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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.

From Carlisle, I was posted to R.A.F. Padgate and then to Blackpool for three weeks initial training.

Then I was posted to R.A.F. Bassingbourne on general duties, some of which included guarding the airfield at all entry points, pill boxes, main gates and the large bomb dump etc. The bomb dump was a frightening duty as you were locked in what appeared to be dimly lit caverns holding thousands of bombs.

At that time, German bombers still targeted the airfield. They once cracked the side of a reserve fuel dump. Fuel sprayed everywhere and over our billet, however the blast went overhead and we survived. But a row of billets behind us was demolished and a number of W.A.A.Fs and airmen were killed and injured.

Another time I was on duty on a large water tower, 30/40 ft high. A German plane, a Messersmidt 110 (I think), strafed the airfield. The concrete cladding was splintered and a piece hit me on the side of the head (I still have the original casualty label).

A troop of Army Pioneer Corps was stationed nearby. One of their tasks was to fill in bomb craters. All the equipment they seemed to have were picks and shovels and an ancient road roller to pack down the in-fill for the final surface coating of tarmacadam.

I was once sent to guard the wreckage of a Wellington bomber that had crashed and all the crew killed. This was just as dawn was breaking, with morning mist swirling all around. I was ordered to proceed to the wreckage, then to circle it to prevent anyone approaching. Another airman was ordered to guard the gate to the field. After our transport left, not a sound was heard, and there was a very eerie atmosphere all around. The wreckage in parts was still slightly warm and I then decided to look around. After picking up what seemed to be a flying boot, I was just about to look inside, when I realised it felt rather heavy and there was something in it. Looking up I noticed that the mist had thickened and I couldn’t see anything. I went cold all over, and ran in what I thought was the direction of the gate. I called out loudly to the sentry on the gate. Fortunately, he heard me and after a few attempts, we managed to make contact. By then it was his turn to guard the wreckage, but when I told him of my find, he refused to approach the wreckage. When our transport came to collect us, we just climbed aboard and said nothing and thankfully no questions were asked. Incidentally, before we went on guard duty, the aircraft had obviously been cleared of most of the large debris and the casualties sometime during the previous night.

Another incident arose when I was on duty outside the main guardroom. A German Messersmidt 110 aircraft had made an emergency landing at Steeple Morden, a night flying training airfield associated with Bassingbourne. The Captain marched past the guard on duty, ignoring the command to halt. Arrogant in manner, he said he wouldn’t take orders from anyone but an officer of at least equal rank. The senior NCO in charge looked him straight in the eye and told him where he was and where to go in typical British Armed Services language. The German officer was furious, but was made to back down.

I saw quite a number of other crashes, one when I was walking along a nearby perimeter track. The aircraft exploded and caught fire. One airman near the plane heard the cry of someone still alive. He ran to help, but was restrained by the R.A.F. firemen as nothing could be done. (I will never forget his brave attempt to rescue the poor airman).

I then knew I was growing up and learning what war was really about. So I decided to progress and at the same time retaliate (by then I was a L.A.C). So I studied for some months to reach the educational standards necessary to be accepted for aircrew. I studied mostly in my own time, but had one hour’s instruction from the station’s Education Officer. I managed to obtain books on the A-Z of algebra, physics and trigonometry. In the evenings I studied by candlelight and oil lamps, sometimes under a blanket because of the blackout regulations.

Eventually, the Education Officer recommended me to the Aircrew Selection Board centred in the Lords Cricket Ground in Middlesex. I had applied to be a Navigator, as I didn’t think I could quality as a Pilot. As it turned out, I did qualify and even flew four-engine bombers, before I held a motor vehicle licence. The Selection Board, consisting of very high up ‘top brass’ asked only a few questions at the interview. The final one was why had I applied to be a Navigator. I told them my story and reasons, and they then asked if I would consider training to be a Pilot. I couldn’t believe my ears but, looking at the expressions on their faces, I felt they wanted me to say yes. So I accepted their judgement in good faith, agreed and said I would do my best not to let them down. It was at that moment that I really felt Fate was taking a hand in my destiny, because in my ‘mind’s eye’, I recalled what the man in the Newcastle park had said, all those years ago in my childhood.

I can’t remember having been given a single verbal or physical test at that stage. So I have always thought since, what a professional, competent and confident group of officers they were. Not because they selected me, but that they had accepted the responsibility of making decisions on hundreds and thousands of other human beings, which made such a valuable contribution to the war effort.

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

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