大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's War Website by Elizabeth Perez of Stockport Libraries on behalf of Leslie Landells and has been added to the site with his permission. He fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

To commence pilot training I was moved to Regents Park, London and billeted in a block of high class flats along with hundreds of other volunteer aircrew. I was issued with a white flash to wear in our forage caps, to denote aircrew under training. The flats of course, had been stripped of their contents and replaced with the standard service iron beds, straw pillows and palliases and metal lockers. We were then given the usual lectures and the drill instructions to keep us occupied. We ate our meals in a large caf茅 inside the Zoo. We all thought it a huge joke when marching to breakfast at 6:30 am; we disturbed some of the small inmates (the larger animals had been removed for safety from the bombing earlier in the war). Especially one species, which, in their scores, howled and howled in a high pitched shriek. The whole neighbourhood was awakened and some residents complained, but we thought, so what, after all there was a war on.

The rest of my stay there was routine for R.A.F. Servicemen under training. Although one occasion could be said to be different from normal. I became friendly with a fellow trainee, Geoffrey Chater, a most likeable character, rather older than myself. He was related to Lady Chater of County Durham (if I remember correctly), a nephew perhaps? One weekend we were invited to stay with upmarket friends of his family, the Fiskes of Upminster. The Fiskes were fairly important industrialists and quite wealthy. So off we went to their country manor house. It was like something right out of a 'county gentry' scene.

On the Saturday evening, we were taken out for dinner. By train and taxi we travelled to 鈥楺uaglinos鈥�, one of the top quality restaurants in the West End. I can鈥檛 remember all the people present but the Countess of Mayo, Ireland and Lady Chater, Co. Durham and a few others were introduced. Geoffrey Chater was much more at ease than myself (I was just a village boy). He had been brought up on an estate somewhere in the West Country. But I was treated with respect and made to feel welcome as a friend of Geoffrey鈥檚.

On the Sunday I was shown around the manor house. In one outbuilding there was a row of pheasants hanging from the rafters. They were, to say the least, 鈥榟igh鈥� and off putting. Come lunchtime of course, pheasant was on the menu. Needless to say, my appetite was less than normal. Once again it was an example of "Join the services and see the world and how the other half lives."

I met Geoffrey Chater only once after our Regents Park brief friendship. I鈥檇 heard he was in hospital near Harrogate. He hadn鈥檛 altered, he was the same rather timid, self effacing and well mannered person. We enjoyed our rather brief reunion. We were both Sergeant Pilots at the time. We didn鈥檛 think to exchange addresses as we had already arranged to meet in Harrogate when he was discharged. But within a day or so I was posted. I never met him again.

While in Regents Park we experienced some bombing and saw the terrible results of previous heavy raids. Also the demanding conditions in the Underground suffered by the civilian population.

My next posting was to Brighton, Sussex, awaiting transfer to an ITW (Initial Training Wing) for pilot training. Trainee aircrew were billeted mainly in two large grandiose hotels on the sea front, the Grand and the Metropole, both of which had been stripped down to the minimum comforts.

Once again, we were lectured and marched around. One very welcome 鈥榩erk鈥� broke the routine, a 鈥榗har鈥� tea break in the morning and afternoon. Our Instructors usually held the rank of Corporal, and of course, each had their favourite cafes, usually a small unpretentious 鈥榮nug鈥� of a place. These tea breaks were havens of relaxation from the demanding merry-go-round we had embarked upon. Quite willingly of course, as we were all rather proud to wear the white flash in our forage caps, denoting aircrew under training.

Brighton seemed much run down and one of its main attractions, the Royal Pavilion, very neglected. There were many Allied troops stationed nearby, including Canadians. One incident comes to mind. A popular high class ballroom decorated from walls to ceiling with huge mirrors was said to have been seriously damaged during a riot of sorts. Mainly, it was thought, through the frustration of the troops, who were dying to see action.

My next journey was a long haul to St Andrews, Scotland for some weeks' ground training on various subjects, Navigation, Theory of Flight, Air Gunnery, Wireless Operating, Aldis Lamp, and Morse code etc.
We were billeted in a large hotel overlooking and just across the road from the famous Golf Club. On our sports afternoons we would play golf. I played a few holes but went onto play tennis, which I preferred. My partner was Gordon Wright, whom I will write more of later.

I passed all tests with an average rating, with the exception of Morse code and Aldis lamp, in which I excelled somewhat, the very subjects which I had earlier dreaded. The exchanging of the Aldis light signals across the bay, lying among the sand dunes I found intriguing.

Then in June 1942, I was posted to No.11 EFTS, Perthshire bordering on Scone Palace, where the Scone Stone was placed under the throne to declare the authority of Scottish Kings.

I remember my first flight as a pupil pilot in a Tiger Moth biplane. It was 鈥榦ut of this world鈥�. But my first solo flight obviously surpassed even that level. The hours spent in learning how to perform loops, rolls, stall turns, recovering from spins, forced landings etc were just as exhilarating.

Nearing the end of this stage, I was given a day off. I had always wanted to visit Scone Palace. So, at 9:30am that morning, I was making my way to the entrance. It wasn鈥檛 very far from the airfield. Then I heard someone shouting my name and the constant ringing of a bicycle bell. It was an airman to tell me to return to the airfield p.d.q. Apparently the CFI (Chief Flying Instructor) was waiting for me to make my final grading test. I could hardly take it in. This test was all important, and I had always envisaged at least some hours of notice. I was stressed somewhat and sweating after running back to the dispersal. The CFI just said, 鈥淐limb aboard鈥� and off we went. My take off was fairly good, but after a few hundred feet the CFI remarked 鈥測ou have strayed off course to starboard鈥�. Usually an error made on your first flight under instruction would have been remarked upon quite sharply. But the CFI said it quite calmly with no hint of rebuke. I can鈥檛 remember anything else being said or how I was informed that I had passed with an Average rating. In the years that followed, I have thought that the short notice of my grading test was deliberate, to test my reaction to unexpected orders. I have never known the name of the CFI. It does not appear in my Log Book. Not even the date of the final test. However I now feel that the CFI was fully aware of the set-up and had made allowances for my one momentary loss of concentration following take-off.

Sometime around this time, my original Identity Card was taken from me and when returned, all references to my previous postings etc had been deleted. For security reasons I assumed as soon I would be going overseas. I think however, that I could have first been transferred to Harrogate, one of the holding centres between R.A.F. postings. Once again in a large hotel, then the usual drilling, lectures, tests etc.

I was then moved to Heaton Park, Manchester. We were housed under canvas, in large WWI bell tents. These were situated on grassy slopes running down from the front of the Hall. We were there for a week or two and it rained for most of the time. Manchester itself was in a terrible state as a result of earlier bombing raids.

There was one rather bizarre and tragic incident. It was said that a drunken airman had lain down with his head on the downside of the slope, and vomiting during the night, he had choked to death.

Go to, "Memories of further Pilot Training in Canada in 1942" by Leslie Landells

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