of the Austin 7) for £130...
It was practically impossible to get a new car then - they all went for export. The prices for the SS 100 and the MG were about right, a new Morris Minor was around £345. Even when the XK 120 took the world by storm (1950 ?) they were priced at £995 (IIRC).
Last edited by Danny42C; 27th Jan 2016 at 20:05. Reason: How the Hell did the ':mad:' get in ? Sorry, pulse1 !
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No, no need to bring in the Ghost-Busters.
I must now eat humble pie and withdraw the aspersions cast upon the BBC in my earlier Posts. This has come in from them:
Can't say fairer than that ! It may be that their Special Effects people, together with the Loud and Completely Unnecessary Background Music Brigade, should be locked up as Public Nuisances, and the key thrown away - but then I suppose I'm an old fuddy-duddy.
My thanks to our generous Moderators, for allowing me to bang this drum (this is the end).
Danny42C
...BBC Enquiries - Case ref: CAS-3664402-SFVPZX 25/01/2016 - 09:26
Hello D#####,
Many thanks for getting in touch with us and apologies for the delay in response (we've been very busy!)
I checked for you and indeed, the stone figures are moving.
This is, however, by design. It was an intended feature for the segment and what was discussed at this particular time. It was a special effect so to speak which highlighted the famine victims but also the 'chilling omen' the narrator mentioned.
I hope this helps.
Kind regards and best wishes for the year ahead.
Peter Matchett
BBC Enquiries Team..
Hello D#####,
Many thanks for getting in touch with us and apologies for the delay in response (we've been very busy!)
I checked for you and indeed, the stone figures are moving.
This is, however, by design. It was an intended feature for the segment and what was discussed at this particular time. It was a special effect so to speak which highlighted the famine victims but also the 'chilling omen' the narrator mentioned.
I hope this helps.
Kind regards and best wishes for the year ahead.
Peter Matchett
BBC Enquiries Team..
My thanks to our generous Moderators, for allowing me to bang this drum (this is the end).
Danny42C
Danny, so the moving images on the Egyptian frieze have to be investigated by the BBC Enquiries Department in order to explain them to a bemused BBC viewer? Cleverness it seems knows no bounds, and I add this incident to my ragbag of BBC anecdotes in order to counter any temptation I might possibly get to subsidise such cleverness by, as suggested by them, voluntarily forfeiting my soon to be granted status of free license holder.
Pulse 1, I join Danny in thanking you for your selfless task of bringing us Frank's story. The fickle finger of fate turned his world upside down when he took over an injured colleague's duties. He could so easily have succumbed to the dangers and privation that then became his lot, until he took the initiative and made his own fortune by getting across the Elbe and into friendly hands. It may all sound routine and unremarkable to him, but of course it is anything but, and well done for adding his story to the countless others of his peers in this, the best of all PPRuNe threads.
Pulse 1, I join Danny in thanking you for your selfless task of bringing us Frank's story. The fickle finger of fate turned his world upside down when he took over an injured colleague's duties. He could so easily have succumbed to the dangers and privation that then became his lot, until he took the initiative and made his own fortune by getting across the Elbe and into friendly hands. It may all sound routine and unremarkable to him, but of course it is anything but, and well done for adding his story to the countless others of his peers in this, the best of all PPRuNe threads.
Last edited by Chugalug2; 27th Jan 2016 at 09:46. Reason: Spieling
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Obiter dicta.
Chugalug,
I do not often venture outside my own playpen, but I must congratulate you, my first Mentor on this Thread, on your #61 on "Jet2, anyone ?" As an "Apologia pro vita sua" (and for the benefit of non-classicists, this does not mean "apology"), I have never seen it bettered - it is positively Ciceronian in its scope and logic !
I particularly like these snippets:
With respect, Sir, it is nothing of the sort !
Clearly the BBC is "on its uppers" (not surprisingly in view of the obscene salaries and pensions enjoyed by their Directors and "top brass"), and (unwilling to contemplate trimming these perks, or dispensing with the services of background Musak providers and fiddlers with ancient monuments), are casting envious eyes on the 75+ concession, and wishing it had never been granted (or been forced upon them by Government), but not daring to suggest its withdrawal, are now appealing to the better nature of the recipients to surrender it voluntarily. Not this child ! - and I urge my fellow greybeards to resist these blandishments. Bring back Lord Reith, say I (he'd sort 'em out !)
That deserves to rank with the "deadful" (on these pages long ago), I can think of many a time I might have used that happy error ! (indeed, I'm spieling now).
Time to give up all those New Year Resolutions, (1st Feb), chaps. (You only live once).
Danny.
I do not often venture outside my own playpen, but I must congratulate you, my first Mentor on this Thread, on your #61 on "Jet2, anyone ?" As an "Apologia pro vita sua" (and for the benefit of non-classicists, this does not mean "apology"), I have never seen it bettered - it is positively Ciceronian in its scope and logic !
I particularly like these snippets:
...So why this long self indulgent rambling?...
...in order to counter any temptation I might possibly get to subsidise such cleverness by, as suggested by them, voluntarily forfeiting my soon to be granted status of free license holder...
...Last edited by Chugalug2; 27th Jan 2016 at 10:46. Reason: Spieling..
Time to give up all those New Year Resolutions, (1st Feb), chaps. (You only live once).
Danny.
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Old Comrades
Takoradi was a transit camp, and we spent several days here exploring the country, revelling in the heat, and experiencing the sights and smells of a very different style of life from our own. We shared "boys" - black servants who looked after our needs very well. Our beds were made, our shoes cleaned beautifully, and our clothes cleaned and pressed for us whenever we required.
This was malaria country. It was necessary to cover up properly at night. No rolled-up sleeves, no short trousers, anti-mosquito cream spread over faces and necks before going out, and a daily dose of a quinine extract as a prophylactic (I think it was called "mepacrine"). The jungle was close by, and the intriguing noise of tom-toms could be heard after dark. The heat was steamy and intense. We all had mosquito nets over our beds, and I was meticulous about keeping mine in place, carefully tucked in around the bed after I settled down.
Many of my mates, especially those who often got themselves more than a little drunk, were careless about these matters, and frequently slept outside their nets. Nevertheless, guess who later became the only victim of malaria?
We were at Takoradi probably about ten days, before being loaded into a Pan-American twin-engined civil aircraft, and flying north-eastwards across Africa. The aircraft had been stripped of all passenger fittings, but we were made quite comfortable on the floor, with plenty of cushions, and regular meals served up in cardboard boxes!
We landed for refuelling stops and overnight accommodation at exotic places, such as Kano, an ancient mud-walled town in eastern Nigeria, in French Equatorial Africa (now Chad), and at Khartoum, in the Sudan. Here it was that I had the first inkling that my health was not the best. We were out drinking at one of Khartoum's hotels, about 10 of us, when I began to notice a peculiar creeping sensation along my limbs and up my back. Busily, I consumed lots of "Tom Collins", a gin-based drink, to drown the feeling, with some success.
Next day I felt normal, and it was at Khartoum that our trans-African flight ended. We were to complete our journey on the Sudanese-Egyptian railway, and were loaded into Second Class carriages for the long haul to Egypt. After three or four hours of intense heat on the train, I began again to feel those horrible sensations, and I became very flushed. Fellow crew-mate Tommy Harper and I toured the train, seeking a doctor, and we found an Army medico comfortably ensconced in the First Class portion of the train.He took my temperature, and found it to be 104 degrees (40C).
So I was put off the train at Atbara, on the edge of the Nubian Desert and was sent to an Army Hospital nearby, where I remained for the next two weeks recovering from a severe attack of malaria. It was here that I saw some remarkable weather, in the violent storms that came near, but never quite overwhelmed us, every evening as the sun went down. The colours of the sunset and the awesome clouds that always gathered at dusk, were something to behold. I also saw the loathsome vultures, lined up on the apex of several roofs of the Army huts.
One day, towards the end of my stay whilst I was recovering, I saw a soldier walking across the dusty space between two buildings, carrying a large plate of somebody's midday meal (I think it was his own). Suddenly a huge vulture swooped down from the nearby roof, and in a very slick action, took up the meat from the moving plate, and was gone in an instant, leaving a dazed soldier with only half his dinner!
This was malaria country. It was necessary to cover up properly at night. No rolled-up sleeves, no short trousers, anti-mosquito cream spread over faces and necks before going out, and a daily dose of a quinine extract as a prophylactic (I think it was called "mepacrine"). The jungle was close by, and the intriguing noise of tom-toms could be heard after dark. The heat was steamy and intense. We all had mosquito nets over our beds, and I was meticulous about keeping mine in place, carefully tucked in around the bed after I settled down.
Many of my mates, especially those who often got themselves more than a little drunk, were careless about these matters, and frequently slept outside their nets. Nevertheless, guess who later became the only victim of malaria?
We were at Takoradi probably about ten days, before being loaded into a Pan-American twin-engined civil aircraft, and flying north-eastwards across Africa. The aircraft had been stripped of all passenger fittings, but we were made quite comfortable on the floor, with plenty of cushions, and regular meals served up in cardboard boxes!
We landed for refuelling stops and overnight accommodation at exotic places, such as Kano, an ancient mud-walled town in eastern Nigeria, in French Equatorial Africa (now Chad), and at Khartoum, in the Sudan. Here it was that I had the first inkling that my health was not the best. We were out drinking at one of Khartoum's hotels, about 10 of us, when I began to notice a peculiar creeping sensation along my limbs and up my back. Busily, I consumed lots of "Tom Collins", a gin-based drink, to drown the feeling, with some success.
Next day I felt normal, and it was at Khartoum that our trans-African flight ended. We were to complete our journey on the Sudanese-Egyptian railway, and were loaded into Second Class carriages for the long haul to Egypt. After three or four hours of intense heat on the train, I began again to feel those horrible sensations, and I became very flushed. Fellow crew-mate Tommy Harper and I toured the train, seeking a doctor, and we found an Army medico comfortably ensconced in the First Class portion of the train.He took my temperature, and found it to be 104 degrees (40C).
So I was put off the train at Atbara, on the edge of the Nubian Desert and was sent to an Army Hospital nearby, where I remained for the next two weeks recovering from a severe attack of malaria. It was here that I saw some remarkable weather, in the violent storms that came near, but never quite overwhelmed us, every evening as the sun went down. The colours of the sunset and the awesome clouds that always gathered at dusk, were something to behold. I also saw the loathsome vultures, lined up on the apex of several roofs of the Army huts.
One day, towards the end of my stay whilst I was recovering, I saw a soldier walking across the dusty space between two buildings, carrying a large plate of somebody's midday meal (I think it was his own). Suddenly a huge vulture swooped down from the nearby roof, and in a very slick action, took up the meat from the moving plate, and was gone in an instant, leaving a dazed soldier with only half his dinner!
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Walter,
Once again your experiences chime with mine at several points. Although I was never at Takoradi myself, I understand that a flight of my old (110 Hyderabad) sqdn were equipped, just post-war, with Vultee Vengeance Mk.IV (the only ones who ever got that Mark). This was for the purpose of air-spraying anti-malarial trials at Takoradi. They wouldn't have got them in India, for they didn't have the range to get to Africa themselves; I can only assume that they picked them up somewhere in Africa.
Curiously, at about that time (end of '45), my little unit (1340 Flight) was trying the same idea locally in Cannanore (S. India), using the underwing spray tanks that we'd previously used for spraying mustard gas for the Chemical Defence Research Establishment there. I would assume that 110 were using similar tanks (a type which we'd used the year before to lay smoke screens - but that was before I took over). Never heard the results of the Takoradi trial, but the story was that the Mk.IVs had given a lot of trouble, and they'd have been better off with Mk.IIIs which were readily available in quantity.
You were right about mepacrine, a tablet a day was compulsory, and we also had to take salt tablets to compensate for the loss in sweat. Malaria is no fun at all, I had three doses, two were Benign Tertian (which is bad) and one Malign Tertian (which, as its name suggests, is a damn sight worse). Again, I got each of my three doses in spite of all precautions, whereas a night spent on first arrival at Howrah station (Calcutta), by the river, with only a thin, filthy blanket and no net, caused no cases in our little group of half-a-dozen, although we were in the malaria capital of the Empire. It's just the luck of the the draw.
More likely, a "John Collins" (strictly speaking "Tom Collins" is based on "Old Tom" gin [which is rare and expensive], "John" is London dry gin - except in wartime India, when the local "Carew's" gin [not bad at all] was all there was).
Yes, same with us - five days quinine, two days rest, five days plasmoquine two days mepacrine and a fortnight's sick leave.
More likely a "sh#tehawk" (cf my Post p.333 #6642 on exactly the same topic !)
Keep it coming, Walter - this is fine !
Cheers, Danny.
Once again your experiences chime with mine at several points. Although I was never at Takoradi myself, I understand that a flight of my old (110 Hyderabad) sqdn were equipped, just post-war, with Vultee Vengeance Mk.IV (the only ones who ever got that Mark). This was for the purpose of air-spraying anti-malarial trials at Takoradi. They wouldn't have got them in India, for they didn't have the range to get to Africa themselves; I can only assume that they picked them up somewhere in Africa.
Curiously, at about that time (end of '45), my little unit (1340 Flight) was trying the same idea locally in Cannanore (S. India), using the underwing spray tanks that we'd previously used for spraying mustard gas for the Chemical Defence Research Establishment there. I would assume that 110 were using similar tanks (a type which we'd used the year before to lay smoke screens - but that was before I took over). Never heard the results of the Takoradi trial, but the story was that the Mk.IVs had given a lot of trouble, and they'd have been better off with Mk.IIIs which were readily available in quantity.
You were right about mepacrine, a tablet a day was compulsory, and we also had to take salt tablets to compensate for the loss in sweat. Malaria is no fun at all, I had three doses, two were Benign Tertian (which is bad) and one Malign Tertian (which, as its name suggests, is a damn sight worse). Again, I got each of my three doses in spite of all precautions, whereas a night spent on first arrival at Howrah station (Calcutta), by the river, with only a thin, filthy blanket and no net, caused no cases in our little group of half-a-dozen, although we were in the malaria capital of the Empire. It's just the luck of the the draw.
...Busily, I consumed lots of "Tom Collins", a gin-based drink...
...remained for the next two weeks recovering from a severe attack of malaria..
... Suddenly a huge vulture swooped down from the nearby roof, and in a very slick action, took up the meat from the moving plate, and was gone in an instant, leaving a dazed soldier with only half his dinner!..
Keep it coming, Walter - this is fine !
Cheers, Danny.
More likely, a "John Collins" (strictly speaking "Tom Collins" is based on "Old Tom" gin [which is rare and expensive] - Danny
Rare and expensive indeed, possibly like the young American lady in the bar at the Officers' Club at NAS Cubi Point at Subic Bay who, when asked what she would like, replied in apparent innocence that she would love a John Thomas, adding that she would like it to be "long and strong".....
Rare and expensive indeed, possibly like the young American lady in the bar at the Officers' Club at NAS Cubi Point at Subic Bay who, when asked what she would like, replied in apparent innocence that she would love a John Thomas, adding that she would like it to be "long and strong".....
I recall a young lady saying the same thing in the Dome Hotel in Kyrenia 51 years ago, when we were on the R&R afternoon of our Towers Leadership Camp. I recalled the occasion as I sat with friends in the same hotel on 2 Jan this year
Danny, thank you for your kind words, but I fear I am but a humble rear-of-stage spear carrier compared to those like yourself bestriding this thread with effortless classical prose. Your invariable use of Latin tags to make your point has been an education for us all!
It is a great comfort to know that we are united in our response to the BBC offer that they hope we might feel unable to refuse. A mass picket of placard waving angry old men and women at Portland Place perhaps? We have nothing to lose but our Grecian Gray!
Walter, your post reminds us of the inordinate diversions that were required to get from A to B in WWII, particularly when B was in North Africa. Having been on the most meandering voyage to the Gold Coast, you then go Pan-Am First Class (for surely it must have been with sleeper accommodation, including pillows!) to the northeast.
Obviously the quinine prescribed at Takoradi did not provide the prophylactic effect desired. Perhaps if you'd started on the John Collins sooner and in larger amounts? Does anyone else remember the pint-sized barman in the Luqa Transit Mess in the 60s? His speciality was the John Collins, which he produced in a non-stop whirl so that production always met demand.
Malaria is of course a bad business and many went on suffering from its recurrence long after their service, including one of my own flying scholarship instructors on the Thruxton Jackaroo.
I recall that in Singapore we were recommended to purchase "Peaceful Sleep", a South African insect repellent to take with us on a Jungle Survival Course in the Malayan Jungle. It was well named, providing slumber in our parachute canopy hammocks not only for us but for the local insect life too. I fear now though it would fall foul of later Biological and Chemical Weapons Treaties.
It is a great comfort to know that we are united in our response to the BBC offer that they hope we might feel unable to refuse. A mass picket of placard waving angry old men and women at Portland Place perhaps? We have nothing to lose but our Grecian Gray!
Walter, your post reminds us of the inordinate diversions that were required to get from A to B in WWII, particularly when B was in North Africa. Having been on the most meandering voyage to the Gold Coast, you then go Pan-Am First Class (for surely it must have been with sleeper accommodation, including pillows!) to the northeast.
Obviously the quinine prescribed at Takoradi did not provide the prophylactic effect desired. Perhaps if you'd started on the John Collins sooner and in larger amounts? Does anyone else remember the pint-sized barman in the Luqa Transit Mess in the 60s? His speciality was the John Collins, which he produced in a non-stop whirl so that production always met demand.
Malaria is of course a bad business and many went on suffering from its recurrence long after their service, including one of my own flying scholarship instructors on the Thruxton Jackaroo.
I recall that in Singapore we were recommended to purchase "Peaceful Sleep", a South African insect repellent to take with us on a Jungle Survival Course in the Malayan Jungle. It was well named, providing slumber in our parachute canopy hammocks not only for us but for the local insect life too. I fear now though it would fall foul of later Biological and Chemical Weapons Treaties.
Does anyone else remember the pint-sized barman in the Luqa Transit Mess in the 60s?
At that time Saccone & Speed would deliver 200 Rothmans and a bottle of Teachers to the aircraft for 16/6. Should the whole crew have an order then a bottle of sherry was thrown in for free.
Focke-Wulf 190 downed by Railway Engine
Came across this story which is worth a read
The Engine that Brought Down a German Bomber | Rye's Own Magazine
The Engine that Brought Down a German Bomber | Rye's Own Magazine
JB:-
Shooting up steam engines is a dangerous game, witness the fate of Heinz Bierwirth in this incident. I'm sure that Jack Stafford would have advised him to go for a train rather than an engine, but at the very least to try to avoid overflying it if he had to. The shrapnel involved from a bursting high pressure steam boiler would have rivalled anything that the Bismark or Tirpitz was capable of throwing at their adversaries. Mind you, the trains that Jack Stafford might go for had a nasty habit of including flat car mounted quadruple 20mm Flakvierling 38's, often in pairs. Very accurate and very dangerous, and certainly not emulated by the Southern Railway in WWII!
Incidentally, the LBSCR D3's are all gone now, along with so many other classes of that company. In a shameless plug for the Bluebell railway, it will soon boast a restored and unique LBSCR Marsh H2 Atlantic. Restored rather than new build as I understand that the Regulator handle is an original item.
Bluebell Railway Atlantic Group
My motive for this post was simply to keep our thread on the Military Forum front page, where it always belongs. My concern is that Danny 42C has always seen to that as our MC. Please check-in Danny to confirm Ops-Normal.
Focke-Wulf 190 downed by Railway Engine
Incidentally, the LBSCR D3's are all gone now, along with so many other classes of that company. In a shameless plug for the Bluebell railway, it will soon boast a restored and unique LBSCR Marsh H2 Atlantic. Restored rather than new build as I understand that the Regulator handle is an original item.
Bluebell Railway Atlantic Group
My motive for this post was simply to keep our thread on the Military Forum front page, where it always belongs. My concern is that Danny 42C has always seen to that as our MC. Please check-in Danny to confirm Ops-Normal.
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Chugalug,
Your:
Spare my blushes ! Seriously, I think that the best thing for this Thread is to let it do as Old Soldiers should do - not die, but only fade away....
Never did any "interdiction", but AFAIK the idea was to cripple the loco and so to block that stretch of line until a second one could be sent out to tow out the first (when, with any luck, one of your mates could take that out and so ad infinitum............)
Yes, the "pom-poms" were more to be feared than the high-level 3.7-type AA guns. Thankfully, my only experience of the former was of the ones said to have been left behind (in full working order with ammo) at Akyab in the 1942 rout (sorry, planned withdrawal). Didn't take the Jap Gunners long to get the kit working.
Popping a boiler was a bit risky, I suppose (I was told that the best thing to do was to go for the cylinders, as they were the hardest to repair - don't know if it's true). But a flying bit of boiler plate could do quite a bit of damage:
Even the True Blue had to find out the hard way....
Never mind ! Danny.
Your:
...My motive for this post was simply to keep our thread on the Military Forum front page, where it always belongs. My concern is that Danny 42C has always seen to that as our MC. Please check-in Danny to confirm Ops-Normal...
Never did any "interdiction", but AFAIK the idea was to cripple the loco and so to block that stretch of line until a second one could be sent out to tow out the first (when, with any luck, one of your mates could take that out and so ad infinitum............)
Yes, the "pom-poms" were more to be feared than the high-level 3.7-type AA guns. Thankfully, my only experience of the former was of the ones said to have been left behind (in full working order with ammo) at Akyab in the 1942 rout (sorry, planned withdrawal). Didn't take the Jap Gunners long to get the kit working.
Popping a boiler was a bit risky, I suppose (I was told that the best thing to do was to go for the cylinders, as they were the hardest to repair - don't know if it's true). But a flying bit of boiler plate could do quite a bit of damage:
...For tis the sport to haue the enginer / Hoist with his owne petar...
...and all three [Skuas] dived to attack the submarine, which quickly dived to safety. Two of the Skuas were damaged by the blasts and had to ditch. U-30 returned to Germany with the crews of the two ditched Skuas [Wiki] ..
Last edited by Danny42C; 31st Jan 2016 at 19:58. Reason: Tidy up.
Thanks for the response, Danny. I now feel somewhat foolish of course, but greatly relieved as well. I seem to remember that Colonel Dan Dare was often required to advise his batman, "Steady, Digby!". Similarly with Jeff Morgan and Lemmy. So I'll try for steady, and as you say, Danny, let this wonderful thread do as it will.
If it is to fade away, so be it, but if so I for one will greatly miss it. It has been an inspiration from the start and I pay tribute to you and your fellow raconteurs. It is an historic document in its own right and will serve aviators for many years to come who wonder, "How on earth did they train so many in such a short time?"
Oh, and thanks for the two-penneth about interdiction. Yes, I can see the point about killing the loco. Line blocked and one less to contend with, etc. Particularly important before and after D-Day when the disruption to the French railways seriously compromised the Wehrmacht's ability to reinforce and supply their army. I'm not sure the same was true for the Luftwaffe's hit and run attacks on the Southern Railway in England, though. The system kept going, thanks to the Victorians' railway mania, for there was always another way round. The viaducts were a challenge, but when damaged were jury rigged speedily though not necessarily very aesthetically.
The Southern was always very proud of engine number 2365. It may have been irreparably damaged, but it hit back and destroyed its adversary, instead of the usual passive one-sided outcome. No doubt it was melted down to become a gun, or a tank, or both. Stirring times!
If it is to fade away, so be it, but if so I for one will greatly miss it. It has been an inspiration from the start and I pay tribute to you and your fellow raconteurs. It is an historic document in its own right and will serve aviators for many years to come who wonder, "How on earth did they train so many in such a short time?"
Oh, and thanks for the two-penneth about interdiction. Yes, I can see the point about killing the loco. Line blocked and one less to contend with, etc. Particularly important before and after D-Day when the disruption to the French railways seriously compromised the Wehrmacht's ability to reinforce and supply their army. I'm not sure the same was true for the Luftwaffe's hit and run attacks on the Southern Railway in England, though. The system kept going, thanks to the Victorians' railway mania, for there was always another way round. The viaducts were a challenge, but when damaged were jury rigged speedily though not necessarily very aesthetically.
The Southern was always very proud of engine number 2365. It may have been irreparably damaged, but it hit back and destroyed its adversary, instead of the usual passive one-sided outcome. No doubt it was melted down to become a gun, or a tank, or both. Stirring times!
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Close look on the IWM Anson showing the extra beam machine-guns.
(Story below)
Chugalug,
The loco in question brought down (?) its attacker in its death throes, but how about this for a David and Goliath tale <Juhan Sotahistoriasivut - Etusivu / Frontpage>
...So, on 1st June 1940 at 8.34 am BST, P/O Phillip ”Pete” Peters of No 500 (County of Kent) Squadron took off from Detling to led a patrol of three Ansons to Dunkirk to support the evacuation of the BEF. The flight was attacked appr. at 10.40 am BST while flying at 50 feet near Ostend by a bunch of Bf109s, the British thought by 9 Bf 109s, from above. Seeing the two other Ansons take the brunt of the attack Peters ordered them to return to Detling, and dropped even lower and throttled back to make his aircraft, MK-V N9732, a difficult target. The navigator Sgt Deryk Cobham Spencer and the Wireless Operator LAC Pepper moved to man the extra beam guns in the windows of the “greenhouse” cabin. Peters immediately turned to the attack and so skillfully maneuvered his aircraft, that he and both the air gunner and the navigator were enabled to concentrate their fire on the enemy. Two Messerschrnitts were seen to crash, and two more appeared to be seriously damaged...
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Talking of trains . . . . .
This is my post of a few years back. #1241
A Spitfire Pilot. Part 12.
By this time, most of us were anxious to get as many hours in on Spits as possible and we were often chatting and saying how many hours have you got and so forth and one day we asked one of the Czech pilots, Ruby, how many hours he had. He took his long cigarette holder out of his mouth and said,
“Hmm, about Too Tousant!”
He was a great chap and a terrific pilot and a great player of Cravat, which he taught me and used to take quite a bit of money off me in the process. He would also challenge people to play him at Shove Ha’penny, for sixpence a game and he would come up and say,
“We play for sixpenzz? A schillink is better!”
Long after I’d left 111 Sqn and after I’d come back from North Africa, I met up with my old Flight Commander on 111, Laurie Clifford-Brown and he told me a story of Ruby, which I don’t think has gone too far, which is probably just as well. Apparently when they were stationed at Debden, they used to do Rhubarbs, which as you probably know, are two aircraft, going into low cloud, flying across to France, nipping out of the cloud and shooting up anything you could find, nipping back into cloud and coming home. On this occasion, Ruby and The Honourable Wentworth Beaumont, or Wendy Beaumont as we used to call him, were told to go up on a Rhubarb, so they took off from Debden, flew low over the sea, then up into cloud, came down again over the sea, up to the coast, up over the cliffs and Windy saw a train, which they proceeded to shoot up then tore back into cloud and returned to Debden. When they got back, they were quite surprised to be called into the Station Commander’s office, to find out exactly what they’d done and what they’d been shooting at. So they told the station CO, they’d seen this train, shot it up. Did they do much damage? Yes, quite a bit, back into cloud, no damage to them, and got home. The only snag was, the train they’d shot up, was just off Margate!
It was obviously all hushed up, but Ruby got quite a rocket from the Station Commander. It didn’t affect him a great deal, he pretended he couldn’t understand English, which was very untrue, so they got another Czech pilot in with him and the Station Commander was blasting Ruby up hill and down dale and the other Czech pilot was translating for Ruby, who was just standing there as though he was the soul of innocence. I don’t know what happened to Wendy Beaumont, he probably got a Knighthood for it later on!
One day we were told we were going to have a coach trip to Harwich and Felixstowe to have a look over some Motor Gun Boats and corvettes and whatever else was there and see how the other half lived. It was more than interesting inasmuch as a couple of the gunboats had just come in having shot up some Jerries, just off Ostende, and they were quite pleased with life. When we started chatting to them we found that one the boats had recently picked up one of the chaps from 111 Sqn who’d baled out in the Channel, so it was all very jovial. Some of us were taken out in a corvette, where we were treated like lords by the Naval types, who gave us tins of tobacco, pounds of butter and all sorts of things that we didn’t get, but that they got Duty Free.
Coming back we were supposed to stop at Colchester station for a couple of coffees and a bun, before proceeding back to Debden or North Weald; I forget which station we came from at that time. Anyway, we went into the waiting room and then into the buffet, had our coffee and so forth, went down under the subway and got back into the coach. Now, we’d got to Colchester somewhere about half past eight and by the time we’d wined and dined there, we got back in the coach about half past nine and they found there were six people missing – all the Czech pilots. There was nothing we could do, we just had to sit there. So we sat and we sat till about half past eleven, when, lo and behold, all the six Czech pilots arrived. Naturally the Flight Commander who was in charge, did his nut, started screeching as was his wont, and it turned out that whilst we were on Colchester station and before we’d come under the subway, a train had come into Colchester and just stopped and it stood there for the best part of two hours before moving out. Now the Czechs, not knowing what to do, waited for the train to go; they knew they had to get across to the other side of the station some how or other, and when the train left, they climbed down on the railway, across the lines, up on the other platform and across and back to the coach. When the CO said,
“Why the hell didn’t you come with us?”
All they could say was, “Train in way, yes? Train in way, yes?” and that was the end of that.
A Spitfire Pilot. Part 12.
By this time, most of us were anxious to get as many hours in on Spits as possible and we were often chatting and saying how many hours have you got and so forth and one day we asked one of the Czech pilots, Ruby, how many hours he had. He took his long cigarette holder out of his mouth and said,
“Hmm, about Too Tousant!”
He was a great chap and a terrific pilot and a great player of Cravat, which he taught me and used to take quite a bit of money off me in the process. He would also challenge people to play him at Shove Ha’penny, for sixpence a game and he would come up and say,
“We play for sixpenzz? A schillink is better!”
Long after I’d left 111 Sqn and after I’d come back from North Africa, I met up with my old Flight Commander on 111, Laurie Clifford-Brown and he told me a story of Ruby, which I don’t think has gone too far, which is probably just as well. Apparently when they were stationed at Debden, they used to do Rhubarbs, which as you probably know, are two aircraft, going into low cloud, flying across to France, nipping out of the cloud and shooting up anything you could find, nipping back into cloud and coming home. On this occasion, Ruby and The Honourable Wentworth Beaumont, or Wendy Beaumont as we used to call him, were told to go up on a Rhubarb, so they took off from Debden, flew low over the sea, then up into cloud, came down again over the sea, up to the coast, up over the cliffs and Windy saw a train, which they proceeded to shoot up then tore back into cloud and returned to Debden. When they got back, they were quite surprised to be called into the Station Commander’s office, to find out exactly what they’d done and what they’d been shooting at. So they told the station CO, they’d seen this train, shot it up. Did they do much damage? Yes, quite a bit, back into cloud, no damage to them, and got home. The only snag was, the train they’d shot up, was just off Margate!
It was obviously all hushed up, but Ruby got quite a rocket from the Station Commander. It didn’t affect him a great deal, he pretended he couldn’t understand English, which was very untrue, so they got another Czech pilot in with him and the Station Commander was blasting Ruby up hill and down dale and the other Czech pilot was translating for Ruby, who was just standing there as though he was the soul of innocence. I don’t know what happened to Wendy Beaumont, he probably got a Knighthood for it later on!
One day we were told we were going to have a coach trip to Harwich and Felixstowe to have a look over some Motor Gun Boats and corvettes and whatever else was there and see how the other half lived. It was more than interesting inasmuch as a couple of the gunboats had just come in having shot up some Jerries, just off Ostende, and they were quite pleased with life. When we started chatting to them we found that one the boats had recently picked up one of the chaps from 111 Sqn who’d baled out in the Channel, so it was all very jovial. Some of us were taken out in a corvette, where we were treated like lords by the Naval types, who gave us tins of tobacco, pounds of butter and all sorts of things that we didn’t get, but that they got Duty Free.
Coming back we were supposed to stop at Colchester station for a couple of coffees and a bun, before proceeding back to Debden or North Weald; I forget which station we came from at that time. Anyway, we went into the waiting room and then into the buffet, had our coffee and so forth, went down under the subway and got back into the coach. Now, we’d got to Colchester somewhere about half past eight and by the time we’d wined and dined there, we got back in the coach about half past nine and they found there were six people missing – all the Czech pilots. There was nothing we could do, we just had to sit there. So we sat and we sat till about half past eleven, when, lo and behold, all the six Czech pilots arrived. Naturally the Flight Commander who was in charge, did his nut, started screeching as was his wont, and it turned out that whilst we were on Colchester station and before we’d come under the subway, a train had come into Colchester and just stopped and it stood there for the best part of two hours before moving out. Now the Czechs, not knowing what to do, waited for the train to go; they knew they had to get across to the other side of the station some how or other, and when the train left, they climbed down on the railway, across the lines, up on the other platform and across and back to the coach. When the CO said,
“Why the hell didn’t you come with us?”
All they could say was, “Train in way, yes? Train in way, yes?” and that was the end of that.