大象传媒

My name is Cyril Perkins, and I am proud to be a friend of a man who served with the RAF from 1937 until the late 1950鈥檚. He served in many 鈥楩rontline鈥� conflicts including the African campaign and the Far East. The following is taken from the appendix of a book he has written where he talks about service life in general 鈥� mostly as short poems. Like so many service men he speaks very little about the war years, the following being the only prose of his that goes into any detail of his experiences.

I have split his account into three parts and called them Escapers Escapade Pt. 1/ 2/3 鈥� this being Pt.1.

鈥淓scapers Escapade鈥�
L.A.C. Frank S. Paul
R.A.F. (FIIE)

This story of my journey to and from Greece in 1941 whilst serving in the Royal Air Force, started at Christmas time 1940.

With about three thousand others of the Army and Royal Air Force I travelled on the "Duchess of Richmond", then requisitioned as His Majesty's Transport. We knew not where we would end up.

On arrival in Egypt ten weeks later I joined 54 R.S.U. and made a short trip to the Western Desert from Aboukir to El Adem then to Greece. What follows is not a report but more a story.

Today, so many years (57) later I write this story from memory and without research. I have not stated many dates - I destroyed my diary in Greece. The period was from early March to the beginning of May 1941. During the period in Greece many incidents occurred and are stowed away in my memory. Every man who served in such circumstances will know that these memories only revive at times and are too numerous to detail in the story that follows.

Our unit was being formed, the trucks that were to be ours had been delivered, tools and stores were being collected. All the paraphernalia of a mobile unit such as tents and sawyer stoves, pickets, sand bags (empty), shovels for trenching, sick bay requirements, E.P.I.P. (Egypt, Palestine and Iraq Pattern) tents for H.Q. and tented workshop. As time went by we would learn all about Egypt, Palestine and Iraq Patterns tents!

A selection of technical tradesmen, of which I was one, were "bundled together in a heap" in true Air Force fashion and told we were off to Greece. This time we loaded our tools and gear onto a ship called the "Cameronian". It too, was already full of Australian and New Zealand troops. There were about 40 of us, (R.A.F.).

What was known as an R.S.U. was a mobile Repair and Salvage Unit. Manned by all technical trades, the unit carried out engine changes on forced landed aircraft, repaired damage, or boosted the manpower situation of a squadron that was having serviceability trouble.

Repair and Salvage (R.S.U.) men lived like nomads. Often in the roughest of outdoor conditions. Small teams of technical men did the highly technical jobs they were trained to do, wherever required. They cooked their own food, erected their own tents, drove their own trucks, drew rations as required, acted on their own initiative once their orders were known - and they recovered dead bodies - sometimes.

We were going across to Greece to be attached to 53 R.S.U. at Hassani, a Greek airfield close to a place called Edem near Athens.

The Mediterranean was grey and rough as it can be at that time of the year. The ship was so crowded that the galley could hardly cope with the meals. Boiled rice and corned beef was the main diet. I was glad we were only on that ship four days.

The Australians had a pipe band and they assembled on deck after "tea" to play until dark. A "jam packed" trooper painted grey, tired troops glad of any diversion, a gusty wind, choppy sea and the bagpipes calling "Will ye no' come back again". That scene has stayed in my mind ever since.

I began to notice what war did to the farmers and bush men from New Zealand and Australia. I liked them very much. They were what they called themselves - "Bastards from the Bush". In the early days of World War II they joined, as I was often told, "To get shootin' at the bloody Germans". A week or two hence it was the other way round. The Germans would be shootin' at us. When with that type of Australian, of that generation, one could leave one's wallet on one's bed - it would still be there on one's return.

Arrival at Piraeus was not what it should have been. The docks were out of service. A munitions ship had been bombed and it had blown the place to bits causing damage to other ships. The docks were unusable. As we lay at anchor - doing nothing, wasting time we thought, there was quite a lot of daylight left.

I was looking over the ship's side with a man called Lofty Maybour - a Corporal Coppersmith one of the rare pre-war trades - weighing up the scene, a large brown object moved past the ship. Lofty said it was a mine; I didn't know what it was. Lofty told one of the crew who grunted and looked over the side, by then it was gone from sight. I did not feel too happy about it, I must say.

The Australian and New Zealand soldiers of those days were the most genuine men one could find oneself amongst. They had an adult attitude to the war. "Jack's as good as his master" and although it has been said their discipline was slack I thought their true discipline lay, not in forming fours and saluting. They had the true discipline of a united will to perform the task an Army, Airforce or Navy has to do.

At Piraeus small ships plied to and fro all day; our party had been one of the first off the ship. We could still see them going and coming at mid-day. We landed in the little round harbour that had, since ancient times, been the fisherman鈥檚 harbour.

We were taken to Hassani airfield and shown where we would have to sleep. It was in an ancient canvas hanger. There were a few beds made of wicker like fishing traps. Most of the personnel were away and I recall that we were a bit of a nuisance at breakfast time the next day. There was a tent wherein a man was cooking some bacon and beans. He cooked some for us and wasn't all that nice about it. I then learnt that he wasn't a cook, he was an ex-apprentice airframe fitter of long service.

Now we fully expected to be employed, as there was a strange selection of aircraft on the airfield.

Hassani airfield was hard barren soil - brown and sandy. Blenhiems, Hurricanes and a few Greek Air Force craft 鈥� old Dorniers and other "funny airplanes" stood around. We could not be allotted duties that day but we were split up to work with
the small parties or repair teams of 53 R.S.U.

I went with a fatigue party to collect our tools from the docks. An air raid occurred whilst on this task so there was no lingering about. During the few days before I left Hassani there was an air raid of some sort every few hours of daylight.

I went to Athens to see the sights. Oft times I have wished I had paid more attention and learnt more of the places and buildings. I was aware that these mountain tracks called "Roads" had been trodden by the Gods of myth like Hercules and Diana. However, I did see the country before motorways replaced the old roads of Ancient Greece. Whilst visiting Pireaus one evening, there was a very severe air raid. The retsina wine - a cidery sour green liquid - we had been drinking had made me a bit forgetful. I'm told I was in the dock area when a Greek soldier dragged me into a shelter. He gave me a red blanket to keep warm and let me keep it. I kept it as long as I could. I gave it away later on, to an officer on Kythira island who slept near me in the olive grove. He had no blanket or cover.

I remember another occasion when we all went to the bistro or "pub". The next day I had a terrible headache. There was an air raid that morning but my head was so bad that I did not get off my "bed" to run away. I watched a Messerschmitt 110 make a strafing attack and I just hoped he wouldn't pick the hanger I was sleeping in. From my bed just inside the door I watched him turn to attack but he squirted his cannons in some other direction then went away.

I don't think I ever drank any more of that retsina stuff or the other poison called "ouzo" that went white with water added. The Greek soldiers pay was so low - about two drachma a day. We were "millionaires" even though we only received about two pounds a week. One pound was about one hundred drachma. A hundred "drachs" bought the whole house drinks all round with change. The wine came in a tin mug, about half a pint, but one drank out of a glass. I think at one stage we drank straight out of the tin mug and were frowned upon.

Some days pass doing odd jobs and at last I was given a real job. This was to join the party of one Sgt. Wallis who was going to an airfield to the north. It turned out to be the deserted airfield of Lamia. We were to repair or recover a Hurricane damaged by ACK ACK splinters.

I secretly thought it good to get away from Hassani which was beginning to get too well known to the German Air Force!

I was the only member of the detachment from 54 R.S.U. in this party which consisted of Sgt. Wallis, a driver (who was a Palestinian in the Royal Air Force Volunteer Reserve as far as I remember), L.A.C. Pay and about three or four others. Their names I cannot remember. They were members of 53 R.S.U. and
I did not have time to learn their names.

Aircraft that could not be repaired where they had landed were sometimes taken to an established base of an R.S.U. The established base was also of a very temporary nature. Tents served as workshops etc.

The ride up the mountain road north of Athens was, to me, a thrilling ride. The roads in those days were very narrow and rough, not much more than tracks through the hills. The scenery was breathtakingly magnificent.

Before reaching the airfield at Lamia we were stopped in a Greek village and told of an aircraft that had been shot down the day before. We found the burnt out remains of the crashed Hurricane and the body of one Pilot Officer Still. The only
identification to be found was his name on the inside of his oxygen mask. He had many wounds that had not bled. I had picked up and handled dead bodies before and many since but I have never forgotten that day. P/0 Still (Ginger) belonged to
33 Sqdn. but was flying with 80 Sqdn.

A Greek farmer was standing nearby; he had brought a spade with which he dug a shallow grave. We left the scene promising to stop on the way back.

We pressed on to Lamia airfield to find it deserted. Whatever British squadron had been there had left days before. A few Greek aircraft (old Dorniers etc.) stood about and we found the Hurricane we had come to repair or collect. It stood alone near some olive trees. It had severe "flak" damage to the fuselage but could be repaired at Hassani and rendered airworthy again.

That was the decision made by Sgt. Wallis. We set about removing the main planes-propeller to load on the flat topped articulator, we did this as quickly as possible to be off back to Hassani. The air stank of trouble and many ME 109s buzzed about.

As we worked two Messerschmitt 109s arrived. They circled and "scrutinised" from the air. We tried to look as if we were not there by getting under the olive trees and staying still. They circled once then made several strafing runs at the other side of the airfield. We waited for our turn but they buzzed off.

There's nothing like hostile 109s to speed up a job on an airfield. We worked like mad to get away. Before we had finished loading the fuselage of the Hurricane we had another visit by the Luftwaffe. This time four ME 109s. It seemed as though they had come especially to shoot us up. They did. Calmly circling the airfield they then came back line astern, out of the sun.

A Greek Blenhiem, an old Dornier and what looked like an old Avro Tutor were strafed and set alight.

We cringed under the olive trees waiting our turn. One hears the bullets smacking the ground or the target about a second or two before one hears the cannon. Fascinating.

"Don't move" was the rule. The olive tree trunk is about 9鈥欌�� thick so one breathes out to feel thinner. The Luftwaffe knew very well that we hid in the olive trees. They strafed at random.

One wishes to look and see where the aircraft are, usually the attacking aircraft will come out of the sun. Even if one can see it coming it's impossible to tell what he's aiming to strafe. All one can do is cringe and hope. They made several attacks with very short bursts to preserve ammunition. Everything except our Hurricane was on fire or ruined by machine gun bullets.

Two Greeks in a gun pit kept banging away with a heavy cannon, it was something like an early anti-tank cannon. Unfortunately they had been seen and received the attention of one of the 109鈥檚. We could not believe that we had not been seen. Although we must have been visible those four pilots did not strafe our position. Perhaps they had not learnt by that time that our hiding place was under the few olive trees nearby.

Eventually they ran out of ammunition. Needless to say we finished loading our vehicles and got moving as fast as possible. The airfield was littered with wrecked and still burning aircraft. Nothing could be done about it.

We stopped again at the site of the grave of P/0 Still on our return journey. It was getting dark and we were hungry and worried. We made a makeshift cross and placed it at the head of the grave. We stood each side of the grave, Sgt. Wallis ordered us to attention and said "We salute a very gallant gentleman". Then we walked back to our vehicles. We were told by a local Greek that P/0 Still had taken on four ME 190s and had shot down one before he himself had died.

It was not until the war was over that I told Group Capt. Jones, who was then at Old Sarum, how we had buried P/0 Still. I was later told that Group Capt. Jones was the only surviving commissioned pilot left on 80 Sqdn. when in Greece. He was at that time F/0 Jones.

The railway that runs from Athens up to the north of Greece ran near the airfield at Lamia. We drove to the railway siding where a train stood. We wanted news of the situation. The train was a hospital train and had stopped for news and instructions. We were told that the war was moving south and we would be overrun in a day or so. We knew that we must press on that night without stopping. We had tins of beans and corned beef which we ate as we required. Food suddenly became very important.

That night ride was most uncomfortable to say the least. Having seen the nature of the roads in the day I was amazed that we made it in the dark. Afraid to use headlights - it wasn't allowed anyway - the drivers picked out the narrow road from what was often fresh air! Very often a thousand foot drop existed by the road side. No kerbs.

Very glad were we to see the dawn. We passed through Athens which was a town just waking from unhappy sleep. Athens had been declared an "open city" and neither Italian or German aircraft bombed Athens. Refugees from Pireaus crowded in and slept on the railway station platforms or any other shelter they could find. As we passed up over Constitution Hill towards the Palace the courtyard was packed full of Greek police. They wore a very operatic sort of uniform. The day was going to be one of agony for the people of Greece. The King had gone.

The people had also witnessed all the British going. Somebody shouted that we were going the wrong way. We should be running towards Argos or Corinth or anywhere south - we were amongst the last.

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