大象传媒

Malta - After a few hours sleep, I was anxious to see the sights before duty called. I became friendly with an old sweat who seemed willing to act as guide to me. We went down to Valetta in an old ramshackle bus, driven very recklessly by a Maltese who sounded his horn 55 seconds out of every minute. Feeling somewhat relieved at our safe arrival, I stepped out of the bus and was immediately nauseated by a ghastly smell. Undaunted by this I bravely explored the 'city' but was not at all impressed except by the large variety of smells. I went down a narrow alley, known to all the Services as the 'Gut' where some women of doubtful character enticed the Military to buy them drinks. It was actually coloured water for which they drew a commission. What a living.
The following morning, reading in the 'Malta Times' that the Luftwaffe had returned to Sicily in force, I was assured by the old timers that the period of comparative rest was over. In other words the island was in for another period of fierce action. However for several days there were only the Italian raiders who came in at high altitude and sheared off as soon as Malta's terrific A.A. barrage opened fire on them. Then the raids became more intense and were pressed home with total disregard for the island defences; obviously the work of our worthy enemy the German.
At first, I used to stand in the open and watch the action but the amount of A.A. shrapnel coming down was terrific and dangerous. After one or two dive-bombing attacks on our particular airfield, I soon began to take to the ground after the barrage started. The night raids were by far the worst and unfortunately I was not one of the lucky ones who could sleep through all the noise, but I had to have sleep. The billet I slept in had a corrugated iron roof which was clanging all night with the patter of A.A. shrapnel. I would be trying to doze off into a fitful sleep when a bomb would come swishing down on it's way to our near vicinity. Then everybody in the room would 'bale out' i.e. roll off and under the bed. There was a special way of making beds there; I couldn't tuck the blankets in as usual, I had to just roll myself in them loosely so that I could 'bale out' with the least possible delay.
The end of this nerve-racking state of affairs came when the whole of our roof was lifted off by the blast of a nearby bomb. After that I used to live in a concrete-roofed billet or, when the raids were too bad, down the deep water-logged shelters.
The heavy raids by daylight became very bad, getting as frequent as 15 raids per day. Through all this our machines had to be serviced and kept on operations almost every night. It was no easy matter to be working on an engine until the last minute when the A.A. opened fire and Jerry was over. Under me I would have over 700 gallons of petrol and 2 tons of H.E. bombs, by no means a pleasant situation, especially on a cloudy day when Jerry could sneak in unsuspected. After every raid on the 'drome, the Rigger and I had to make a minute inspection of the whole machine, looking for shrapnel damage. Sometimes there might only be the tiniest hole which called for close inspection.
Most nights were bad for the ground staff, seeing machines off on operations, under fire, but maybe this one night was the most arduous.
It was about 8 o'clock on that December evening in 1941 when all the ground crews assembled in the old wooden hut but which we were using for a Flight Office. We were waiting for the aircrew and a lorry to take us out to the kites on Dispersal. I was Fitter on my own machine 'J' for Johnnie and also, from a glance at the notice board I saw that the Rigger on with me was Harry W--- who had flown out with me in the same machine. Also on the board were the usual operation orders.
1. Check petrol flaps the last thing before take-off. (If these were not securely fastened down the kite would dig in a wing and crash on take-off)
2. When the machine returns from the raid do not open the bomb doors. (One machine and three men had been blown up due to a 40lb hang-up which exploded when the bomb doors were opened on the ground. It exploded with only the 4 ft drop.)
3. Lock up the aircraft after it's return. (The native workers were rather keen on whipping up any loose articles inside the aeroplane).
Just as I had given these a cursory glance to make sure that there was nothing new, Dickie, Dougie and the rest of the aircrew came along so I collected Harry and piled into the bus that was to be our transport. It was the C.O.'s order that all crews had to be standing by their machines at least half an hour before take-off time and this evening we had a full hour to wait. Whilst in the bus I got the gen from Dickie that the target for that night was Naples.
The bloke on the bus step yelled out "Anybody for 'J' for Johnnie". I gave the aircrew a hand to get all their equipment off the bus and piled it all in front of 'J's nose. Except for the Mae Wests and parachute harnesses all gear was then stowed safely aboard. Whilst they were doing this, I went aboard to check the fuel cocks, fuel gauges and connect the internal batteries. Then on to the wing where I checked the fastening of the petrol flaps. Meanwhile, Harry the Rigger, took off the pitot head cover, checked brake pressure and then gave the windscreen a last minute polish. The gang of us then sat round the nose of the kite to have a chat while waiting for starting time.
"This target's a piece of duff", said Dougie. "It's a real picnic". Being enthusiastically curious I asked what it was like over the place.
"Well" volunteered Dickie, "Every time we have been over the target we see the A.A. and searchlights wandering aimlessly all over the sky long before we get there. As we get over the place it gets wilder and more frantic, I don't even have to de-synchronise the engines. Then we let go the first stick of bombs, all the guns cease-fire and all the searchlights go out. They don't start up again until we are well on the way back home".
We chatted on until Dickie, looking at his watch, stood up and told the crew it was time to get aboard. Whilst the crew were getting in, Harry and I dragged the starter trolley through the thick mud and plugged it in.
"Best of luck, Dickie" I called as the captain turned to get aboard."Don't go getting this crate of mine damaged or I'll be after your blood".
"Don't worry, Mac, you'll have another bomb to paint up tomorrow" he replied, referring to our habit of painting one bomb on the fuselage for each operational trip on which the kite went. 'J' already had 28 up and only had about 140 hours flying on it's sheet.
"I reckon I'll remuster to aircrew", Harry mused. "You are safer up there than we are down here when Jerry starts tearing around".
I was thinking that we were extraordinarily lucky to be free from a raid for over an hour now.
I went round to each engine in turn and primed them and switched on the Hand Starter Magnetos. Harry was sitting on the battery so I came round to the front in full view of the pilot.
"All clear and ready for starting", I called and Dickie nodded assent.
"Contact port", I yelled.
Harry pressed the button and with a little spurt of flame the port engine burst into life. As Dickie throttled back, it settled into a steady throb which sounded like sweet music. The engines were Rolls Royce Merlins. After he had seen that this power unit was running OK, Dickie looked to me for the next signal. Due to the noise of the running engine, it was useless shouting so the orders for starting the starboard motor had to be given by hand signals. For 'Contact Starboard', I held my right hand high, thumbs up and left hand low similarly so that both Harry on the starter and Dickie in the cockpit could see. The engine started away smoothly, much to the relief of the rigger. The starter trolley is just behind the starboard motor and if the pilot starts the engine up full throttle then the poor rigger gets full blast of it and is plastered with the oil and mud thrown up. Our pilot was thoughtful though and we had none of this trouble.
I ran round the airscrew disc to help Harry drag away the battery and secure the flap on the fuselage. We then stood at the front of the machine while the engines were being run up. I could tell by the changing notes of the motor how Dickie was testing magneto switches, airscrew control, two-speed supercharger, rad.flaps and boost control. When both engines had been tested and were idling again, Harry and I separated, one to each wheel chock. I was on the port side so when I got the chocks away signal, I waved across to Harry and dragged my chock clear.
In the gathering gloom, Dickie turned 'J' to face the end of the flare-path and signalled his readiness to take off by the downward identification light. The officer i/c Flare Path gave him the OK by flashing a green Aldis lamp on the ground in front of the kite. It is a very serious crime to flash this light in the pilot's eyes because, after getting used to the darkness, the glare would blind him for a long time. It is different with a red light, that is supposed to stop him anyway.
'J' for Johnnie trundled down to the leading light and swung into wind. When all was set, Dickie put in the Boost Over-ride and opened wide the throttles. The exhaust stacks belched blue flame and turned a bright red. As the tail lifted, brakes were released and she moved away, slowly at first but rapidly accelerating. Soon only the high-riding white tail light could be seen and this rose higher and dwindled as 'J' became airborne.
We had nothing to do now until our kite came back, so Harry and I, after clearing all our gear to the very edge of the field, made our way over to the Flight Office.
"It's a wonder the 88's haven't been over before now, Harry", I said. "I wonder if we might get a night of peace for a change".
"That would indeed be a change on this Devil's island" he answered.
Sitting in the office with the rest of the ground crews, we were talking about various technicalities until the conversation gradually swung round to the normal subject of women. It must have been because of all the noise that nobody heard the siren and the first I knew of a raid was when A.A. fire rocked the hut. Now this island being as small as it is and bombs being many and varied, only blokes on duty and fools stay out of cover. As I was neither of these, I did a smart 100 yards in 2 seconds flat and went down the hole. The raid lasted about 3 hours but no bombs fell on our airfield so no work was required of us.
By now it was about time for our 'J' to come back, being 2.30am so Harry and I stood outside the hut to wait for it. Several of the kites came back close together and began to circle. One machine cut the engines and came in to land.
"Here's the first Wimpy (Wellington) back" began Harry.
If it was, then somebody had changed the roundels for black crosses, for this crafty Jerry, who had had his identification lights on, opened up his engines and swept over the main runway dropping 7 H.E. bombs as he went. It was a terrible shock, but after the first explosion, I did a power dive to the deck and skidded for a full yard on my stomach. Then there was Hell let loose. All kinds of A.A opened up at anything and everything until they realised that some of our own machines were up there and ceased fire.
The runway was temporarily unserviceable and a Blenheim exploded on dispersal as it's tanks caught fire, showering the field with it's components. It was too far to risk a dash to the shelter as I did not know what was coming next; so I edged off the concrete road and kept down with my arms about my head. From the control room, our aircraft were ordered to circle a small rock away from the island and so leave the A.A. free to fire at the Ju 88's. I began to wonder what Dickie would be feeling like up there. He detested any delay at landing when he came back off ops. so what would he be thinking now that he was being fired on by our own A.A., was nobody's business.
The Defence and Fire Officers soon began to get things organised and rounded up all personnel from the shelters and billets to make the runways serviceable again. This had to be accomplished within two hours to get our machines down before they ran out of fuel. The other 'dromes were unfit for one of these heavy Wellingtons to land on. All this time the gentlemen from the Luftwaffe were giving us their closest attention, looking for any light of which to make a target.

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