´óÏó´«Ã½

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Roger Marsh of the ‘Action Desk — Sheffield’ Team on behalf of Edward L. Humes, and has been added to the site with the authors permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Introduction:
"Just Another Story" was written, at the suggestion of Yvonne Agnes Kennedy, who felt that my experiences, whilst serving with the R.A.F. would make interesting reading to those who knew me.

My thanks go to Clive Hill, the nephew of my flight engineer, who spent many hours researching the loss of Lancaster II LL639 and who kindly gave permission to use the photographs and sketch maps included in my story.

E.L. Humes.

Chapter 1: Early Days
Early in May 1939 I was struggling to decide whether to embark on a career in the R.A.F. or to set out on training for the teaching profession. My parents were not happy with the first and many and sometimes heated were the discussions we had over the subject. Finally they agreed to my wishes and I visited a recruiting office to discuss the matter with officials of the Force.

It appeared that I was not sufficiently qualified for duties as a member of Air Crew, but was advised to enlist and try again when I was a member of the Service. In hindsight I am not sure that this was good advice, nevertheless, I enrolled as a flight mechanic. This might just satisfy my desire to be working with aircraft.

After completing my recruit training I was ready to begin my course, but I was to be disappointed. The declaration of War was imminent and all sorts of changes were being made in the R.A.F., along with many others. I was posted not to an airfield for training in my chosen trade, but to an airfield without any planes.

Protest as I may, I was informed that, "You are in the Air Force now," a phrase I was to hear many times over the next seven years. Nothing for it but to get on with it and become an efficient balloon operator. The training was not too hard, either physically or mentally, and I enjoyed the course but the worst was yet to come.

War was declared. The good life came to an end and I found myself posted to the Essex County Cricket Ground to join a small group to operate a barrage balloon.

What a disappointment! Ten of us housed in a Tennis Pavilion with only minimum facilities, how was I to know that this was going to stand me in very good stead in the years ahead?

Occasionally, I got a break for I was selected to represent my squadron at football, and it was after a match that I met an officer who again whetted my appetite for aircrew. There was a way. I must apply to re-muster. There was no hesitation on my part and I was granted an interview to attain my suitability for the new venture. It was now obvious to those in command that I was far from happy with my present role. To my horror I was moved to serve on a drifter in the estuary of the River Thames. Six airmen and six ex fishermen living in the most deplorable conditions I had yet encountered. We were anchored in position and at the mercy of the changing tides. Besides this we were often attacked by marauding fighters of the Luftwaffe, that often got to us before we could raise the balloon to its operational height. Wanting the chance to retaliate, I dared to ask when I might receive my posting to air crew training. Surprise, surprise, I was sent to Cardington to take a course on DRIVING. One good thing was that it was Heaven after the rigours of the previous months. The course was so very interesting that for a while I forgot aircrew training. Another plus was that I was now with people of my own age group, more or less. All good things come to an end. At the end of the course I was posted to a small hut in the East End of London- Blitz and all. This was to be my home until I got my wish.

Stories of the Blitz are legion, so I will not bore you with mine.

SUCCESS AT LAST!
Great news! Report to St. John's Wood, London to commence Air Crew Training.
I could not get there quickly enough. Soon I was having tests for suitability in many fields. The majority of my colleagues were of my own age group once again, and although I was classed a raw recruit, I did not mind one little bit. "Square Bashing" was no problem to me as I had done it all before. Discipline was not hard for me as I had already had almost two years of life in the R.A.F. medical checks, attitude tests and many other tests were carried out and finally, I was on my way to St. Andrew's in Scotland for Initial Training.

Life was so exciting! Studying the mysteries of basic navigation, Morse Code, meteorology and lots of other subjects in the hallowed cloisters of St. Andrew's and in my leisure time, becoming familiar with my fellow trainees made the time pass very, very quickly. Even the weather was glorious!

The time came to show how well I had studied. Exam followed exam. Would it never end? At last came the news I had waited for. I was over the first hurdle. Where to now? Across the River Tay was a small airfield which had been taken over by the R.A.F. This was my next destination. The accommodation was superb, but what was more exciting was that there were aircraft. Real aeroplanes. Only Tiger Moths, but for the coming weeks, I would be having lessons on how to fly. The weather was not always kind at Scone, but I was eventually allowed to fly solo. Such a Wonderful experience, but sadly, I now had to move on to the next part of my course. I had a couple of weeks leave, which enabled me to tell my parents and others just how much I was enjoying myself.

Heaton Park, Manchester was to be my next place of rest. Rumour had it that the stay here would be for a couple of weeks, and then there would be an overseas posting to further training. This was not to be. The Air Ministry had decreed that as there was a glut of people wishing to train as Pilots, there must be some change to provide crew for the other positions in Bomber aircraft. Lowly airmen that we were, there was no way that we could work out how the selection was made. A group of pilots who had already flown against the Luftwaffe, were reclassified as navigators and bomb aimers under training. Needless to say, this was not at all satisfactory, and the last we saw of them was their leaving camp for the Belgian Embassy!!!

What of our small group? Nineteen were to train as navigators, and one as a pilot. Within two weeks the u/t pilot was on his way somewhere overseas. The rest of us spent our days doing very little other than attending morning parade and enjoying the rest of the day, doing whatever we thought best. After twelve weeks, this routine became extremely boring.
Manchester was no longer an attraction as the weather was wet and cold, not to mention the fact that our Nissen hut was very damp and very cold, and we should really be abroad to continue our training.

As the senior airman, I was delegated to meet the station adjutant to ascertain when we would be posted. He was as surprised as I was. Officially we were not on the station! "Go home for two weeks (or more) and you will be advised of your next posting." During the third week I was told to report at Bridgenorth in Shropshire to begin the next phase of navigational training.

On arrival, I found that once again I was on a unit without aircraft. Never mind, my colleagues from Heaton Park were also there. I was not going overseas.
Discipline and hard study were now the order of the day. Advanced studies in the art of navigation and all subjects connected therewith. Little time to spare. Even Christmas was a mere day from studies. Examination time again. Results were published and I heaved a sigh of relief, when I found that I was considered suitable to continue with the course. As the next stage was to put all that I had learned into practice, then there must be aircraft at the next stopping place.

Flying at Last
Advanced Navigation School, Dumfries. This was to be the nearest I was to get to a posting overseas. Yes, there were aircraft on the station. Several Anson and one Botha aircraft were used as flying classrooms. The time had come to put into practice all that I had been taught. Basic ground training continued but now we had to use our knowledge to follow a route and return to Base, quite often with a pilot whose knowledge of English was sketchy, and who was apt to turn off course to see some beauty spot he had heard of in his schooldays in Poland or France, or some other European country. Two trainee navigators were allocated to each trip, one to plot the outward journey and the other to plot the course for Base. Although mistakes were made, it gave each a great sense of achievement to complete the trip without having recourse to the pilot, asking for a positional check to obtain a new starting point.

Aerial Photography was very difficult for me. I was small and to me the camera was HUGE. To hold it pointing out of a window was almost a physical impossibility, especially when the pilot banked to look at the ground below. I often thought of what might happen to me back in Dumfries if I should ever loose the camera out of the window at three or four thousand feet. Despite the hazards I got results which satisfied the instructor, and was ready to commence night flying. What is more, I had struck up a good understanding with my fellow pupil, which I hoped would stand us both in good stead during the coming weeks of night work.

This was not to be. By now I should have known the ways of the R.A.F. better. A new intake of "trainees" arrived on the station. They had completed their course abroad and were sporting the coveted Brevets. The partly trained rookies were paired off with newly qualified navigators for night flying. The new boys had never flown over a completely darkened country side and many were the arguments in and out of the aircraft. It was no joke to take over navigation from a person who had got himself hopelessly lost. By this time, we "home trained" navigators were proving pretty hot stuff at the task! Or so we thought. Training seemed to take an eternity and I was relieved when final exams took place. How would I do this time?

I passed but was not present at the presentation of our Brevets - I had been injured in an inter flight football match and was to spend the next three weeks in the station Sick Bay. Still I was now a navigator and proud to wear the insignia and the three stripes which I received.

642170 Sgt. Humes E.L. (Navigator)
Celebrations went on for many hours, both at Dumfries and in Carlisle, which was not too far away. Home again to enjoy what I thought was a well-earned leave. Stay there until you receive your next posting. I hoped that the Heaton Park episode would not be repeated.
It wasn't. After three weeks I was to report to O.T.U. Chipping Warden where I would join a group of newly qualified pilots, bomb aimers, wireless ops. and gunners to form an aircrew.

One Step Nearer to Operational Flying
Chipping Warden, was an R.A.F. operational flying training unit. The aircraft used were Wellingtons and the training staff were almost 100% ex-operational aircrew. The atmosphere was so exhilarating!

For a week or so, we had lectures etc., and we mingled with the trainees in other flying categories. There were pilots, navigators, bomb-aimers, wireless- operators and air-Gunners from almost every country in the British Empire. The time arrived when I was approached by an Australian Pilot and asked if I would like to join him in forming an aircrew. I had noticed Noel at a discussion group a few days earlier, and had been impressed by his attitude, of course I would join him.

Our next task was to find a Bomb-Aimer suitable to us both. Jack Moulsdale (RAAF) had started his flying training in Australia at the same time as Noel, but had not qualified as a pilot. Undaunted, he continued his training and became a bomb - aimer. It seemed to me that it would be a wise decision to have someone else who had experience of flying an aircraft in our crew. Now to find a W./Op.- how the title drops from the tongue - now I was aircrew. It was left to yours truly to make the choice; even up the score; find a Brit. All agreed that the well built Scot would fit the bill. Jock Hughes became the fourth member of our crew. In order to complete our Wellington crew, we needed an Air-Gunner. The four of us looked around carefully and decided that the tall, quiet Australian was the best bet. He agreed to join us.

Now we were a crew. From now onwards we had to work hard to become a unit, not just airmen wearing brevets, but a group who must learn to trust and depend on one another. Various ground exercises were carried out until we each knew what was expected, should we ever become involved in any problem, major or minor.

Flying training began in earnest. Cross country flights in which I had to prove myself as an able navigator. Practice bombing and infra-red photography, where Jack had to show his prowess at hitting the target. Jock had to impress us with his ability to send and receive radio messages and to obtain navigational data, which would assist in locating the position of the aircraft. During these flights, Reg would operate his rear turret and become used to life in a small rear-turret. There were, of course, times when we "flew for real". Fighter simulation and long night flights of four hours or more to prepare for the tasks ahead.

On one occasion we were instructed to join eight other aircraft in a six hour night cross country exercise, which would involve every aspect of what we would be likely to meet on an operational flight, without the "flak". Things became complicated when a blanket of cloud covered the whole of the British Isles. Radio silence was essential and navigation was carried out using the courses worked out at the morning briefing. I cannot say that I enjoyed the first couple of hours! Suddenly I had the opportunity to practice the astro navigation I had enjoyed so much. One shot only. Could I rely on it? I had no option. A slight alteration of course was needed. We continued on our way, all praying that my fix had been correct. Infra-red photographs were taken by Jack on pre- flight time schedule. Eventually we crossed our fingers, by my reckoning we were within a few miles of Base. Imagine our relief when we received a message giving a course to fly to complete the trip. We were only a few minutes away.

On landing, we discovered that six of the eight aircraft which had left with us, had landed in various parts of the country, one had crash landed in Ireland. As far as my crew were concerned they had found a useful navigator.

Pr-BR

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.