大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War Site by a volunteer from S.Glos. Library Service on behalf of Albert Painter and has been added to the site with his permission. Mr Painter fully understands the site's terms and conditions

"It was evening and my country was at war. There was a feeling of unease as an air raid was being unleashed on Silver Town Docks. The sky was orange and the flames could be seen from miles way.
I was home on leave for the first time and I felt angry that my family and friends were at risk of being killed. My father said, "I'm glad you're in the RAF son. At least you can have a go at them rather than being stuck in a dug-out ( Anderson shelter ) awaiting your lot."
I had joined the RAF two weeks after my 18th birthday which was the 9th September. On the 4th October I was enlisted as a Volunteer Engineer. I was trained to work on most types of aircraft but my love was for the Hurricanes and Spitfires.

We were under a great deal of stress working 12 and 14 hour shifts for weeks on end. Several months went by and then we were told that we were being posted abroad.
It was winter 1943 and I found myself aboard the troopship 'Sibjack' which was bound for the Middle East. We didn't know this at the time but that鈥檚 where we finished up after a month at sea trying to avoid 'U' boats. Our ships cargo shifted after a few depth charges were dropped close by so we docked at Port Said with a starboard list. We all went to a place called Kasfareet. This was a tented camp where we waited for our postings to various aerodromes. It was a feeling of relief to get back to our work and routines, but the heat was really something else. Shirts came off and shorts and sandals went on and to top it all our forage caps were replaced by pith hats.

I was very happy where I was. Somehow there was a feeling of 'not long now'. My pal Cyril Stephens had become very ill after a visit to Jerusalem for a few days. Whilst we were there he complained of a severe headache so we decided to get back to camp and see the M.O. (Medical Officer). I can remember the scene. My best pal lay dying with what we were told was Frontal Sinusitis. He was too ill to be operated on. I did all I could, obtained some iced milk for him and complained to the Corporal Medic about the noise the ambulance made just outside.

I returned to my work only to be told later that my dear old pal had died. It was hot, and tears filled my eyes as I walked back across the desert to my billet. I had to get into my best kit to join the funeral party at a place called Ramalaa. I have seen it since on TV. The men could see that I was terribly upset and told me not to hold back as they knew what great mates we had been. I could feel and taste hot salty tears slowly running down my face. My pal was gone.

I was posted on to Iraaq, and to Bahrain for just one day as a signal came through to say that a Corporal was urgently needed at a RAF station at Sharjah on the Gulf. I flew there through the night in a Dakota aircraft to land in the early hours of the morning at the most desolate place one could ever see. Sharjah was isolated, it was very, very hot and humid and we perspired so much that the tops of our shorts were saturated.

It was my day off and something happened that I will never forget. I heard there was a 'Ghassie' (lorry ) taking personnel to an inlet for a swim. It was like leaving hell and going to heaven, but didn't stay like this for long as we were cut off by the tide and it was then every man for himself to reach safety.

Corporal Pete Neal who stood 6ft tall was with me and suggested we find the narrowest place to start swimming. It was hard going and I could see the cliffs that we were making for but to my horror they started moving further away. I'm not a strong swimmer and a fear swept over me to the point of panic. All I could think of was "Don't drown 4000 miles away from home". I looked up and Pete was calling to me to keep going as he had touched bottom. I was tired to the point of exhaustion, but when I tried to stand I sank beneath the water. Pete was too far away to help but somehow I managed to reach shallower water and found that my leg was bleeding where I had cut it on coral or rocks. It was an experience that will stay in my memory for ever.

I hold no fond memories of Sharjah even though we did a worthwhile job refuelling and servicing aircraft bound for the U.K. for places like Burma or Karachi.

Eventually my time for de-mob came through and I returned to the land I love. I won't forget the friends and comrades I met during that time. I sincerely hope that they all made it through."

Memories forever.1291167 Cpl. A.L.Painter.

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