大象传媒

16.07.46. In the same Dakota, KN266, flew to Luga, Malta. What a transformation. The inside of the plane had been completely refurbished for civilian use.

From Luga a vehicle took me to my new station at Siggiewi. Our individual sleeping quarters were comfortable but the teleprinters were housed deep underground. A safe haven during the war but so poorly ventilated that coming off-duty I felt sick in the fresh air.

A couple of times, once contacting the navy, the second time the army, with messages, we pretended to be in the Women鈥檚 Auxiliary Air Force (WAAF), making dates with the ratings and soldiers.

Despite opposition from the Signals WO鈥檚, I was placed in charge of the Mess Bar, a separate building from where we ate. At the same time a new SWO arrived 鈥� his third tour abroad. He showed me the huge stock of cigarettes, built up because the free issue was always more than needed for the continuous decline in station strength. I was to keep a weekly record of his bar purchases and be reimbursed in kind with the surplus cigarettes! To recover the money owed I had to sell the cigarettes over the bar counter. There was a sweetener. I would receive as many cigarettes again to sell for my own profit. I found myself with a surfeit of cigarettes which I gave to friends 鈥� compounding the problem. 鈥淲hy not have one yourself鈥� they suggested. I started smoking, a habit which lasted 20 years.

Before coming off the teleprinters, some of us bought rough-cast models of aeroplanes. I chose the Mosquito. Each model came with a standard base moulded as an ash-tray. We spent time polishing until both pieces shone like silver. A hole in the top of the base and in the bottom of the plane coincided with the diameter of the spindles which kept the copy in place on the teleprinters! How did we retain the manuscript?

Much of the soil in Malta was imported to the island. I remember seeing workers in the fields ploughing with a primitive single blade. Each village had a 鈥榮aint鈥�, and every weekend from one direction or another there was a spectacle of fireworks celebrations.

The Station WO told me which items were cheaper from the NAAFI store and where to buy other items for the mess, eg razor blades. For carrying the 鈥榟eavy鈥� items I had the help of two men. Deliberately buying more beer than needed, some was off-loaded in Valletta to a civilian friend of the SWO, who settled up with me.

The SWO had another naval friend who worked in offices. He was married with one daughter, a year or two younger than myself. His wife was an excellent cook and we were often invited to dine with them or go clubbing with them. The WO spoke highly of the daughter but the truth dawned slowly: I would be acceptable as the daughter鈥檚 boyfriend.

With Reg and others I often visited the capital Valletta. Very occasionally we played Bingo. A huge hall, many players, high stakes. Never won. We also drank in 鈥楾he Gut鈥�. A street of seedy bars. The provocatively clad young girls tempted you to buy them outrageously expensive drinks while hinting at a 鈥榞ood time鈥� later. At the door 鈥� what a surprise 鈥� they were coincidentally met by their six-footer beefy 鈥榖rother鈥�. We saw this going on as 鈥� very slowly 鈥� we passed by, heading for the safety of the only bar that forbade women. Then it seemed safer than perhaps it would today.

Now 21 years of age, I learned to swim. With the help of the sea鈥檚 warmth and buoyancy, after a little practice, I swam out, reaching a raft upon which friends were sunbathing. A 鈥榬ed-letter鈥� day.

With the station being run-down and demobilisation 鈥榡ust round the corner鈥� I applied for transfer to Greece or the Far-East, hoping to see a little more of the world.

In the meantime the SWO invited the navy stationed in Valletta to come and play us darts. My takings increased tremendously. They didn鈥檛 order by the bottle. They entrusted me with their kitty, took crates of beer from me and handed over more money when the kitty ran out. While a Petty Officer (PO) threw his darts, my SWO slipped a scotch into the thrower鈥檚 beer. On return, not batting an eyelash, straight down. When the SWO threw, the PO retaliated. Neither gave any sign that their drink was 鈥榮piked鈥�. I did, on return from my throw! Darts turned into a 鈥榝ree-and-easy鈥�, and tiddly myself, I took my turn to entertain with 鈥楴apoleon鈥檚 Farewell to his Grandmother鈥�.

I can still visualise the moment when several friends burst into my bedroom 鈥� late to bed, I was late up 鈥� chanting 鈥渓ucky devil, lucky devil.鈥� 鈥淕reece or India?鈥� I asked. 鈥淏etter than that鈥� they replied. 鈥淪urplus to requirements, you are going back home.鈥� Celebrations followed. They put me to bed.

30.11.46. In charge of 16 airmen I was on my way to England, via No.52 Embarkation Unit (EU) Catania, Sicily.

By ship, the 鈥楾aos Victory鈥� to Toulon, 14.12.46 (information gleaned from a postcard sent to my parents and brother), across France by train, then ship to Dover. In France I tried to buy a bottle of Brandy but unfortunately not knowing the language the money I had was deficient by just one nought!

I remember reporting to an RAF camp on the South side of London bordering a main road. On the other side of the highway was a large attractive pub. To get home I had first to catch a tube train into London. I then spent some time at No.9 Personnel Dispersal Centre (PDC), Bletchley up to 22.04.47, but was more often home. I remember hitch-hiking from Bletchley 鈥� one Good Samaritan finding that his wife would be out awhile came back to where he had dropped me and drove me miles nearer to Birmingham. Cars were few but lifts happily given.

On the 23.04.47 I travelled to No.101 PDC, Kirkham, where I successfully underwent a medical examination and handed in my kit 鈥� except for my kit-bag which is now in a carrier bag on a shelf in the garage.

I was released from the RAF 24.04.47.

After nearly four years of service I was leaving with the official rank of Aircraftman 2nd Class (AC2) Teleprinter Operator (hadn鈥檛 I done well!), a rank of Sergeant as 鈥榮een鈥�; and with the pay of a WO 鈥� and, 64 days leave, and oh nearly forgotten, my demob suit. Not bad鈥�

鈥� and, not then appreciated, many many memories of a soft RAF war. I was still to learn of the horrors suffered by many.

PS. Apart from one occasion when I accidentally met Edgar whilst calling where he worked our friendship was not renewed until some years ago when we bumped into each other on the Stratford Road, Shirley. Together, with Fred, we went out for a drink and chat 鈥� and still do so. We are now members of the Royal Air Force Association (RAFA) Solihull Branch, and Yatesbury Association.

Since first writing these notes some years ago, I have lost three of the friends mentioned: Gerald Roberts; Alfred Lewis; Frederick Watkins.

This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by Anastasia Travers a volunteer with WM CSV Actiondesk on behalf of J. F. Humphreys and has been added to the site with his permission. J.F. Humphreys fully understands the sites terms and conditions.

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