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BOFORS GUN 3
The Observer

One of a series of accounts of incidents, in chronological order, whilst commanding a Bofors Gun detachment (3 of 7) by Cyril Frederick Perkins
During those early days of hostilities the Luftwaffe wandered virtually at will over England's green and pleasant land. Docklands in the South of the country were something of a milk run in the German pilot's training programme with the strafing and bombing of them a part of their routine exercises.
The Battery were sprinkled around the Southampton Docks with Number 4 Detachment 'C' Troop assigned to a vulnerable position at the head of the King George the 5th dock.
Captain Roberts our Troop Commander introduced the 'Observer' to us during the second day of our stay at this location. We was a strange looking chap slim of build aged I guessed around forty but with prematurely greying hair around a balding dome. He walked with a marked stoop as if he had spent most of his working life poring over a desk top in I imagined some dingy dusty back room. The one piece boiler suit he wore accentuated his slim build and clamped to his pallid face were a quite hideous pair of spectacles. They had heavy tortoise-shell frames and thick strong lenses which made the blue eyes behind them seem overlarge and menacing. .
Doctor Warren was indeed a 'back room boy' one of scientific advisers that politicians and the upper hierarchy seemed to lean on in those days. We were told that he had come to observe a Bofors Gun Detachment under combat conditions and to make assessment and recommendation of any improvements that might increase overall effectiveness. He had a pleasant enough manner but a disconcerting habit of looking one straight in the eye during exchanges and of making copious notes in a little black note book he carried everywhere with him. His manners were impeccable and he asked his many questions almost apologetically as if he felt aware that he was an unwarranted intruder. My crew were a down to earth lot and soon made it clear that he would pet no special privileges but the good doctor knew his business and obtained all the answers he required in his own quiet subtle way.
We talked freely of the problems and difficulties with Bofor's gunnery and the time factor in particular between assessing corrections to deflection and implementing them. As the fates would have it he was to witness some of those difficulties the very next day.

The milk run began early and soon the sky was literally filled with tracers as the Battery engaged three fighter bomber intruders. Number 4 Detachment took on the last plane in the trio as it crossed our line of fire and well within range. Our tracers passed harmlessly to the rear of the hostile and fast though Midnight was in making a correction to his deflection in those infinitesimal seconds the plane zoomed out of range. Doctor Warren was standing well clear of our actions in the mouth of the gun pit observing all in his calm unruffled manner. Then 'our' plane changed tactics flew over us in an East to West direction and repeated his run showing us either a head on view of him or his tail. Either way an almost impossible target. He had spotted us and was playing at cat and mouse, challenging us to score a hit whilst he went about his business of bombing and strafing. The fifty pound bomb he dropped was not very big as bombs go and in any case it fell well clear of the gun pit but the blast funnelled through the gun pit mouth and caught the good doctor completely by surprise. The tornado blast carried him into the gun emplacement where he collided heavily with Bob who was then concentrating most earnestly on the job in hand. Bob did not like interruptions when he was concentrating and simply brushed the doctor aside where he struck the sand bagged wall around him and slid slowly to the ground to finish on his buttocks in a most undignified posture. The whole action was over in less than four minutes and with their milk run exercise completed the enemy planes retreated unscathed from whence they had come.
We went to standby and with a spent shell count of thirty four changed barrels whilst Tiny and Sexton cleared the shell cases from the floor of the gun pit.
Doctor Warren recovered his composure and left the gun pit in thoughtful and somewhat subdued mood. The re was mixed reaction from the crew at the inevitable 'post mortem' later in the day we were-all aware that close misses were a poor exchange for the damage and destruction caused by the raiders.
Several weeks later on another gun site this time on the outskirts of London armourers and technicians descended upon us to fit a modification to the Bofors Gun. The Stiffky Stick ass it was called was a strange looking contraption. It had a handle bar like a bicycle with levers beneath the grips and an oblong frame above. The top of the frame was intended to align the line of flight of an aircraft and the levers were in fact callipers that clicked in fifty yard deflections onto the gun layers sights.
Number One took over a new role joining Number Four on the loading platform in order to operate the new device whilst the Detachment Commander assumed fire control.
Once used to the contraption it provided that missing edge enabling the layers to bring faster and more accurate fire upon a target.
We seldom 'Took Post' on the gun after that without giving some brief thought to that strange looking chap in his one piece boiler suit with his sinister looking spectacles and in our imagination still poring over a desk in some dingy dusty office somewhere in the bowels of Whitehall.
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