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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Roger Marsh of the ‘Action Desk — Sheffield’ Team on behalf of Robert M. Crossley, and has been added to the site with the author’s permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

My War — Part 1
By
Robert M. Crossley

Between August 1939, when I was called up for service in the Army, and demobilisation in July, 1946, I remember very little of happenings in my home town of Bingley, in West Yoprkshire. My mother and my Auntie Margaret, both at 'Hardy Nook' wrote regularly to Peter and me at many many addresses, keeping us posted with family and local news. I knew that my father had joined the local home Guard unit, that my sister had joined the A.T.S., my future brother-in-law, Colin Haxby, was in the Army, and that my cousin Peter's fiancé, Betty Patterson, had joined the W.A.A.F.s. I only remember the occasional incident or a party attended whilst at home enjoying some leave.

I remember the 24th August, 1939 quite well. My cousin Peter and I were at work: at Brown, Muffs when at lunchtime, word was going around the store about rumours that the 'Terriers' were being called up, and sure enough before tea-time, we were ordered to return home. We just had time for a quick meal before reporting to Shipley Barracks in our uniforms with kit. The whole 397th Company was transported in a fleet of buses to Hatfield Woodhouse, near Doncaster, and our fifteen strong searchlight detachment was soon to be installed on our first site at a farm in Belton, Lincolnshire.

A week later on the 1st September, we heard on the wireless that German forces had entered Poland, and it came as no surprise a few days later, on the 3rd, that we and France had declared war on Germany. I was eighteen years of age and soon settled down to army life. I considered myself lucky to have a pal like Peter with me for, the first, few months, and knowing the rest of the detachment well through our weekly training evenings at Green Lane Barracks. In the detachment at that time were Sgt. Sharp, Peter Watson (my cousin), myself, Jack Crabtree, the Greenwood brothers, Frank Ledger, Frank Cordingley, Joe Wilcock, Mike Williamson, George Smart, and Ted Hewitt the cook. We were living under canvas, having good meals, and I soon became proficient in my new role as Searchlight Operator.

On 'Action Stations’, my post was at the searchlight, being fully responsible for the light. The power came from a generator over 200 yards away manned by one of the Greenwood brothers. On the command 'Expose' from the sergeant, I used to slam home the knife switch and the beam shot into the dark night sky, at the same time illuminating most of us in the vicinity. I had boxes of carbons to hand which I looked after like gold, and when the carbons in the light needed replacing, I donned my special gloves and leaned into the very hot interior to fit the new ones (whilst the light was 'doused'). Peter was sat in a special Spotter’s chair with a pair of binoculars about 75 yards from the light, watching for aircraft, his companion Spotter, Jack Greenwood, 75 yards away in the opposite direction.

In a few months time, the Company moved to Barton-upon-Humber and our detachment occupied a site at Bassgarth, near Goxhill, and this was followed with a move to the Hutton Cranswick area with our own detachment on a farm at Sunderlandwick, near Driffield. There were moves for us to Nafferton, Middleton-on-the-Wolds, and Leconfield. Major E. M. Wright was now in charge of the Company, and it was a time when we ‘stood to' every night lighting up German aircraft for the Ack Ack batteries to fire on. My first ringside seat to bombing was whilst at the side of the large Driffield Aerodrome, when over 50 German Junkers bombed the airfield. They had direct hits on the W.A.A.F. quarters and many women were killed. Bombers that were standing on the side of the runway were hit and were left burning with a pall of black smoke. The attack was sudden and Driffield was one of the first airfields to be bombed. I remember that it was a clear blue sky and the Junkers dived from a very great height. It was all over in a few minutes and they were away, leaving much damage. Our fighters eventually passed over heading for the coast in pursuit.

Whilst in this area I remember occasions when Heinkels and Junkers on bombing raids inland fired down our searchlight beam, but we avoided any injuries, and at Nafferton, one Heinkel dropped a large bomb on our site. Luckily it fell behind a nearby barn and we were spared injury. I recall attending two or three Radar courses, one at Queensbury and one at Huddersfield before our move to the south of England. The move was to the Iver, Bucks., area and our detachment found ourselves at Stanwell near to where Heathrow airport is today, and to Bushey Park. It gave us the opportunity to get to know London well on our day or weekend leaves. London was having the worst of the bombing and one of my most frightening times was the night, staying in a Church Army Hostel, when one of those Land Mines dropped and exploded in the street behind. Most of the windows in the hostel and street were shattered from the tremor. I remember having been to the Hammersmith Palais earlier in the evening.

It was 1940 and Winston Churchill had become Prime Minister. Germany had invaded Denmark, Norway, Holland, Belgium, and Luxemburg, and we had seen the evacuation of our troops in the B.E.F. from Dunkirk. At home, my sister, Pat had joined the A.T.S., training at Catterick, and then being posted to Forfar in Scotland for service with the Royal Corps of Signals. This year my father had attended the annual dinner of 93rd Infantry Brigade at the Queens hotel in Bradford. In the 1914-18 war, he had served with the 16th West Yorks and was one of the Bradford Pals with service in the Dardenelles and France. He was Brigade Q.M.S.

On the radio we were listening to 'Hi Gang' with Ben Lyon and Bebe Daniels and Vic Oliver. There was also 'Garrison Theatre" with Jack Warner, and 'Murgatroyd and Winterbottom' with Tommy Handley and Ronald Frenkau.

July 1940 found the Company stationed in the Empire Hotel, Buxton, where we were to change from a, searchlight company to an artillery battery. There was a complete reorganisation and our unit was to become 416 Battery, 127 L.A.A. Regiment, R. A. We were to man 40mm Bofor guns with Predictor equipment and there began intensive training. Peter had left our detachment many months ago and there were changes in personnel. My closest pals now were Bob Beldon and Jack Crabtree. We were now Gunners instead, of Sappers.

Jack and I had been selected for training on Predictors. I was No 3 (vertical) and Jack was a No 2 (traversing). Aside the Predictor, we peered through small telescopes, one on each side and with wheels and handles, aligned the Predictor on the target, the Bofor gun being immediately aimed at the target by remote control. It was teamwork and after weeks of training we soon became efficient.

Our first Firing Camp was at Stiffkey on the Norfolk coast. A plane dragging a linen target used to fly above the sea across our range and the detachment that had the most hits throughout the four-week stay became Battery champions. Jack and I had success from the start and became a well known team. There was keen competition between the six Battery detachments.

There was a break from the Bofors for a few weeks when we were sent to Waltham abbey for experience and there we manned a sophisticated type of four-barrelled two pounder ‘Pom Pom’ anti-aircraft gun in the defence of an explosives factory. It was a gun site that I will never forget. It was weird in some ways. The factory was surrounded by a high security fence with the main gate manned by some Infantry unit and the concrete gun emplacement was next to the factory at roof level, overlooking a yard, workers’ entrance, and a deep beck flowing with a green chemical waste. I remember the workers at the plant. Their faces and clothing were all yellow through the material they handled, and alarm sirens sounded at certain times of the day when it was said that they were doing a 'mix'. It was the only site occupied where we never fired the gun, which perhaps was a blessing.

There were light moments though at Waltham Abbey, and always many of us who didn’t object to being on duty at the emplacement on a Sunday afternoon, where there were extensive views. Across the river was a nudist camp, which was a field of activity on a warm weekend afternoon. Always handy by the gun were two pairs of powerful binoculars!

By now, in every town or city there were N.A.A.F.I., Y.M.C.A., Church Army, Red Shield or Toc H hostels, providing accommodation, canteen and reading room services for any serviceman and woman on leave. Even when out on isolated sites, there were regular calls by mobile canteens selling tea, cakes, toiletries and cigarettes. We also had our share of the many E.N.S.A. concert parties touring the country.

Watchet, on the Somerset coast, was the next Firing Camp our Battery was to attend for three weeks, and the detachment had further success by attaining the most hits. It was here that I won a Battery competition together with a man named Kent, the prize being a flight in a Gypsy Moth from a nearby airfield. The pilot was a Czech of the R.A.F., and it was my first flight in an aeroplane. Flying towards Oxford, he did a roll and then a 'loop the loop', returning from Oxford, over the intercom and headphones, he asked if I was ready for another roll and loop. I shook my head because my stomach was still in my mouth from his last two manoeuvres. However, I remember that we not only did a loop, but a right roll and then a left roll before landing on the airfield. Apart from the aerobatics, it was a really enjoyable trip though. I remember going in to the canteen to await my friend Kent, and the aircrews telling me that the Czech pilot had a false leg, having lost a leg in a crash.

We then had moves to Clifton, near Bristol, to Andover, Salisbury Plain, and the large R.A.F. fighter base at Middle Wallop where Sqdn. Leader 'Cats-Eyes' Cunningham operated from. This was followed by moves to Ringwood, and Fordingbridge, Hants, and to Bulbarrow Hill, then to Boscombe, Bournemouth, where our gun site was on the cliff top overlooking the sea. Through this period and the Battle of Britain, we were continually manning the Bofor day and night, firing at any plane within range and also at the numerous 'doodle-bugs’ (flying bombs) which were within our range. We were credited with several hits. We assume that it was for a rest, because the Battery was then moved from Bournemouth on the south coast to the northern coast of Scotland. The whole unit was conveyed by rail from Bournemouth railway station to Wick in Caithness, which took two- days. Our detachment was stationed in a Wick brewery and there was plenty of the local brew available to us at a cost price. It was wet and dismal in Wick and a complete contrast to Bournemouth. I remember visiting John O Groats and Thorso on the northern tip on a run out from Wick.

From Wick we moved into another Firing Camp at Nethertown, Cumbria, for a month, and then north again into the West Highlands. I had volunteered for a Physical Training Instructors Course, although volunteering in the army wasn’t always going of your own free will. I spent three weeks on one of Lord Lovat’s estates at Beauly, near to Inverness. I remember the fresh salmon from the river was lovely. The idea of the course was to have one member of each detachment trained, in taking P.T. so as to ensure everyone was fit.

After the course I journeyed by train East to Poolewe to join my own detachment that was occupying a site on the banks of Loch Ewe. The Loch was a hive of activity where convoys of ships bound for Russia with supplies sheltered for several days at a time. I remember that there were nationalities of many kind in the local pubs. During this period, I had to take the detachment on P.T. daily, being so qualified, but the practice soon died a sudden death and was forgotten. After a long stay in the highlands we were to attend our last Firing Camp for a few weeks and this time it was in mid-Wales at a place called Pen-y-bont, near Llandrindod-Wells, Radnorshire.

From there we were to move south again to the Chichester area and, one of our sites was at Fareham on the side of a main railway line. The south was full of Americans at this time and every public house was full to overflowing.

It was early 1943 and the Battery had a strange move to Leeds in Yorkshire. We found ourselves billeted in terrace houses down Brudenall Road, Headingley. We were parted from our guns and there were strong rumours that we were to be kitted out for service in the far East. We were doing regular drill up and down Brudenall Road, rifle practise and general infantry training, but enjoyed for a change having every evening free, unless you were picked for the few guard duties.

I took full advantage of being so near to my home, slipping home many an evening, with the odd weekend leave too. At home, I learned that my sister Pat had been posted out to Ceylon, serving with the Royal Signals, together with Colin Liaxby, whom she was to marry after the war, My father was a Sergeant in the Home Guard. The Duke of Kent had been killed in an air crash, and on the radio we were listening to shows from America, such as the Charlie McCarthy Show, the Bob Hope Show, and the Jack Benny Hour.

Pr-BR

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