Dad never said much about the war when he came back.
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Getting back to the OP, my dad never said much either. He was with Bomber Command for the duration and did not say much about operations except how much he liked the commonwealth crews he was with. They always shared their food parcels from home with the Brits who had nothing. The Salvation Army always turned out with tea and sandwiches at the aircraft dispersals when ops were on, no matter how bad the weather, even though the NAFI never appeared!!
Bob C
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tdracer (your #56),
Longer ago than I can clearly remember, I read a statement somewhere that, in WWI, roughly 700 rounds of small arms ammo were fired for every single casualty from rifle or MG fire. Don't ask me how the figures were arrived at !
Even today, we see scenes of fire-fight on TV, in which a chap pokes his head out of cover, blasts a dozen rounds off a Kalashnikov in the general direction of the opposition, then dives back in again with absolutely no idea of aiming at all.
Conversely, my Dad told me of the "Mad Minute" they were trained for in WW1. This consisted of taking up a fixed position (kneeling on one leg, or prone), then firing 15 aimed shots with the SMLE in one minute at a visible enemy, then rising, advancing or retreating a few yards as circumstances directed, then having another "Mad Minute", and so on.
I believe that this tactic, during the Mons Retreat, caused the advancing Germans to hugely over-estimate the number of machine guns our Expeditionary Force had at its disposal.
Danny.
...One thing claimed in the book was that researchers had discovered that well over half of the soldiers in WWII (all sides) were sufficiently adverse to killing that they either didn't fire their weapons, or intentionally fired to not hit anyone. I thought this rather hard to believe so I asked my dad about it. His response was strange - along the line of 'that's a very interesting claim'. I got the very distinct feeling it was something he really didn't want to talk about. Knowing my dad, I find it hard to believe that it applied directly to him...
Even today, we see scenes of fire-fight on TV, in which a chap pokes his head out of cover, blasts a dozen rounds off a Kalashnikov in the general direction of the opposition, then dives back in again with absolutely no idea of aiming at all.
Conversely, my Dad told me of the "Mad Minute" they were trained for in WW1. This consisted of taking up a fixed position (kneeling on one leg, or prone), then firing 15 aimed shots with the SMLE in one minute at a visible enemy, then rising, advancing or retreating a few yards as circumstances directed, then having another "Mad Minute", and so on.
I believe that this tactic, during the Mons Retreat, caused the advancing Germans to hugely over-estimate the number of machine guns our Expeditionary Force had at its disposal.
Danny.
After my mother received the initial printed card from Germany, on which new PoWs simply filled in their name, rank and service number, we started to get letter cards from my father. All were, of course, censored both by the Germans and by the British before they arrived on our doormat. My father wrote all his letters from prison camp in a very neat upper-case script about 1.5mm high, and occasionally words or lines had been very thoroughly blocked out by a censor. A few months after he was captured we received a small bundle of his letters, accompanied by a note from the British censor saying that it was believed that my father was sending coded information, and asking if my mother could help. My godmother was staying with us at the time and the two of them puzzled over the letters for some time. She noticed that several of his letters mentioned that he was trying to change his writing and asked if we had noticed any change; eventually we found that if we sighted along each line of script an occasional letter was fractionally higher than the others and these larger letters formed the messages.
My father was in Oflag Xc, near Lübeck, then Oflag VIB at Warburg and Oflag XXIB at Schubin. From October 1942 until almost the end of the War he was in Stalag Luft 3 at Sagan, between Berlin and Wrocław, or Breslau as it then was known. After a while some of his letters had references to the activities of “Mr. Delvet and his friends”; some told us that “50 of D.D’s students had failed their exams”. My parents were very keen on the countryside and wildlife and I was brought up on Beatrix Potter books among many others. My mother soon realised that these references were to a character in one of the Potter books, Diggory Delvet, who was a mole, and that my father was telling us of tunneling attempts, most of which were unsuccessful. In early 1943 he told us that “..some of Rainey’s old friends” had arrived, though segregated from the RAF compound and that a voluntary collection had been organised for them. “Rainey” was one of my parents’ friends who had communist leanings, and this told us that Soviet prisoners had arrived. He also wrote that it was true that they had snow on their boots; after the War we learned that those first Soviet prisoners had no shelter that winter and that the RAF prisoners had thrown food and clothing into their compound to try to keep them alive.
For a while after the unsuccessful Dieppe landing British PoWs were handcuffed, apparently in retaliation for the use of handcuffs on German prisoners by the Canadian troops bringing them back to the UK.
One of his letters told us that he was doing five days solitary confinement in “the cooler” for being late on one of the morning parades at Oflag XX1B; so many had been late that it was not till he was in Stalag Luft 3 that he served his sentence, for there had been a long queue of ‘offenders’. He wrote that his mistake was to give his right name (“but don’t tell Buster11”); most of the others gave names like Crippen and M. Mouse and were never found when there became space for them to start their sentence.
My father organised art classes for prisoners and made a ‘samizdat’-type manual for students; he did posters for the many plays put on in the camp theatre, some of which the German staff attended, little suspecting the activities that took place under the stage. One of his letters mentioned that he’d been making papier maché masks for one of the plays and “for some of D.D’s activities”. Dummies were sometimes taken on the morning parades to hide the fact that there were fewer prisoners in camp than were counted the previous evening. Forging passes and documents and making fake German rubber stamps from shoe soles or sometimes as potato prints was another of his activities. He developed a technique of glazing the faked photos on passes by using repeated layers of saliva.
Throughout his time in prison camp he sketched and painted and he brought home numerous sketchbooks covering all sorts of camp activities. He made the mistake of lending some to the makers of the film The Wooden Horse, based on the famous escape from Stalag Luft 3; none were ever returned. I leant some others to the authors of a book on another escape, Flak and Ferrets, to help their research, and unfortunately the thatched cottage where one lived burnt down before the book was finished and most of the remainder of the sketchbooks were lost.
As the rapid Soviet advance approached Sagan in early 1945 the Germans marched the prisoners westward; with some notice of this my father had made a sledge. My father was one of the older officers, at 45, and conditions on the march were very bad; it was mid-winter and one of the younger ones, Tony Ingram, was on the point of just lying down in the snow and waiting to be shot, but my father repeatedly urged him on and for many years after the War we received a Christmas card from him. Prisoners were housed in barns and disused factories overnight; in one of the few letters we received after this my father mentioned that as they were marched through villages this was the first time he had seen any children for several years.
Eventually they reached Stalag IIIA at Luckenwalde. We got very few letters from that camp, the last being dated March 25th, 1945; presumably the chaotic conditions meant that PoW mail was a pretty low priority. His few letters from Jan. 11th onwards were received around a year later and stamped “Recovered PoW Mail from Europe Recently Received by British P.O”. We also received a couple of my mother’s letters to my father, sent in late 1944; they were stamped “This letter formed part of undelivered mails which fell into the hands of the Allied forces in Germany. It is undeliverable as addressed, and is therefore returned to you”.
Stalag IIIA had held prisoners from a number of nations and these included the USSR; one of my father’s watercolours was of a sumptuously decorated Russian Orthodox church that Soviet prisoners had created from one of the huts. In view of the fact that some sections of Stalag IIIA had been used earlier in the War during attempts by the Germans to recruit units formed of Allied prisoners I wonder whether improved conditions had been provided for those the Germans had hoped to ‘turn’.
In mid-April the Soviet army liberated the camp; my father’s sketchbooks included drawings of Soviet soldiers and he mentioned that there were several women in the unit. There were problems with immediate repatriation, though, and by May 7th the prisoners were still confined to camp. Food rations were inadequate and as well as the 16,000 prisoners of mixed nationality there was an influx of Italian refugees. I have the letter from the Senior British Officer to the Russian Commandant for Repatriation outlining the problems; in it he demands immediate repatriation and resigns his responsibility for all but the British prisoners. Eventually my father, along with other RAF prisoners, was moved to Halle airfield, from which he was flown in a USAAF C-47 to Cosford, where he was de-loused, provided with a de-mob suit and from which he finally came back to my mother and me, after five and a half years absence.
My father was in Oflag Xc, near Lübeck, then Oflag VIB at Warburg and Oflag XXIB at Schubin. From October 1942 until almost the end of the War he was in Stalag Luft 3 at Sagan, between Berlin and Wrocław, or Breslau as it then was known. After a while some of his letters had references to the activities of “Mr. Delvet and his friends”; some told us that “50 of D.D’s students had failed their exams”. My parents were very keen on the countryside and wildlife and I was brought up on Beatrix Potter books among many others. My mother soon realised that these references were to a character in one of the Potter books, Diggory Delvet, who was a mole, and that my father was telling us of tunneling attempts, most of which were unsuccessful. In early 1943 he told us that “..some of Rainey’s old friends” had arrived, though segregated from the RAF compound and that a voluntary collection had been organised for them. “Rainey” was one of my parents’ friends who had communist leanings, and this told us that Soviet prisoners had arrived. He also wrote that it was true that they had snow on their boots; after the War we learned that those first Soviet prisoners had no shelter that winter and that the RAF prisoners had thrown food and clothing into their compound to try to keep them alive.
For a while after the unsuccessful Dieppe landing British PoWs were handcuffed, apparently in retaliation for the use of handcuffs on German prisoners by the Canadian troops bringing them back to the UK.
One of his letters told us that he was doing five days solitary confinement in “the cooler” for being late on one of the morning parades at Oflag XX1B; so many had been late that it was not till he was in Stalag Luft 3 that he served his sentence, for there had been a long queue of ‘offenders’. He wrote that his mistake was to give his right name (“but don’t tell Buster11”); most of the others gave names like Crippen and M. Mouse and were never found when there became space for them to start their sentence.
My father organised art classes for prisoners and made a ‘samizdat’-type manual for students; he did posters for the many plays put on in the camp theatre, some of which the German staff attended, little suspecting the activities that took place under the stage. One of his letters mentioned that he’d been making papier maché masks for one of the plays and “for some of D.D’s activities”. Dummies were sometimes taken on the morning parades to hide the fact that there were fewer prisoners in camp than were counted the previous evening. Forging passes and documents and making fake German rubber stamps from shoe soles or sometimes as potato prints was another of his activities. He developed a technique of glazing the faked photos on passes by using repeated layers of saliva.
Throughout his time in prison camp he sketched and painted and he brought home numerous sketchbooks covering all sorts of camp activities. He made the mistake of lending some to the makers of the film The Wooden Horse, based on the famous escape from Stalag Luft 3; none were ever returned. I leant some others to the authors of a book on another escape, Flak and Ferrets, to help their research, and unfortunately the thatched cottage where one lived burnt down before the book was finished and most of the remainder of the sketchbooks were lost.
As the rapid Soviet advance approached Sagan in early 1945 the Germans marched the prisoners westward; with some notice of this my father had made a sledge. My father was one of the older officers, at 45, and conditions on the march were very bad; it was mid-winter and one of the younger ones, Tony Ingram, was on the point of just lying down in the snow and waiting to be shot, but my father repeatedly urged him on and for many years after the War we received a Christmas card from him. Prisoners were housed in barns and disused factories overnight; in one of the few letters we received after this my father mentioned that as they were marched through villages this was the first time he had seen any children for several years.
Eventually they reached Stalag IIIA at Luckenwalde. We got very few letters from that camp, the last being dated March 25th, 1945; presumably the chaotic conditions meant that PoW mail was a pretty low priority. His few letters from Jan. 11th onwards were received around a year later and stamped “Recovered PoW Mail from Europe Recently Received by British P.O”. We also received a couple of my mother’s letters to my father, sent in late 1944; they were stamped “This letter formed part of undelivered mails which fell into the hands of the Allied forces in Germany. It is undeliverable as addressed, and is therefore returned to you”.
Stalag IIIA had held prisoners from a number of nations and these included the USSR; one of my father’s watercolours was of a sumptuously decorated Russian Orthodox church that Soviet prisoners had created from one of the huts. In view of the fact that some sections of Stalag IIIA had been used earlier in the War during attempts by the Germans to recruit units formed of Allied prisoners I wonder whether improved conditions had been provided for those the Germans had hoped to ‘turn’.
In mid-April the Soviet army liberated the camp; my father’s sketchbooks included drawings of Soviet soldiers and he mentioned that there were several women in the unit. There were problems with immediate repatriation, though, and by May 7th the prisoners were still confined to camp. Food rations were inadequate and as well as the 16,000 prisoners of mixed nationality there was an influx of Italian refugees. I have the letter from the Senior British Officer to the Russian Commandant for Repatriation outlining the problems; in it he demands immediate repatriation and resigns his responsibility for all but the British prisoners. Eventually my father, along with other RAF prisoners, was moved to Halle airfield, from which he was flown in a USAAF C-47 to Cosford, where he was de-loused, provided with a de-mob suit and from which he finally came back to my mother and me, after five and a half years absence.
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Buster11,
What a wonderful record of your father's POW days ! And what a simple and ingenious way to smuggle information past the German censors - but I have to say that they must have had little training in, or experience of cryptography, to be taken in by such a basic ruse. Alone the fact that:
instead of cursive script, which any educated man would be expected to use, should have alerted them at once - and that the British censor had to appeal to your mother for help does not inspire much confidence in their abilities, either.
The Long March west in the depths of a mid-European winter must have been a terrible affair. When I was on the ATC School at Shawbury, one of my fellow instructors had taken part in that March as a POW. He related how one chap was obliged to squat in the roadside snow to defecate, only to receive a volley of abuse and threats from a guard (or so he interpreted it). A friend more literate in German assured him that the guard only had his best interests at heart - he was warning of the danger of piles from contact with the snow ! (I do not know what medical basis there is for this).
The loss of his watercolours is a tragedy; I would have thought that any surviving ones should have an arrangement whereby they eventually find a home in the IWM. And I'm surprised that the USAAF C-47 which repatriated him made landfall in Cosford. I thought that Manston and East Anglian airfields were used for the purpose, as that enabled the "rescue" transports and bombers to make more trips in the day. Perhaps the C-47 was going on to (?) Burtonwood, and had picked him up "ad hoc" as they had room for a few more in the back.
All these are fascinating detais which flesh out the wonderful stories on this and other Threads.
Thank you, Buster11. Danny.
What a wonderful record of your father's POW days ! And what a simple and ingenious way to smuggle information past the German censors - but I have to say that they must have had little training in, or experience of cryptography, to be taken in by such a basic ruse. Alone the fact that:
... My father wrote all his letters from prison camp in a very neat upper-case script about 1.5mm high...
The Long March west in the depths of a mid-European winter must have been a terrible affair. When I was on the ATC School at Shawbury, one of my fellow instructors had taken part in that March as a POW. He related how one chap was obliged to squat in the roadside snow to defecate, only to receive a volley of abuse and threats from a guard (or so he interpreted it). A friend more literate in German assured him that the guard only had his best interests at heart - he was warning of the danger of piles from contact with the snow ! (I do not know what medical basis there is for this).
The loss of his watercolours is a tragedy; I would have thought that any surviving ones should have an arrangement whereby they eventually find a home in the IWM. And I'm surprised that the USAAF C-47 which repatriated him made landfall in Cosford. I thought that Manston and East Anglian airfields were used for the purpose, as that enabled the "rescue" transports and bombers to make more trips in the day. Perhaps the C-47 was going on to (?) Burtonwood, and had picked him up "ad hoc" as they had room for a few more in the back.
All these are fascinating detais which flesh out the wonderful stories on this and other Threads.
Thank you, Buster11. Danny.
Buster
Amazing story. I hope for your families sake someone's captured (beyond PPRUNE) his stories. It should be mandatory reading for the Buster family for ages to come.
One of my greatest regrets was not recording my father's story.
Amazing story. I hope for your families sake someone's captured (beyond PPRUNE) his stories. It should be mandatory reading for the Buster family for ages to come.
One of my greatest regrets was not recording my father's story.
According to the Cosford history book, 106 PRC [Personnel Reception Unit] was formed on 7 March 1945 to deal with ex-POWs from Germany. The original plan was that they would be flown into nearby Seighford or Wheaton Aston. In the event the majority arrived at Wing or Westcott from where they were dispatched by train to Cosford Halt railway station.
We should not forget those who made it to the end of the war, but did not survive to enjoy the peace. On 3 December a number of us from RAFA Sud Ouest joined the French in commemorating the 28 crew and passengers in a Liberator returning to UK for Christmas. the aircraft was struck by lightning and crashed near Rochefort on 3 Dec 45. they were not the only service personnel so lost.
Gentleman Aviator
And the Cosford Hospital (of blessed memory 
) was used for POWs so flying direct would have been a good idea, no?
From this website:
) was used for POWs so flying direct would have been a good idea, no?From this website:
This major military hospital was built on the site of RAF Cosford in 1940 and used the name RAF Cosford Military Hospital.
As a major military hospital, RAF Cosford military hospital played a major role in prisoners-of-war repatriation at the end of the War. Dispite its planned life of only 10 years,the hospital remained open until 31 December 1977.
As a major military hospital, RAF Cosford military hospital played a major role in prisoners-of-war repatriation at the end of the War. Dispite its planned life of only 10 years,the hospital remained open until 31 December 1977.
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My father didn't join the RAF until after WW2; he had been in a neutral Air Force during the latter half of the War. His brother was, however, lost on the Burmah Railroad but unfortunately the family has split up over the years and we have no details of him.
My father in law was in the Black Watch and was wounded at Dunkirk. A shrapnel wound in the scrotum he said. Later in the was he was posted to Iceland and basically sat out the war there. At least that's his story.
More interesting are two other characters I knew quite well and met during an exchange tour with the Italian Air Force.
The first was a young lieutenant in the Alpini (the Italian Mountain Division). He fought with the Germans on the Eastern Front against the Russians. We would often sit over a meal and he would tell the the harrowing stories of what went on. Eventually his unit was left to cover a German retreat and he was captured.
He spent 5 years in camps in Siberia before making his way home to N Italy. He even bought some of his men back with him. His family thought he had been killed until he knocked on the door of his house.
He was awarded the Silver Star for the work he did helping his remaining men survive in captivity. A remarkable gentlemen!
I attended his funeral and met his son, a lawyer, a discovered he knew nothing about the detail of his father's adventures. I thought the son deserved to know a bit more and filled in some of the gaps at least as related by his father. I hope this did not betray any confidences.
The other aquaintance, alas I could not call him a friend, was in the Italian Air Force as a pilot and retired as a Colonel. He was from a semi-aristocatic background and flew throughout WW2 and after the Italian surrender.
Strangely enough he also flew one of the captured Spitfires in either Germany or France.
He took great pleasure in showing me his logbooks that recorded, as I recall, a total of 11 Allied aircraft destroyed mostly with a Macchi 205 although there was one in a C200 while in Sicily.
After the Italian surrender he continued to fly mostly from Italy to Yugoslavia.
His recollections given to me in his study surrounded by souvenirs of his service were lucid, laced with fascist propoganda ("our pilots were more skilled, you just had more aircraft") and backed up with documentation. I wonder what happened to it all.
Lastly, from an earlier conflict, my grandfather was an engineering officer in the RNVR and survived both the Battle of the Falkland Islands and the Battle of Jutland. Alas, he died when I was 9 but he was a keen photographer (unusual for the day) and his albums have been giver to museums. The few photos left show flashes on the horizon, charts and survivors being picked up.
My father in law was in the Black Watch and was wounded at Dunkirk. A shrapnel wound in the scrotum he said. Later in the was he was posted to Iceland and basically sat out the war there. At least that's his story.
More interesting are two other characters I knew quite well and met during an exchange tour with the Italian Air Force.
The first was a young lieutenant in the Alpini (the Italian Mountain Division). He fought with the Germans on the Eastern Front against the Russians. We would often sit over a meal and he would tell the the harrowing stories of what went on. Eventually his unit was left to cover a German retreat and he was captured.
He spent 5 years in camps in Siberia before making his way home to N Italy. He even bought some of his men back with him. His family thought he had been killed until he knocked on the door of his house.
He was awarded the Silver Star for the work he did helping his remaining men survive in captivity. A remarkable gentlemen!
I attended his funeral and met his son, a lawyer, a discovered he knew nothing about the detail of his father's adventures. I thought the son deserved to know a bit more and filled in some of the gaps at least as related by his father. I hope this did not betray any confidences.
The other aquaintance, alas I could not call him a friend, was in the Italian Air Force as a pilot and retired as a Colonel. He was from a semi-aristocatic background and flew throughout WW2 and after the Italian surrender.
Strangely enough he also flew one of the captured Spitfires in either Germany or France.
He took great pleasure in showing me his logbooks that recorded, as I recall, a total of 11 Allied aircraft destroyed mostly with a Macchi 205 although there was one in a C200 while in Sicily.
After the Italian surrender he continued to fly mostly from Italy to Yugoslavia.
His recollections given to me in his study surrounded by souvenirs of his service were lucid, laced with fascist propoganda ("our pilots were more skilled, you just had more aircraft") and backed up with documentation. I wonder what happened to it all.
Lastly, from an earlier conflict, my grandfather was an engineering officer in the RNVR and survived both the Battle of the Falkland Islands and the Battle of Jutland. Alas, he died when I was 9 but he was a keen photographer (unusual for the day) and his albums have been giver to museums. The few photos left show flashes on the horizon, charts and survivors being picked up.
WC. I sent most of the material about my father's wartime activities to the BBC's WW2 People's War on-line archive a few years ago. There's a mass of material there and it's actually a fascinating archive, dealing as much with the less dramatic but no less interesting events in the UK as with the sharp end of the War.
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I just acted you to let you know that he is still alive and has some incredible stories to tell. he is an incredible man!
There was a well known RAF helicopter pilot in the 1970, Alex Tarwid. His father was a Count and was in charge of the Polish railway system when Germany invaded Poland. Alex was high borne and was an officer in the Polish cavalry. They didn't do very well against the Panzers and eventually after being routed he trekked through Russia and Persia and joined the Royal Air Force.
He married a charming British girl and stayed with the RAF after the war; which was probably just as well. He never talked about the invasion of Poland; possibly through shame or other reasons. He was good at explaining the sign language for operating undercarriages, flaps etc. but never described what happened during that period.
I don't know whether he is still alive, I hope he is, but what a story he could tell.
He married a charming British girl and stayed with the RAF after the war; which was probably just as well. He never talked about the invasion of Poland; possibly through shame or other reasons. He was good at explaining the sign language for operating undercarriages, flaps etc. but never described what happened during that period.
I don't know whether he is still alive, I hope he is, but what a story he could tell.
My dad joined underage in the Northumberland fusiliers,sent to France and ended up outside Metz.When the Nazis started their "Blitzkrieg"they were caught napping and started the retreat to Dunkirk.Dad complained that they were left behind but got back by boat from further down the coast .Sent home on leave and then sent to Blackpool to recieve new equipment and of on a troopship to north africa where he was captured at Tobruk.Sent by boat to Italy and on to Germany and POW for the rest of the war.His older brother was a POW in changi(hated the japanese and would not have anything "made in Japan in the house"!Another brother was RN(he left the local dredger for the RN and it was sunk by mine the day after).Younger brother was in Korea!My mother and aunt were in the aux fire service and I was in the RAF !!Dad only ever spoke about this when the "man from the Pru"came with his superintendant who had been in the Cheshire regt and dad and he had been virtually next to each other all the way through the war!!!!Danny 42c,all the family are from Amble!!!
I just acted you to let you know that he is still alive and has some incredible stories to tell. he is an incredible man!
If you are able, please introduce Alex Tarwid to the "Gaining An R.A.F Pilots Brevet In WW II" thread ... the title belies the fact that this is the cyber-crew room for all such aircrew (and others!) and his experiences would enrich the richest aviation forum. He would be so welcome to join in, the armchairs are cosy, coffee excellent and the company unique.
FZ
My paternal grandfather was a gunner in the RA (I think-possibly DLI though)-he was definitely on 24 pounders-I believe they were known as 'nine mile snipers'.
He was attached to the 4th Indian Division (they didn't have their own artillery)-so was part of the 8th Army in the Deserts of north Africa, and then up into Italy.
He was injured at Monte Cassino and invalided home for a short period-my father was born whilst he was away, so when a strange man came to their front door when he was a toddler.....he didn't recognise his own dad.....
I never knew him that well as he died when I was a youngster. I do know that we still have his ceremonial kukri that he was allowed to wear on parade because of his attachment to the Indian Division.
He was attached to the 4th Indian Division (they didn't have their own artillery)-so was part of the 8th Army in the Deserts of north Africa, and then up into Italy.
He was injured at Monte Cassino and invalided home for a short period-my father was born whilst he was away, so when a strange man came to their front door when he was a toddler.....he didn't recognise his own dad.....
I never knew him that well as he died when I was a youngster. I do know that we still have his ceremonial kukri that he was allowed to wear on parade because of his attachment to the Indian Division.
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I'm surprised and gratified that this old Thread of mine has been resurrected from the dead and given a new lease of life. Thank you, rlh19190 (#95), and oldpax (#96) - [yes, Amble is only 64 mi. up the coast from us and so likely to be even more cold and miserable on a day like today !]
Sadly, many of the Dads have gone to their rewards by now (and the rest are not far off), but among all the nostalgia, please spare a moment to read my #1 again, and consider the point I was making. Is it valid ? (any survivors of WWII alive, did you think along these lines - or is it just me ?)
oldpax:
Reminds me of the time when I joined Customs & Excise after retiring from RAF. My district manager ("Surveyor" in Customs parlance), one Jack Reddy, turned out to have been a sergeant in 81st (West African) Divn. in the Arakan (Burma) in '43-'45 !
All the old names came tumbling out - Maungdaw, Buthidong, the Tunnels, the "Okeydoke" (Ngakyedouk) Pass etc. He was very appreciative of our efforts with the "Vengeance". Not much Government work got done that morning !
Danny.
Sadly, many of the Dads have gone to their rewards by now (and the rest are not far off), but among all the nostalgia, please spare a moment to read my #1 again, and consider the point I was making. Is it valid ? (any survivors of WWII alive, did you think along these lines - or is it just me ?)
oldpax:
...Dad only ever spoke about this when the "man from the Pru"came with his superintendant who had been inthe Cheshire regt and dad and he had been virtually next to each other all the way through the war!!!!...
All the old names came tumbling out - Maungdaw, Buthidong, the Tunnels, the "Okeydoke" (Ngakyedouk) Pass etc. He was very appreciative of our efforts with the "Vengeance". Not much Government work got done that morning !
Danny.
