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A GENTLE WAR
December 21st — 31st 1942

During his RAF posting at Predannack Airfield in Cornwall my father, Kenneth Crapp, kept a diary. The diary runs from October 27th 1942 — June 7th 1944 and the first 4 month extract is included below. It shows an unexpectedly tranquil aspect of war — quiet background work on a somewhat isolated airfield, where an interest in birds and nature was undoubtedly ‘a saving grace’.

Monday, December 21st
I have been busy with crossword puzzles this morning. I learn much from them

Rain made me spend much of the afternoon at the education hut, where I read the papers and learnt of Rommel’s rapid retreat towards Tripoli and of the great new Russian offensive on the Don and of the capture of Buna in Papua and of a push into Burma by Wavell’s forces.

A fierce gale again tonight with thick rain.

Seven were buried in one coffin today — all that was left of a Lancaster’s crew that crashed recently on Goonhilly. A poem called ‘Tomorrow’ by J Collins so took my fancy that I learnt it tonight.

Tuesday, December 22nd
A bright boisterous day followed by a clear night of cool moonlit beauty. Saw another bullfinch today and, I think, several redwings, though I’m not sure of this.

I was dreaming a dream and woke to find the knocking I’d heard was real. The clammy hand of a wounded man at the door, the small door: so it sounded to our excited ears. I got up and went towards the door. The noise came from the pipes where the aerial cables pass out of the building — it was the noise, much magnified in the hollow pipe, of lapping water.

Today all transmitters are u/s for several hours because of trouble in the cable, the GPO cable, fortunately for us.

Wednesday, December 23rd
The common RAF expression ‘That’ll shake him’ or ‘It shook me’ was used by Shakespeare. In ‘Troilus and Cressida’ Act 3, Scene 3, where the Grecian generals plot to bring Achilles off his high horse. Agamemnon says ‘either greet him not, or else disdainfully, which shall shake him more, than if not look’d on’

At 5pm we resumed watches as according to the rota. I was given a job to do this afternoon and so missed my few hours in the fresh air.

At 6, just as dusk was closing its grip on the land, I set out laden with lamps, and snips and wire and a test telephone to repair the now infamous Polurrian line. I rode in the gloom as far as I could go, left my bike, and set out across the watery moors and so down the muddy lane. I had to be very careful not to slip or to splash to heavily into the innumerable pools. The usual trouble, line broken as a farm cart passes through a gateway. I had no pliers, so used scissors to get the cable cover off. In the dash it was difficult, but I had the line working again by 10 to 7. Then the walk back over the same mud and pools.

Mr A tells me that he doesn’t want me there on Xmas Day, so I shall be off.

Thursday, December 24th
In the little dell by the wooden bridge on the stream at Poltesco, there was this afternoon a strong smell of violets.

Chances of leave prejudiced by a posting this morning of another mechanic.

The great Russian offensive from the Don still progresses well. In Tripolitania, Rommel still retreats. Can Hitler strike at Spain now? Munich gets a heavy raid. Frank speaks to me tonight from Goonhilly Downs; he’s out on such a job as I had last night.

Friday, December 25th
CHRISTMAS DAY and I stay in bed late for it’s wet. Mullion church bells ring and as it has cleared, I wash and shave and set off on a jaunt. I feel quite miserable for a while, with an ache in my heart for kind faces at home, but I go to Kennack and find there a gem of a little valley, a paradise for birds. I return less sadly to my Xmas dinner. Although cloudy overhead, there were rich colours of bracken and unbroken buds in that valley and I saw two wood pigeons there; almost strangers to me now they are.

This morning I found several clusters of frog spawn in a wayside pool; each nucleus was developing well.

Xmas dinner, a big queue trickles into the hall and all are seated at cloth covered tables with plates of biscuits and mince pies and cheese. Officers bring our dinners to us — turkey, pork, Brussels sprouts, sausage meat and roast potato — then Xmas pudding. The Adjutant brings my turkey, the SLA pours out my beer and gives me five cigarettes. The dance-band plays; apples are distributed, then thrown madly and soon a free fight rages between one side of the hall and the other. Then these two sides sing; each try to drown the other; ‘Good King Wenceslas’ is roared down by ‘The First Nowell’. The RAF regiment sings in full throated chorus, ‘She’ll be coming round the mountain’, complete filth version - led by an officer and then they give ‘Nellie Dean’, led this time by same officer and a WAAF officer. It was certainly lively.

At ten there is an abundance of cake, ham, bread, butter, pickle and biscuits. More than enough.

Brian now gets a draft number; hope of leave recedes. Rumour says that Darlan has been assassinated. An easy way out for both sides? Who plotted this? I’m not sorry.

At 1pm and again at 5 I heard a mistle thrush singing; the storm cock, yet it was very mild.

Saturday, December 26th
A dull but very mild day. At 10.30 a mistle thrush was singing. I spent the afternoon at Kennack. I had longer than usual as I got away early after dinner, so I walked across Kennack’s beaches and then up the path behind the beach defences and so up the valley.

In the wood, there was quite a flock of long-tailed tits, goldcrests, other tits and a treecreeper, the first I’ve seen here. As I stood watching the tits, a woodcock flew out of a thicket and disappeared beyond the trees. Two fresh birds! Where’s the third, I thought, and at that moment a snipe, in erratic flight, came up the valley.

Brian came down as well as Frank and we cooked a Xmas pudding in borrowed pudding cloth and borrowed basin. It was good. After a crazy interlude over the ‘phone with the DF operators, we got into bed, Brian with a biscuit each of ours and two blankets and my greatcoat, on the table — and sang ourselves to sleep.

Sunday, December 27th
Russians have advanced more than 100 miles and Millerovo is threatened from 3 sides. They have begun the offensive in the Caucasus and south west of Stalingrad. The 8th Army have occupied Siste — Rommel still retreats. Papers are full of Darlan’s death: I found it too tedious to read. What an opportune moment for him to be shot!

Off Cadgwith I saw a ship in a small convoy signalling. I went to Church Cove to get a nearer view and found a submarine with the boats. At the Lizard I had a better view again.

Made 2lbs of prune and apple jam on Boxing Day and today 2lbs of sloe and apple, or apple flavoured with remnant of sloe jam.

Overheard 3 RAF Regiment men pass in the dark and one was saying ‘A conductor has 100’s of 1000’s of b-electrons; an insulator hasn’t got any electrons’.

Music Circle attracted only 4 — a Canadian, a corporal SP who is always there, and army officer and myself. Best record was Myra Hess playing ‘Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring’ and Sonata in E Major by Scarlatti.

Monday, December 28th
Mr A tells me at dinner time that leave is very doubtful. As I feared. The Signals Officer, back on Wednesday, will decide.

Tuesday, December 29th
Stayed down here late helping Frank with the petrol engine outside, only one plug firing. We got the other going but can get no current from the generator. Have to plan now other things. Betty may have to come down here next week.

Nice sausage rolls for supper. I’ve been doing crossword puzzles and have completed six.

Wednesday, December 30th
Signals Officer says I can go on leave, subject to recall if anything crops up. Oh joy!

Thursday, December 31st
A trip to Helston this morning to buy a new inner tube for my bike. I had a puncture on Tuesday and the cause, a hob nail, was left in the tyre and punctured the tube so often that I found it impossible to mend.

New tube has new type of rubber valve; ingenious, but not so good as the usual type, as tyre cannot be pumped as hard and pump keeps bursting off.

Came back via Cury and Poldhu where I saw a handsome male black redstart.

New splits for dinner — no time to return to camp.

Newspapers tell of Russian victory at Kotchikovo, captured by them.

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