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In early 1939, I had the opportunity to work on the production of ‘Spitfire’ main-plane (wings) at Wilmot Breedon in Yardley, Birmingham, sub-contractors to the huge Castle Bromwich Aircraft (CBA) plant being built to mass-produce this superb fighting aircraft, the ‘Spitfire’ MkII and V. My first assignments were to do with planning production, designing special production machinery, and collating the many and varied modifications to the wings received from Supermarine, the aircraft’s designers in Southampton. This collating gradually took over my other activities, and I was made responsible for organising these modifications into appropriate sets which, by urgency and involvement of like trades, area of implementation etc., made a logical introduction into the production line — I was not quite 20 years of age!

As the aircraft itself was developed, the modification instructions increased due to ‘feed-back’ as the planes were put into Squadron Service with more and more flying hours being ‘clocked up’. This increase, however, was nothing compared to the proposed modifications flowing in during the Battle of Britain when the ‘Spitty’ was going into squadron service in ever larger numbers to fight alongside the more numerous ‘Hurricane’. Some modifications verged on the complete re-design of various areas of the wings!

Whilst the modifications referred to earlier had involved a considerable amount of testing and experimentation (in close collaboration with Supermarine), I had not been drawn into development work per se, but when the R.A.F. urgently required a high-altitude, long-range aircraft for photo-reconnaissance, it was decided to have one of the production Mk. IIs from CBA modified as top priority. Two development engineers from Supermarine were seconded to CBA, and I worked closely with one of them on the extensive modifications required to a set of standard main-planes. This involved lengthening the wingspan by designing, making and fitting extended wing tips, removing the four machine-guns from each wing together with the gun and ammunitions mountings, and replacing the structure with a simpler, lighter, but just as strong skeleton. This was my introduction to stress calculations and designing structures to accommodate these stresses. It was fascinating work, but we worked day and night — some 80 to 90 hours a week — and no overtime pay!! At one time I didn’t take off my clothes, not even boots, for 4 days! I headed a team of seven men, fitters, riveters, electricians, and sheet-metal workers (‘tin-bashers’). But all ‘mucked-in’ as a job needed doing.

During this time, the factory received some bomb damage, so, as the modified wings could now be moved, they were taken, along with myself, to CBA. It was here that I became involved in the complete project of the high-altitude, high-speed, long-range, un-armed ‘Spitfire — PR. Type ‘B’. All armour around the pilot was removed and an auxiliary fuel tank fitted aft of the pilot, (the fuel in this tank could quickly be jettisoned to lighten the aircraft and thereby increase its speed). I went with the ‘plane to Boscombe Down — MOD aircraft flying and experimental station, and to Martlesham Heath, for evaluation. It was here that cameras were fitted and flight trials undertaken. These proved successful so my job was over, at least on this particular project!! Later I was involved with the Type ‘D’ with fuel tanks in the leading edge of the wings, though this project was not pursued. Not much C. of G. (centre of gravity) calculations here as the tanks were virtually on the fore-and-aft C. of G. of the aircraft.

Back at Wilmot Breedon there were many projects awaiting me as the company was now working at full capacity on ‘Stirling’ and ‘Lancaster’ bomber components, and also developing production of gun-turrets for various aircraft. Birmingham was in the throes of aerial bombardment and to get to work I had to cross the centre of the town. Broken gas mains aflame roared up like volcanoes, some 15 feet high, and burst water mains sent geysers into the air with tremendous force just as high. And everywhere brick and stone rubble and broken glass. One had to tread over this treacherous surface, and dodge the pillars of flaming gas and high-pressure water. The whole scene was chaotic with Fire, Police and Ambulance units working amidst it all.
When not at my aircraft work I was serving with the Civil Defence Organisation as a Rescue Squad Leader. My squad consisted of nine personnel besides myself, and we had three vehicles — a ‘guide car’, which once at the incident was used to carry ambulant patients to First-Aid posts or to hospital, an ambulance manned by a driver and trained first-aid attendant, - the ambulance carried four stretchers, with room for as many ‘sitting’ cases as could be squeezed in, - and the third vehicle was a five-ton van manned by six men and equipped with ropes and tackles, jacks, pit-props, shovels, crowbars etc. Everyone, even if not fully qualified, had a good knowledge of first-aid. I’d joined the Civil Defence sometime before the outbreak of war, and our station was located in Thompson’s Mansion — a large old building, used at that time as municipal offices in Smethwick. The first ambulance allotted to us was a large commercial van, roughly fitted out to take four stretchers. Unfortunately the two top stretcher runners were some 9 feet from the ground and it was virtually impossible to load stretchers on to these runners — even when they were empty! We trained three times a week, often in full gas-proof gear — head to toe oilskin cover, respirator, wrist-tight gloves and heavy ‘gum’ boots. I’m sure we lost pounds in weight at each training session in this gear through perspiration! I was so glad that we never had to wear it during actual bombing — but immediately after war was declared, there was always one squad kitted out in this gear. As the ‘phoney’ war went on this regime was relaxed and the ‘sweat suits’ were only donned when a ‘yellow’ warning was issued. This was a signal confined to C.D. units indicating that enemy bombers had crossed the coast. A ‘red’ alert meant that your particular area was a possible target. A welcome ‘green’ indicated ‘stand down’.

The ‘phoney’ war, lasting from September 1939 to March 1940, gave us time to really organise our operations and get equipped with suitable vehicles — one of which was a superb 1923 Rolls Royce well converted to an ambulance, and one ‘real’ ambulance, gifted by the U.S.A. By the time Smethwick received any bombing, the lads and lassies were pretty well competent. But we were to receive lessons the hard way once the ‘Blitz’ reached us in earnest. I’m sorry to say that the Administration took a long time to adjust to reality. The first incident to which my squad was called out was only some ½ mile from the Rescue Station. I rode as leader in the guide car, driven by a good friend. He stopped at an Air Raid Warden’s signal by the chaotic mess and rubble of what had been three or four houses. I opened my door, stepped out and slid right down the bomb crater! I was soon retrieved amidst howls of laughter — one had to laugh or cry in despair in those days. We entered what was left of the nearest house and found, behind the remains of a piano, the body of a middle-aged lady with extensive abdominal wounds, and very dead indeed. I’d detailed two of the crew to search in the remains of upstairs rooms, when there was a crash — a blood-curding yell brought my attention to two legs which had smashed through the ceiling and were astride an upper floor bearer. The person in question received a painful personal injury — poor bloke!
I will never forget the horrors we encountered. When Coventry was mercilessly bombed, Civil Defence units were brought in on demand from surrounding areas, these units being replaced by other units from further afield. My team arrived in the flaming hell that was Coventry at about 3 a.m. supposedly to report to CDHQ, but before we had gone less than a mile into the city, a police squad directed us to a dreadful mess nearby. All presence of time was lost whilst retrieving, treating and transporting casualties and "bits and pieces" to first-aid posts or hospitals, for better-qualified treatment. I lost

contact with other units of my team until the next day. This event really ‘bloodied’ us, and drove from us all thought of applying neat bandages in the correct order — fancy but very time-consuming. ‘Get in — get out’ and on to the next incident was what we were forcibly taught by reality. There was no time to inspect, examine or brood over some of the gruesome sights. Most of us were quite young, but even so were able to rise to the demands made on us at this time. There were some compensations however, and firm friendships were formed which lasted for years. There was even romance. . . . . . . . . . . . .

(see my other account - "A Romance - that nearly went with a BANG!")

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