´óÏó´«Ã½

A SMALL FAMILY BUSINESS

By Frank Storey.

My family home was in the City of Hull, and my father, Thomas Storey, who was only just old enough to see service in the first world war (he was born in 1900) joined the Auxiliary Air Force in 1938, with the intention of assisting in the defence of Hull by being a balloon operator.

I was fifteen years of age when the war broke out, having been a member of the Air League of Great Britain, then the Air Defence Cadet Corps which later became the Air Training Corps.

In common with many of my friends from the Grammar School I attended(Malet Lambert High School in Hull) my eyes were firmly set on being a pilot.

As soon as I was old enough I volunteered for the R.A.F. and went to Padgate in late 1942 for my selection board. I passed the selection board with the classification of Pilot/Navigator/Bomb Aimer — but then failed the eyesight test due to being excessively long sighted. To my great disappointment I was re-mustered to Flight Mechanic (Engines) and after training to Fitter 2 Engines.

My initial posting after training a 2 S.of T.T. at Squiresgate, was to No. 10 O.A.F.U. at Dumfries. I then went to Cosford for my Fitter II Engines course, and returned to Dumfries upon completion.

In the meantime, the balloon defence at Hull had been wound down, and my father Thomas Storey, had been retrained as a Fitter 2 Airframes and posted, as a Corporal to Netheravon to join 295 Squadron. He worked at Hurn and Holmsley South, and eventually was moved to Harwell.

My father thought it would be a good idea if we served together, and asked for me to join him, by means of a compassionate posting.

I joined the Squadron in late September of 1944 just after the Market Garden operation.

I remember very well the move to Rivenhall — I didn’t fly over, I think I must have gone either by train or by road, but I have no clear recollection. My earliest memories of the move are working at the Witham Railway Station unloading all our heavy supplies of spares, and then transporting them to Rivenhall.

My father (who incidentally died in 1967) worked in the stores at the rear of the No.2 hangar, and I worked in the hanger as an engine fitter. We slept in the next beds to each other in those awful Nissen huts which were infested with mice !

I have very fond memories of my time at Rivenhall, I remember there was a particular mathematical problem which some evil mind had thought out about a ladder being leant against a wall, just touching a box, and having to work out the distance from the top of the box along the wall to the top of the ladder — when aircraft were in for major overhaul sometimes the top of the wings were covered in chalked calculations with ladders and boxes all over the place !!

I remember before the Rhine crossing, we worked terribly long hours changing all the power plants in all the squadron aircraft. I worked in a gang with a man called Dennis Garfield, a real man amongst men, who eventually went to B.O.A.C as a ground engineer — though I have never heard of him since Rivenhall. Harry Pretty from somewhere in Kent, and Bill Willetts, a small Scot from Manchester. We all had individual skills, mine was the speed with which I could replace a starter motor from the rear of the engine, Bill was so small we could push him up the back of the bulkhead to do all the necessary work there, Dennis Garfield was exceptionally strong and Harry Pretty was just a damned good fitter.

Another memory is standing on parade in the morning and watching the vapour trails of the V2 rockets leaving the sites on the way to London, and also laying in our beds at night and hearing the V.1.s spluttering overhead (praying for them to keep going !)

During the time we were changing the power plants the crews used to come into the hangars, and whilst we in the hangars were never as close to the aircrews as those on the flights, we liked to chat with them. The new engines were covered in corrosion inhibitor of either red or green colour, and one regular leg pull when being asked what the difference was, was that the red engines were new, whereas the green engines were reconditioned ! One pilot paid one of our gang five shillings to put four red engines in his aircraft !

Clearly, because of my interest in flying, I went on as many air tests as possible — one of each trade who had worked on the major inspection went on the air test — I think the theory was that if we were confident in our own work then we should try it !

Eventually the war ended, I spent V.E.Day in London with Dennis Garfield,(we were two of the thoussnds in front of the Palace, and later in Trefalgar Square) and upon return to Witham we went to a dance at Crittalls before going back to Rivenhall.

Within a day or so I was detailed to get my tools and board an aircraft bound for Gardermoen. (I didn’t know the operation was called Doomsday until recently). I sat in the nose of the aircraft, but when we were about two hours out we were recalled — I never knew the reason, though I do now.(It was that the of the earlier aircraft two had crashed into the mountains in bad weather over Norway.} We set off again the following day, and arrived to find the Germans still carrying arms — all I had was a set of spanners ! All the German transport had one of its four wheels removed so that we could not use it — but two vehicles does mean 6 wheels and we were ever resourceful !

Four of us managed to get an old petrol tanker running and took it to Oslo — but the transmission shaft broke on the way in so we abandoned it and went the rest of the way by train. We received a very warm welcome in Oslo — though one question which puzzled us was ‘Have you brought any Gordon’s gin ?’

We were of course fed out of compo packs — the local population seemed to like the hard tack biscuits !

After a few days a liberty wagon was laid on to take us into Oslo for the first celebration of their independence night after the war — needless to say four of us missed the bus, by going to a party at the home of the Chief of Police for Oslo. Little did I think at that time that I would finish up as a Senior Police Officer myself !!

We went to the Resistance Headquarters at about 6am and were grateful for a lift back to Gardermoen.

Whilst we were a Gardermoen, we used to go on ‘scrounging’ missions for tools and anything we could find. One of our crowd ‘found’ a radio — a Beethoven make, and thought it was a German one —there was an awful hooha about it — it belonged to one of the British aircrew — we were told to return it and nothing more would be said !! It was returned — and nothing more was said (to us !) Though I now think (having a nasty suspicious policeman's mind) that there is a strong possibility it was 'found' by the alleged owner in the same way that we had 'found' it !!

After a short time we were sent to Stavanger to recover an aircraft which had run off the runway and bogged itself down — my greatest memory is being in the middle of the airfield with a man called Pete Fairweather (from Essex) and a good rugby player, brewing up in a petrol tin, and then realizing we were in the middle of a gun fight between ex Russian prisoners of war and the Germans !

At that age I am afraid we knew no danger !

My return from Stavanger was in an aircraft flown by a warrant officer whose first name I believe was ‘Ron’ — once again I grabbed the front seat — Ron beat up the airfield and only missed the control tower by inches !

A later experience of Ron was that I had worked on a major inspection on his aircraft just before my 21st birthday — and he found out. He came to me and offered to air test the aircraft up to Ringway Manchester — to make it easier for me to get home for my 21st birthday — I took his offer up very quickly.

When I returned from Gardermoen my father had left on a compassionate posting to Leconfield due to a serious illness of my mother.

I suppose there are other instances of father and son in the same unit and in the same billet — but we were certainly the only ones at Rivenhall. Clearly there were advantages in having a father close to me — but there were certain disadvantages too — as a 20 year old far away from home I didn’t welcome the parental control that was sometimes placed on me ! — but my father was always there to borrow from when I was skint !

The final episode of this saga is that after the Squadron broke up, I eventually finished up at Little Staughton as the Corporal Fitter in charge of the engine maintenance of three Proctors, a Messenger, a Tiger Moth, and an Anson. What a change from Stirlings, Liberators and Yorks for which I had previously been responsible .

All these aircraft at 47 Group (H.Q) Unit were flown by very high ranking officers. There had to be a staff pilot for those Senior Officers who were not pilots. It turned out to be Ron who had flown me home from Stavanger ! — If the conversion was strange for me — what about him !

I wish I could contact some of the people I have mentioned, but as the years pass I have had no success. I would love to hear from anyone who remembers either myself or my father. Or indeed anyone who could give me any clue as to the whereabouts of any of the people mentioned.

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