´óÏó´«Ã½

Back to Britain after training in Canada

Soon after returning to Wigtown, I found that we were supposed to keep abreast of all the latest developments. To this end, we were sent on various visits and attachments. Examples of these were a visit to OUT Wellesbourne to study their methods of work and training, another to Manby to learn about the new ‘ Tallboy’ 12,000 lb bomb for destroying submarine pens. I particularly remember an attachment to No.49 Lancasters Squadron, Fiskerton. This was to go on operations and to look at the new fog dispersal installations (FIDO). This was a series of powerful naked petrol flares placed along the runway. The flames were extremely intense and caused fog to lift like a curtain so that aircraft could land safely. I was not on the list for the Flensburg raid but on 14th January 1944, I found myself on the list for Brunswick.

This coincided with my 21st birthday but as I was a visitor, I was too shy to mention it to my crew. Anyhow, everyone was preoccupied! Once the ops list had been posted in the mess we were not allowed to leave the camp to use the telephone. The crews involved got ready for air-tests when we rigorously tested all the equipment, the air gunners giving one or two practise bursts of fire. My feelings were of nervous apprehension and for some reason I had a fixed idea that I was going to be killed with no one knowing that I was 21. In the evening, we attended a briefing when the target’s name and the route were uncovered on a large wall map. I remember the name was in German, Brunsweig, and in English. After the usual target, navigational ‘gen’ and weather conditions we wearer told that we would find, in the nose of the aircraft, pamphlets and bogus German ration cards. These were to inform the enemy of our recent successes and to attempt to disrupt the economy. I remember the leaflet, in German of course, having a picture of the Allied leaders prominently displayed. I believe it was of the Tehran Conference. As we moved out to the transport an officer came up to me and said briefly, ‘You are not going!’ He never explained the reason for this. I can only assume it was to do with the extra weight. It was a shock after having prepared me for the trip. I had mixed feelings as I watched them take-off and I spent a strange unreal period waiting for their return. For some reason I have felt guilty ever since. My crew returned safely but out of the nine aircraft put up by the squadron one, skippered by Flight Lieutenant A.T. Tancred, failed to return.

When I got back to Scotland, I was given leave prior to helping to open a new AFU at Bishop’s Court, Northern Island. At home, I was told of the death of ‘Bimbo’ Jenner who was an air gunner, in action over Holland in a Halifax. I went to see his parents, next door, who had taken the news extremely well. We discussed an idea they had of presenting a silver cup to the 8th St. Marylebone Scout Troop in which we had been Wolf Cubs. I gave them a Brunswick pamphlet in remembrance.

At Bishop’s Court, we worked hard to get the place ready for our first entrants. My job was to organise a ‘Bomb Alley’ where every type of bomb and fusing device would be displayed. I lectured in this large hut and gave talks on bombing theory and the Mk XIV bombsight. So began an idyllic period for me. I enjoyed lecturing, the flying was minimal mostly the west coast of Scotland and the Irish Sea. There were always eggs and sometimes steaks to be obtained in the local farmhouses, which I think were smuggled over the border, a bicycle to explore the countryside, not forgetting a pretty WAAF for company! The only incident of any import was a forced landing at Port Ellen where there was a squadron of Beaufighters.
Sending groups of bomb-aimers to what I knew would be extremely hazardous operations, aircrew losses were increasing through 1944, reinforced my feelings of guilt. I also heard of the death of ‘Pussy’ Hanlon in a gun accident in Italy. Soon after this, I got the news that my brother Bill was posted ‘missing’. He was stationed in Gibraltar on Hudsons and involved in anti-submarine patrols. Fortunately, this was soon followed by a notice that he had been interned in Portugal. He told us afterwards that they had crash-landed in the sea off the Portuguese coast and been picked up by a patrol boat. As Portugal was a neutral country, they were put up in a hotel in Lisbon. Someone came from the embassy and took them to a store where they were fitted with civilian clothes. Eventually they were repatriated and brought home an attaché case full of drink with which we celebrated. He also gave me one of the two lightweight suits that he had brought back. By this time, he had gained a commission and become a pilot officer and I had been promoted to Flight Sergeant. One leave my dad took me to his friend’s flat which had been damaged when a V2 dropped on the AFS station in Lisson Grove. People at home, who had coped so well with bombing raids and V1’s found the V2’s very hard to cope with. They all agreed it was because they came suddenly without any warning.
Towards the end of 1944 four of us, two staff pilots and two ABI’s were posted to Lossiemouth OUT. As we all knew each other we decided to pair up to form the nucleus of two crews. ‘Shag’ Fielder and I tossed a coin. He won and chose to go with the other pilot and left me with Ken Stabb. Very soon after we arrived we found a wireless operator and a couple of gunners and last of all a navigator. We were allowed two weeks to form our own crews in this way. When we had full crews we began our crew training. The part I hated most was having to jump, blindfolded, off the top diving board in the local swimming baths. Then, we had to find each other by blowing whistles, which we always had attached to our collars. It looked quite comical really, but deadly serious.
The flying was perennial ‘circuits and bumps’, bombing practice, use of a ‘G’ navigation aid and many night flights over Europe. One night ‘Shag’ and crew were killed. We had just taken off when we saw an enormous flash and explosion in Lossiemouth. We knew immediately that it was an aircraft but did not know which crew until we got back. We were sharing a two crew billet with these chaps and were all pals together. Early next morning an officer, accompanied by an airman, came into our hut and identified the empty beds. The two of them deftly emptied lockers and threw the belongings onto the top blanket of each bed, making these into two large bags, tying luggage labels to them, which left their side of the hut bare and empty. We had all decided to take a memento from our opposite number before their things were removed. I took Shag’s screwdriver. Later that day, another crew moved in.
One day a squadron of Lancasters landed to refuel. We were not allowed to speak to the crews or they to us. It was very ‘hush-hush’. We heard later that they were after the ‘Tirpitz’. One night we got lost and I had to spend two or three hours in the nose of the Wellington map reading. There was a cold draught on the side of my face and I was too occupied to do anything about it. The next day when I went to shave I found my face distorted. I looked like Quasimodo! The M.O. said because of the cold air on my face I had developed ‘Bell’s Palsy’, which causes the side of the face to ‘drop’. I had to go to Raigmore Hospital Inverness. The crew were pleased because they were sent on leave pending my return.

In my ward were member of the 51st Highland Division who had been captured at Dunkirk and now returned as part of a prisoner exchange scheme. When we went into town we had to wear ‘hospital blues’ which were baggy light blue uniforms, white flannel shirts and floppy red ties. We were allowed free admission to the cinema and Inverness football ground. After two weeks, I rejoined my crew to finish the course. One day we had engine trouble and landed at Errol, Fleet Air Arm, and spent the night in Dundee. The navy crews showed us over a Barracuda and we gave guided tours over our Wellington. The nickname of the Wellington was ‘Wimpy’ because it was shaped like a cigar and a friend of Popeye’s, J. Wellington Wimpey, smoked cigars. When we left Errol, the skipper did a low pass and waggled our wings as a thank you to the RN.

Our posting when we finished the course was to a heavy conversion unit at Woolfox Lodge, Stamford. Here we were converted onto Lancasters. I was also introduced to the Mk XIV bombsight, which I already knew very well from my instructing days. I also learned how to operate H2S Radar, which was highly secret.
One night we had a hairy experience when a Lancaster slewed across the main road and caught fire near our hut. We could see the crew jumping out and heard the ammunition exploding. They all got out safely. It was here that VE Day was announced. At first we stood around dazed, hardly believing it but soon celebrations were underway. I hitchhiked to London to Bill’s wedding and met his crew. Soon after this, we were sent on indefinite leave, which meant that as soon as we arrived home telegrams were waiting to tell us to report to RAF Methwold. At Methwold we joined No. 149 (East India ) Squadron on Lancasters. The squadron at this time was engaged in humanitarian activities. They had just finished dropping supplies to Dutch civilians and were busy repatriating POWs from Bari, Italy. We were put on ‘Operation Baedecker’ which meant flying ground staff around the Ruhr and over the Mohne and Eder Dams. We were also involved in ‘Operation Review’ which was high level photography to bring the map of Europe up to date. As the Japanese War was still very much on, the squadron was planning to fly out to the Pacific area as part of ‘Tiger force’ At about this time Bill had become a Flying Officer and I had been promoted to Warrant Officer 1st Class (WO1). One day we forced landed at a Flying Fortress aerodrome at Bury St Edmunds. We were most impressed by American efficiency and the trouble they took to make us feel welcome. We showed each other over our respective aircraft and agreed that the Fortress was built for the comfort of the crew and the Lancaster for the convenience of the bombs!
For the ‘Review’ trips we had to get over the target area very early when there was little cloud. Our job was to take photographs in eight, fifty-mile strips to form a mosaic picture. I had to keep the aircraft on track whilst the air gunners loaded and reloaded two large vertical pointing cameras. As bomb aimers, we found lying on our stomachs for such long periods looking through the bomb sights extremely uncomfortable, so crude bucket seats were rigged up for us. This was OK but there was no room for our feet. The upshot was that one morning as I craned forward to get a pinpoint over the Zuider Zee I put my foot through the Perspex panel beneath me. I was not wearing a parachute and for
this moment, I thought I was going to fall out. I felt that I needed to say something my crew would remember so I said, ‘Carry on Skipper!’ His reply, which I shall always remember, was ‘I can’t put the bloody brakes on!’ As I extricated myself, there was a terrific blast of air, which was in excess of 250 miles per hour and blew everything that was loose to the rear of the aircraft. The crew shouted over the intercom, ‘What’s happening? Blackie’s (my nickname) fallen out!’ Ken put the aircraft into a steep dive to get to warmer air, which caused me to topple close to the hole. Fortunately, it was not big enough for me to fall through but it was scary. We came back at sea level over the North Sea. My name was muck! That evening I had to buy drinks all round and was presented with a cardboard shield with the famous haloed finger with the immortal words, ‘The Most Highly Commendable Order of the Irremovable Digit’ which was as everyone knows is given to anyone in the RAF who is suffering from ‘finger trouble’.

Plans for Japan were in hand when news came of the atomic bomb and VJ day was announced. It was a great shock and difficult to comprehend. We had been geared to war for so long that peace seemed quite unreal and unbelievable. Great celebrations of course and I remember one wag had chalked on the side of a Lancaster, ‘Please do not burn the aircraft’! We continued photography for a while and then were given the job of dropping containers of incendiary bombs into Cardigan Bay to get rid of them.

We suddenly all became aware that we would have to be doing something about our return to ‘Civvie Street’. As I had enjoyed lecturing, I applied for a place in the Emergency Training of Teachers Scheme. I also decided to sign on for an extra six months. My reasoning was that I could take a driving course before I was demobbed so I volunteered to be as an ambulance driver. When the squadron was disbanded, I was sent to RAF Hospital, Wroughton for training. This was a good move because I was able to drive a wide variety of vehicles and soon obtained my RAF driving licence. As I was now in the peacetime RAF I lost my wartime rank and was given the substantive rank of Sergeant.

There was a POW camp nearby and we had some specially selected prisoners working at the hospital. Although these Germans wore POW uniforms, which were really overalls with a large diamond shape on the back, they were always smartly turned out and impressively well disciplined. At the camp, some of the prisoners carved wooden cigarette cases, which they sold for money or cigarettes. We played one or two soccer matches at the hospital and got on very well with them. Needless to say their tackling was very fierce! At the back of the hospital was an aerodrome, which had become an aircraft graveyard. Every type of plane was there crammed in to every vacant space waiting for the breaker’s men.

Although we enjoyed a very full social life, I kept busy studying for my matriculation under the guidance of the Education Officer. My main job was driving ambulances transferring patients to a sanatorium in North Wales or to London sometimes acting as chauffeur in staff cars for the doctors. The job I hated most of all was taking bodies to the morgue at night. If we were called out, we collected a smelly moth-eaten Union Jack from the cupboard and took it to the ward. With the help of an orderly, we lifted the shrouded corpse onto the trolley and took it down to the ambulance and thence to the morgue on the outskirts of the hospital grounds. What upset me most of all was to see number , rank and name of the airman scribbled on a torn scrap of paper from an exercise book pinned to the airman’s chest.

Four days before my twenty-fourth birthday on 10th January 1947 I was demobbed. I travelled to Kirkham near Liverpool in one of the coldest winters in living memory. The Nissen hut where I stayed overnight had been stripped of every piece of wooden shelving to stoke up the stove. There was no coke available, so we spent the nigh burning pieces of paper and cardboard wrapped in damp blankets. No one in authority seemed to care! The next day we were issued with various documents, the pay books, the ration books, clothing coupons etc. We then queued up at a large clothing store to be fitted out with civilian clothes. I rather foolishly handed in my heavy grey coat in exchange for a skimpy mackintosh. This was probably why I spent the first two weeks of my demob leave in bed with flu.

At home, everything was in short supply and we spent a great deal of time queuing up. Most important was our need for warmth and we had to go to the coke dump for fourteen pounds of coke at a time. It somehow seemed a strange new world, lacking the purposeful intensity of wartime. We somehow hadn’t settled to a new direction although we were conscious of having lost our pre-war parochialism. Idealism was in the air and we all looked forward to a brighter future. My subsequent teaching career, culminating in the Headships of two Primary Schools can be seen as a direct consequence of being selected as an RAF instructor. For this and the many lessons it taught me, I have good reason to thank the RAF.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.