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In France, in 1939, the RAF operated as though it were two air forces. In the north of France was the Air Component Field Force, consisting of army cooperation squadrons (with Bristol Blenheim and Westland Lysander aircraft) and four squadrons of fighters (Hawker Hurricanes)to protect them; the Air Component provided support for the British Expeditionary Force. In the east was the Advanced Air Striking Force, equipped with light bombers (Fairey Battle and Bristol Blenheim aircraft) which did not have sufficient range to operate against Germany from bases in the UK. It was a detached part of Bomber Command. To protect it were two more squadrons of Hurricanes; No 1, at Vassincourt (near Bar-le-Duc and 30 miles SSW of Verdun), and No 73, at Rouvres (13 miles ENE of Verdun).

My radar unit was to provide support for these two squadrons. It had a complement of 20. Half of them, the radio mechanics and operators, were regular RAF airmen and all of them were young; the rest were drivers and aircrafthands, almost all reservists, including some old soldiers who had served in the first world war. The senior NCO was a corporal Wireless and Electrical Mechanic. The radar equipment was of a type called GM1, so called because it was an Army gun-laying (GL) set that had been modified (M) for use by the RAF. It had two 70-foot timber lattice towers, a transmitter and receiver, each in a trailer, and was powered by a 15 kVA Lister diesel generator. Its performance was very poor and only six were ever built, one of which was given to the French. The instructions I had received at Air Ministry were that radar was terribly secret and I must not breathe a word about it to anybody, but that I must supply information about enemy aircraft movements to Nos 1 and 73 Squadrons. It was left to me to decide where it should be sited. I knew where the two squadrons were, I knew there was quite a lot of German reconnaissance activity over the north-east of France, and I knew that the performance of my station would be poor, so I sited it as far ahead as possible: at Merci-le-Haut, close to the Luxembourg frontier and just behind the northern end of the Maginot Line, 20 miles ahead of 73 Squadron. Here it was in the area occupied by the French 10th Infantry Division, and their hospitality solved many problems of the sort that in later years we learnt to call logistic. I messed with them. The 10th was a reserve division and I was surprised to discover that in civil life five of the 20 headquarters officers were Roman Catholic priests, but it was explained to me that France is officially an atheist state, so priests must do military service just like everyone else. I thought I was doing rather a good job, all things considered, but I felt a little uneasy when I received an order, one day in October, to report as soon as possible to the AOC-in-C, Bomber Command, Air Chief Marshal Sir Edgar Ludlow-Hewitt, who was at the AASF Headquarters at Reims. But how was I to get there? My only transport consisted of five 6-wheeled 5-ton Crossley lorries. I drove one to Rouvres, arriving shortly after dark, and begged the loan of the 73 Squadron Miles Magister runabout aircraft for the next morning. Squadron-Leader Knox agreed, but on one condition: clearly I must be able to speak French, since I had been the sole British officer living in a French mess, and the condition was that I should reply on behalf of the guests when his officers dined that night with the officers of a nearby squadron of the Armée de l'Air. The hospitality was excellent. I doubt if my speech was. And how the Magister found its way to Reims the next morning I have no idea. There the AOC-in-C eyed me and issued an order that was crystal clear: "Take that thing away from there," he said; "I do not mind where you put it, so long as it is not within 50 miles of any frontier." Crestfallen, I returned to Merci-le-Haut. The map showed that Vassincourt was 51 miles from the frontier, so I re-sited my station close to No 1 Squadron. With hindsight, how right the AOC-in-C was: Merci-le-Haut is not far from Sedan, where the Germans broke through the French defences eight months later.

Nobody ever asked me what lessons about RAFVR training could have been learnt from our experiences between September and November, 1939, but I will list some of them. First, a young officer who is in charge of a detached unit needs to know the answers to important questions of organisation: What is the chain of command? Who is my immediate superior? With whom am I allowed to discuss my secret equipment and its operational use? How do I obtain a telephonic tie-line? Second, he needs to know about the provision for local defence and security - there was no RAF Regiment in 1939 - and how to obtain information about the movements of allied and enemy troops in the event of mobile warfare. Third, he needs to know the answers to many administrative questions that were never mentioned in the pre-war lectures: How do I obtain rations? A roof over my men's heads? Petrol? Lubricants? Money for local purchases and pay for the men? Laundry? Medical care? Mail? Censorship of outgoing mail? Fourth, and extremely important, every unit in the field needs some light transport.

At Vassincourt almost all our needs were met by No 1 Squadron, which had its own adjutant, equipment and engineer officers and administrative organisation. A gap that, with hindsight, is notable was in the provision for security and local defence. This the French army was supposed to handle, but I do not recall ever seeing any. Furthermore, the local population was by no means entirely friendly: more than one of the officers of No 1 Squadron was shot at while walking back from the mess to his billet on a dark night. Close proximity of the radar station to the squadron fostered a collaboration that made up, to some extent, for the loss of 50 miles range by the radar station, and several German reconnaissance aircraft were shot down by Nos 1 and 73 Squadrons during the so-called ‘phoney war’ of the autumn and winter of 1939. I had some unexpected duties too: in the 1930s all scientists were expected to read and speak German, so I was given the job of interpreter when the squadron wished to bail one German pilot out of a French gaol and give him dinner before delivering him to the military prison at Verdun. He was not greatly depressed by the prospect. "I shall be out inside six months," he said; and, no doubt, he was. Soon after that much of Europe was gripped by appalling weather that froze everything and stopped all flying. Even a crate of beer, obtained with great difficulty and left in the mess overnight, froze solid and the bottles burst.

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