大象传媒

Temp . . . . . . . . August 1939 Attestation

I remember being only one of a few in the whole room who could recall their service number read from a list of some sixty. The officer in charge said, 鈥渨ell done apprentice! You鈥檒l go far in the Royal Air Force.鈥� I didn鈥檛 know what he meant, but events proved the statement.

Apprenticeship

Pay - one shilling per day. Paid - fortnightly, six shillings - remainder paid after any stoppages for breakages etc. Paid together with ration money when going on leave!!

I immediately took a dislike to Halton 1 S of TT probably it was as much being away from home as anything. However when in the first week or two they asked for volunteers to transfer to Cosford (2 S of TT) I was delighted to go - nearer home - Sheffield) for one thing. Cosford was a hutted camp at the time although the hangers were huge concrete structures and a much publicised Fulton Block was under construction - the latest in domestic accommodation. It also boasted a huge indoor swimming pool and gymnasium (the fact that these facilities at RAF Cosford are still in use for indoor National and International events prove how far advanced they were at the time).

Odd unrelated memories - During tech training Mr Ashworth , an instructor with a broad Lancashire dialect relating how it had been flying as an observer in WW1. 鈥淣ot like t鈥檓odern aircraft, nairt but a bit a string and canvas round you. Nowt but snotty noses and frozen earholes, daren鈥檛-touch the buggers or they鈥檇 drop off!鈥� He鈥檇 flown in Vickers gunbusses and told us how one of his comrades signalling the pilot to turn right by waving his arm had had his hand chopped off by the propellor (no intercom in those days). As Mr Ashworth put it 鈥� he were a wonderful pianist, not slap dash tha knows, he kinda coaxed it out of the bloody thing. He dursn鈥檛 tell his mother鈥�.

We had to learn to repair seaplane hulls and floats which entailed riveting in watertight patches. This necessitated someone being inside the float to hold it up during the riveting process. Access was obtained through inspection manholes which were screwed or bolted shut. One apprentice who鈥檚 name evades me got cramp while inside a float and a major operation had to be mounted to get him out. It was eventually achieved at the expense of the float which was practically cut in half.

Also we had an instructor on parachutes, a Mr Harry Ward who before the war was a comtempory of Clem Sohn 鈥淭he Birdman鈥� who was I think the original 鈥淔ree Faller鈥�. They wore overalls with webs between the legs and body/arms so that during descent they resembled flying foxes. Clem Sohn was tragically killed when his parachute failed to open and his chest parachute had been inadvertently fitted so that the D-ring was not to his natural hand. They say he had clawed through his overalls trying to find the release. So that having made hundreds of display jumps a human error rather than a mechanical failure killed him. As a result we, as ground staff, were never allowed to clip crews鈥� chest parachutes - they clipped them on with the D-ring in their natural hand. Mr Ward left us shortly afterwards, was put into uniform and formed the first Parachute Training School at Ringway.

About nine months later Cosford was a major training school for draftees and it was decided that our training would be continued at Halton. So, much against the wills of the majority, back to Halton we went. The train journey developed into a Cup Final affair, with much resentment being taken out on the coaches. The next day we, the Cosford mob, were paraded before the Station Commandant, Sir Oliver Swann (the first pilot to land an aircraft on a ship at sea). We had the most ferocious dressing down I have never heard and I guess we felt about two feet tall, all the bravado gone. It took a long time to live down the stigma of that train journey I can assure you. We moved about too, from 拢 Wing to 鈥� Wing and met various characters among the discip people. One a W.O. Basil Turrell, had eyes that we were all convinced could see through two files and pick up those in the rear rank. He was an ex Guardsman and a slicker for discipline, bull and haircuts. He was the first I ever heard use the expression breathing down your neck, am I 鈥榰rting yew apprentice?鈥�. 鈥淣o Sir鈥�. 鈥淲ell I should be, I鈥檓 standing on yer back hair!鈥�. With which, with finger nails like a pair of pincers , seize the odd quarter of an inch hair above my collar and proceed to shake my head. Another, 鈥淏eef鈥� Paley who was an overweight F/Sgt seemed to us to be the right hand of God. On reflection the training we had there hardened and prepared us for the years ahead and we eventually recognised before finishing our course and Passing-Out they in fact cared for their charges. In fact I met 鈥楤eef鈥� Paley now a Sgt at Castle Benito in charge of transit accommodation in 1955 and he said 鈥淚 know you - you鈥檙e 642 WALTERS鈥�. As I hadn鈥檛 crossed swords with him I thought he had had some prior information. But I met others later who had been similarly surprised by 鈥楤eef鈥檚鈥� instant recall of faces, names and numbers. As to the discipline, in later years an ex-apprentice now in a German P.O.W. camp was heard to tell the SS or whatever, 鈥淵ou can鈥檛 upset me mate, I鈥檝e been f____d about by experts.鈥�

So passing out as a U/T A/C2 (I was not yet 18) I was posted to RAF Finningley. Where a few months later, on my birthday I was a fully fledged A/C2. We worked on Hampdens and Wellingtons on a grass air field, no runways or lighting then, except for flare paths at night and much as in peacetime marched to work for roll call and then to the mess for lunch and back by bus. Our F/Sgt was Speers who reputedly was suffering from bomb shock (no-one really knew), but in any event he had an affliction whereby he would emit loud boo boo-ing noises. Hence Chiefy Speers riding around the site on his bike was heard long before he was seen - he never caught a scrounger!! One tale concerning him; as in those day all leave etc was approved by the Chiefy a new arrival, unaware of Speers鈥� condition was before him putting his case for compassionate leave (or passionate as the case may have been) when Speers erupted. The erk said 鈥渋t鈥檚 no use trying to make me laugh Chiefy, this is serious鈥� - needless to say he was out on his ear.

To refer back to marching to and fro鈥� to lunch etc. One day in turned down gum-boots and football stockings in lieu of the normal white issue stockings we were passing the guardroom and stopped by the F/Sgt Snoop (police). 鈥淐all out the Guard鈥� he shouted 鈥渁 visiting Concert Party, the f_____g Pirates of Penzance I think鈥�. After that a severe warning about dress regulations!

The station had recently changed from an operational to a training role, the Wellingtons gradually building up in numbers. Previously the station had flown Hampdens on Ops. and the first RAF VC of the war had been awarded the Sgt Hannah. He had beaten out a fire using his chest parachute and was badly burned in the process. He was in the gunners position and the fuselage walls were lined with pans of ammo, the Aerial Lewis Vickers 鈥楰鈥� guns were not then belt fed, so he didn鈥檛 have very much option - but he did save the aircraft and possibly the other crew members.

The volume of training, especially night flying exacted its toll and the figure of 22 crashes in 20 days has stuck in my mind ever since. We used to scan the airfield each morning as we walked to the hangers looking for the latest casualty. On day whilst doing a 30 hour inspection on a 鈥榃impy鈥�, we saw a Hampden do a heavy landing and break its back just aft of the gunners position so that with its nose and propellers pointing upwards it careered across the airfield and ran into an Oxford which was being ground tested after an inspection. In the ensuing panic, the ground crew left the Oxford through the rear door almost with the speed of light. The last one, (or so he thought) slamming the door shut after him. Unfortunately the Engine Corporal who was doing the ground run, was shutting down and when he arrived at the rear door he found it jammed. He forthwith grabbed a crash axe and chopped through the wood and plywood side to freedom. In the meantime outside all was quite except for the frenzied attack on the fuselage by the corporal. He emerged to face a bewildered crowd who by now realised there was no fire or danger and were wondering what all the panic was about. He was then even more shame faced when someone tried the door which seemed by then to be working normally. However after some enquiries no charges were pressed. Another incident with a Oxford which I didn鈥檛 witness but saw later occurred with the arrival of WAAF mechanics. A Corporal was instructing a WAAF on engine ground testing and saw frantic signals from those outside that the rudder was being hammered from side to side because her feet did not reach the rudder pedals. It was a simple matter of turning a large knurled wheel to screw the pedals back to the required position. As she went to get a better view of what was happening, put the column control forward from the prescribed position of hard back in the stomach and up the Oxford went on its nose. Net result; repairs, a new perspex nose, two new engines and propellers.

I worked on Cpl. Coveney鈥檚 team and one day after servicing a Wimpey we were pushing it back to a dispersal point. We had left maintenance hangar with about a dozen pushing, a man in the cockpit on brakes, Coveney on the tail steering arm and once it was rolling along it wasn鈥檛 a great deal of effort. However it was at TEATIME and so the gang kind of melted away, so that as we turned off the road through a gap in the hedge down a hill into a field where the other Wimpeys were dispersed, we were down to a total of six, I鈥檇 say. As the aircraft gathered momentum down the slope we four pushing straightened our backs and mopped our foreheads. The next second it seemed Coveney tears past us hanging on the tail steering arm legs braced rigid like a tug-o-war anchor man tearing up turf with his heels screaming 鈥淏RAKES鈥�. No response, and by then there was no way we could stop the monster. Coveney by now is being towed grimly hanging on to the steering arm but having absolutely no effect at all but occasionally still managing to shout something coherent but unprintable. We, already mentally packing up small kit and reporting to the Guardroom, gaze in wonderment as the Wimpy which seemed bound to hit at least one of the other parked aircraft weaved magically between them all coming finally to rest by the very bottom hedge. Greatly relieved we dashed down after it and after picking up Coveney, restrained him from attacking the shocked 鈥淏rake man鈥� who had in fact had had the brakes on but unfortunately no one had checked that we had pneumatic brake pressure. The magical weaving of the aircraft was explained 鈥� the wheels had dropped into deep ruts made in the soil during previous taxing when the ground was soft, and fortunately was now bone hard. Without further ado we chocked, locked and covered it and cleared off for a late tea. The next day we had a job to keep our faces straight when Chiefy asked 鈥渨hy did you park it down there Cpl Coveney?鈥� His reply was hardly audible, but evidently satisfied the question.

By now I felt I was one of the boys and when I had a day off would go down to Doncaster by bus or hitching a lift from Rossington Hall where we were billeted along with a detachment at the Army Veterinary Corps. More of those later - .

In Doncaster, on my princely pay of 拢1/19/6 per week one could have quite a day out for ten shillings. Three hours at the Gaumont picture palace, a meal at a caf茅, W V S, Y M C A, a few beers and back to the billet. One of my oppos. In those days was 鈥楾ot鈥� Forster an ex 38th Entry Engine apprentice who was now a Corporal in charge of the Rotol variable pitch airscrew bay (Prop. Bay in short). Tot was as bald as a billiard ball having lost his hair through alapecia whilst still at school, he was brilliant academic with an almost photographic memory and instant recall. He was on the other hand na茂ve, scruffy and completely unsuited for any practical work. So if for instance they were having trouble on some aircraft on the Flights, Tot would arrive with someone in tow or co-opt some engine fitter and then sit on a chock and reel of a series of operations to check and rectify the fault without himself being able to do what he was dictating. He had passed of the Rotol course at the manufacturers with the highest ever result of 99% - he complained that he should have had 100% and was probably right As to his naiviety 鈥� he was complaining one day about the holes in the heels of his socks and having to darn them and one chap says 鈥淒o as my brother does in the Navy. Gather the hole together in your fist, tie round and round tightly the wool, tie off and then trim off the surplus and hey Presto.鈥� Needless to say Tot tried it, pulled on the 鈥渞epaired鈥� sock whereupon the whipping came off and the hole became the better part of the sock. Embarrassed by his lack of hair and consequent lack of luck with the ladies he decided to save up and buy a wig from a Theatrical Agents in Doncaster. The cost was some 拢20 - 拢30 which was quite a sum then and eventually he had either the deposit or the lot, I forget which, so off we went to the shop where they took all the basic measurements for the base and then it came to the colour and style. Well Tot wanted it to be lightish brown, parting off centre and wavy hair. From a board with a million hairs ranging from jet black to white he picked out his colour and approved a sketch and waited for the result. This came as a surprise an he received a GINGER wig with Marcel like waves, but the parting was off centre and it fit well.

Tot, because of his baldness was allowed to wear a cheese-cutter hat rather than our Glengarries. This wig was therefore only worn when he ventured out and the rest of the time lay screwed up amongst the books, dirty socks and underwear in his bedside locker. Whenever he went out Tot was always last and someone invariably had his mat thrown at them saying 鈥渃omb my hair, while I have a shave鈥�, or whatever. On one occasion Tot and I were off (having combed the wig) we got down the long drive from the Hall to the main road to Doncaster (the old Great North Road) and thumbed a lift on the back of an open truck. So we were hanging on to our hats with one hand and for grim life with the other. We were dropped off at the Gaumont and decided to catch the afternoon show, so once in the foyer, hats off in Airforce fashion. We were immediately aware of glances in our direction, nudges, stifled and outright laughter - a quick check on my flies and then a once over Tot revealed the source of amusement. Tot鈥檚 wig had rotated during our 鈥渞ide of the Valkryries鈥� and was now sitting on his head with sideburns fore and aft and the parting across his head! Talk about beetroot red faces!

Now to the Veterinary Corps. Those at Rossington Hall were a motley assortment of conscripted jockeys, farriers, blacksmiths, trainers and I suppose the occasional vet. Their object in life was to break-in and shoe some hundreds of wild mules brought in from South America, which were then to be sent to out troops in South East Asia. They came in batches by train to Bawtry a mile or two up the road and from there, in scenes like a Western movie were driven by mounted RAVC men with shouts, whistles, curses and whips to fenced fields near to the Hall. The breaking-in process started with a mule being lassooed and being led or more often dragged to a spot in between four huge oak trees where it was secured by a leg to each tree. This was because, I was informed, unlike horses, mules kick sideways as well as bite. Having first firmly anchored it, one leg would be gingerly released sufficient for the Farrier to be able to lift up the hoof and check for size of shoe. Then amid clouds of acrid smoke the hot shoe would be burnt into a good seating with the mule usually being able to try to inflict fearful injury on its tormentors and in fact frequently did so. I recall a huge Irish blacksmith in his leather apron and a front leg clamped in-between his, nailing on a shoe and the mule attempting to bite him. He rapped it under the jaw with his hammer at which it desisted but was apparently unharmed in any way. We all had a hearty respect for the mules even after they were officially broken-in. To get to Rossington village, the nearest pub and the popular Miners Welfare Hall one had to follow a bridle path through the fields containing the mules. All were unpredictable and one entered their domain with about as much trepidation as entering a mine-field. One night in the company of 鈥淗ollow-Legs鈥� Gamble, I was weaving my way across the fields three sheets to the wind following other odd stragglers back from the village when the cry went up 鈥淪TAMPEDE鈥�!! At first we were a bit slow to realise the import of the shout but the drumming of shod hooves sounding like distant thunder invoked scenes of cowboys trampled to death under the hooves of stampeding cattle or buffalo. The alcoholic haze disappeared and I was on my way to beating any records held by Jesse Owens at that time. Whether the beasts were in earnest, just exercising or resenting our intrusion in the still of the night I never found out. I only know that I was still out of breath when I got to our hut under the trees outside the Hall. We, that is Gamble and I decided that the uncertain nature of the 鈥榟itch鈥� into Bawtry was preferable to paying out beer money, dicing with death and arriving back sober and in a cold sweat. 鈥淗ollow Legs鈥� rejoiced in his nickname. He was older than most, about 23 or 24 I鈥檇 say was a Publican鈥檚 son and had obviously been weaned on beer from infancy; I never saw him really drunk. He had the unholy reputation of having drunk 26 pints one day and through he was a hefty chap and over 6鈥� tall, it sounds a bit far fetched in retrospect. However I have seen him play darts, at which he was quite good, for beer and for a bet throw three darts downing a pint with each dart. He appeared to have no 鈥渃lacker鈥� so the beer simply poured straight down his gullet in an unbroken flow. One night after a session when everyone was full, Gamble announced he could drink three pints while the village clock in Bawtry market place struck 10pm (if someone would pay for the beer). Some local took up the challenge and Gamble emptied the three pints well within the time limit. Needless to say, his infamy preceded him and he found it increasingly difficult to find a mug to accept any of his challenges or been play darts against him. Thus he had to try the more obscure Pubs in Doncaster and once he and I took on a couple of civvies; me protesting that I couldn鈥檛 play darts or more importantly afford to lose, even though beer was only about five pence a pint. Gamble told me just to get the darts in the board aiming for bottom left as I was short and left-handed and he would do the main scoring and finishing. Well 鈥渟ods鈥� law I couldn鈥檛 miss the 19 or even the treble so that after losing a couple of pints the opposition got really nasty and I feared we were about to be treated to a generous helping of knuckle pie. I believe that it could only have been Hollow Legs size that saved me.

Then after about three months came an Overseas Draft Notice and after a short embarkation leave was sent to West Kirby. There we went through the process of Medicals, inoculations and kitting-out. Khaki shorts that came well below the knee, long woollen stockings so that without alterations being carried out one could complete a tour with legs as white as snow. Shirts were long sleeved and were to be buttoned down at night and worn with a black tie. For parades we were issued with a K.D. tunic, which on top of a shirt and slacks in the tropics were so hot that one could watch the colours change on the man in front as the sweat soaked through. To top off this outfit, we were issued with a topee, wound with a pagaree and a RAF flash sewn on the side. One mysterious issue was a pair of heavy woollen vests and spine pads, no doubt a hiccup in the provisioning since WW1. After about 10 days or so we entrained for the Clyde and boarded, the 鈥淓mpress of Russia鈥� at Gourock. She had been recalled from the breakers yard and refitted out as a trooper. An old P & O boat, was a three funnel, coal burning liner of pre WW1 vintage and in fact had a brass plaque mounted in the upper deck hall acknowledging that she had taken part in the chase and sinking of the armed German merchant raider 鈥� EMDEN鈥� in WW1. We hung around for about a week in the Clyde while the convoy formed up and then one evening the anchor was pulled up and the first of the draftees was sea-sick. Although the RAF was in a majority on board, the Army took charge and we were all under command of O/C Troops. We slept eat and played in the crowded conditions just about on the water-line. We sat at long fixed tables with attached bench seating mounted athwart the ship with a wide gangway on the inboard side and the outboard end of the table hard up against the side plating. Overhead was a frame work of heavy wooden spars into which large hooks were fastened to take our hammocks.

The first few nights were chaotic until the system of hooks was worked out and the hammocks hung in line with alternate rows staggered so that between two rows of heads were a row of feet ( if you can work that out). Prior to this solution one saw hammocks stretched taut between two hooks with the occupant鈥檚 nose brushing the decking, whilst nearby was someone using adjacent hooks so that the hammock was nearly folded in two so that the occupant had head and toes about 18 inches apart. The first meal at sea (breakfast) when the convoy was in the Atlantic was tripe and onions. Needless to say the mess decks emptied at the sight of this glutinous mess and there were 鈥渟econds鈥� for anyone with the stomach for it. I suppose the food wasn鈥檛 too bad for a troop ship and with some supplementing from the ships canteen we were OK. After some days the journey became rather monotonous; eating, sleeping and fatigues, boat drill and Housey Housey. Interspersed were U Boat alarms, then later in warmer water schools of dolphins, flying fish and sunbathing. Once in the tropics many took to sleeping on deck and then there was a race to get a place forward of those three funnels Because of the constant U Boat menace the boilers were stoked up in the night so that tell-tale smoke was not visible. Anyone sleeping downwind woke up in the morning covered in soot mingled with sweat and looked like a miner just coming off shift.

We eventually arrived in Freetown and my (and I suppose the majority of others) first glance at a foreign land. We weren鈥檛 allowed ashore and I don鈥檛 think we missed much. Sierra Leone was known as the 鈥淲hite Mans Graveyard鈥� with its steamy heat and malaria and yellow fever. At least on the sea we were spared the mosquitoes although the heat was oppressive. We had the daily arrival of native 鈥渂um-boats鈥� native canoes loaded with fruit and trinkets for sale. It was often a rip off but there wasn鈥檛 any tropical fruit in England or on board in those days, so a lively trade carried on all the time we were in harbour. But Chinese crew busied themselves fishing and caught some eye-opening Specimens even to me having been brought up in a fish shop. I remember a large grouper and a spiny monster that inflated itself like a football with a snakelike hissing sound. Then after a few days watered and refuelled we were off to sea once again to more Housey, fatigues, boat drills etc. Then one dawn we sailed into Durban harbour and actually tied up alongside a wharf. A whole deck load of airman disembarked to take up aircrew training in S Africa and Rhodesia first off and then after a day or so we allowed ashore. What a sight we were in our K D (Khaki Drill) long shorts, woollen stockings, long sleeved shirts rolled up and a topee. In the evening we were supposed to wear long slacks and as these were worn with braces we ended up wearing a K D jacket and a black tie as well.

The town was crowded with troops and sailors from all parts of the Empire and so there was a lot of drinking, punch ups etc. I saw a Zulu rickshaw man nearly launched into space by a couple of Aussies. It was like this 鈥� the rickshaw has very long shafts which enabled the puller to move back and forward to balance the weight of the passengers. They did this fairly precisely so that once they were moving they could lope or bound along at quite a fast rate. Coming out of a bar and seeing this Zulu bounding downhill towards the harbour the two Aussies leaped on the back of the rickshaw shooting the Zulu up like a rocket! No action was taken by the police as even in those days before Apartheid had never been heard of natives weren鈥檛 allowed in cinemas, bars, restaurants that we used and there was segregation on the buses and beaches. There was also great problems with the Boers right wing, predominately pro-Hitler party. Troops were beaten up by these thugs for no reason at all. We were very well treated and feasted by the English element and invited to homes and clubs in large numbers. I went with a bus 鈥� load to a club called (appropriately named for me anyway) 鈥淭he Journey鈥檚 End鈥�. We had plenty to eat and soft drinks and there was dancing and party games including a relay race type of thing, passing a plate overhead down a line the last man racing to the front to start the plate passing again.. We were in four columns I think and it developed into a competition and as I started off down the line in brand new leather soled shoes I slipped on the polished floor and broke my right arm. As this was some patriotic war effort sort of place they had their own First Aid 鈥榚xperts鈥� and a real live casualty so I was splinted and trussed up in no time at all. I remember being all woosy from the pain and people offering me sweet tea (counter shock) anyway a an old lady with a Scot accent shooed them away and when no-one was looking dipped into her handbag and gave me a large belt of Scotch from a hip flask she had in there. 鈥淭here y are Laddie鈥� she said with a smile and a wink 鈥渢hat鈥檒l due maire fer ye than yon tae! Back aboard ship I had to make a full report of how when and where I鈥檇 got my injury. About two days later together with a soldier who had fallen down into a hold while carrying a side of meat to the galley we were driven sirens wailing by a volunteer woman ambulance driver to hospital for X-rays. Then a repeat journey with siren back to the ship. Shortly before the convoy sailed our X-rays were back and I then about four or five days after the accident had my arm set in plaster. A day later I was up in front of the O/C Troops an Army Major on a charge of self-inflicted injury in the face of the enemy. The unfortunate swaddy who had fallen into the hold was on a similar charge. I thought that it was a joke to imagine that anyone would deliberately fall down into the hold carrying a side of beef - it was a wonder he hadn鈥檛 been killed or broken his back. Anyhow sufficient witnesses were produced in each case to testify that neither injury had been caused deliberately. As with my arm in plaster I was in army terms not fighting fit I was ordered to remain on the mess deck during boat-drill, my duty being to close the water tight doors when all had left and hammer the door clips tight. This to my addled head seemed to be infinitely better than dashing up flights of stairs to the boat station. Then IT DAWNED !! What if we were torpedoed, how did I get out? After making several enquiries I was told to follow the engine room Chinese climbing up a steep ladder up the inside of the huge ventilation ducts which provided air to the boilers As the climb must have been a minimum of 120 feet my chances of escape must have been less than zero. I forgot to mention, before we sailed we had a South African regiment come on board and march off again. It seems in typical military fashion when the aircrew cadets had disembarked everything was spic and span as inspected by the O/C Troops - BUT the port holes had been left open for ventilation!! After three days of coaling there was about an inch of coal dust everywhere on that deck so what was their solution? Our deck was spotless so to keep the Colonials happy we were sent down to the lower deck to clean up and move in while an hour or two later the Springboks moved into our old quarters. Hence an extra deck height had been added to my escape ? route.

We left Durban after about 10 days. Shortly before sailing a batch of deserters were brought on board by an armed escort. As we were pulling out in the harbour one of these chaps now allowed on deck was near to Harry Currel (one of my draft). He asked Harry if he smoked and when the answer was in the affirmative he gave him a packet of cigs. Saying it was pity to get them wet and then dived over the side. The last we saw of him and several others was the Harbour Police fishing them out of the water to be put back in jail and await the next convoy I suppose. Our convoy now had been joined by the 鈥楶rince of Wales鈥� and the 鈥楻epulse鈥� making us feel very safe having two battleships as escort. They left us in the vicinity of Madagascar and headed for Singapore where both were sunk very shortly afterwards. We continued North and eventually arrived in Aden harbour for further re-coaling. We weren鈥檛 there very long but did manage to get ashore for one day I think they let a different deck ashore in rotation.We had a meal in a place there and it was the first time that I saw a punkha Wallah sat in a rocking chair holding a cord which was attached to several carpets hung from the ceiling and as he rocked created quite a small gale.,. From there we went up to Port Said where some people disembarked and we took on a load of Italian POWs. Then back to Aden and onto Bombay where we all disembarked.The Pows were a bit anti and they were not wanting to get off the boat but having sent a squad of Gurkhas down into the hold there was an immediate response and were all off the ship in no time at all.
My draft was sent to Kolaba Camp just outside Bombay to await further transportation. India what a place it was then - still under the Raj and what an eye opener for an eighteen year old. In the camp there was Indian bearers for everything dhobi (laundry) wallahs, chai (tea) wallahs, dersi (tailors) and hairdressers who would shave you while you were still in bed. In the city we took the opportunity to buy some decent K D about three rupees for a shirt made to measure sticks in my mind. Shocks for the system galore - the poverty and squalor of the poor and the beggars and cripples and the pavements red with spittle of the betel nut chewers. A trip to the infamous Grant Road in the Red Light district where the whores plied their trade in cages! Truly, the fronts of the rooms had iron bars over which curtains were drawn when business was in progress. We were told the cheapest was about two Annas (16 Annas = one Rupee = 1/6d = 8p!!!) - there were no white takers.

After about 10 days in Bombay we embarked on a wreck of a boat, the Takliwa . It was cramped, dirty and below decks unbearably hot. We sailed up the Gulf and as we neared Basra I can recall seeing huge clouds of migrating birds flying South. Some flocks were so large that they must have taken five minutes to pass us. A date forever in my memory 24th December 1941 we disembarked in the morning with full marching gear and boarded a train to transport us to Zubair (a few miles from RAF Shaibah). The wagons had notices on the side which gave their capacity as 40 men or ten horses which aptly describes the comfort provided. Thankfully it was relatively short journey before we were ordered off to march over the sand to a collection of tents some mile or so away. There our 鈥渓eaders鈥� discovered we had no food as we should have brought three days rations with us from the ship. The Army supply depot was closed for Xmas and would not give us anything. Luckily an Indian army unit had been issued double rations for Xmas (nothing to do with them anyway) and they let us have some of theirs. Result! Xmas dinner 1941 - tin of bully beef between two, tin of cheese between three, packet of hard tack biscuits and half a mug of tea. In the evening we marched some four miles to Shaibah to try to get something from the NAAFI but the regulars there didn鈥檛 want us in. After a fair bit of argument and ugly scenes I think we got a sandwich and a cake and a bottle of beer between two outside the NAAFI and sitting on the floor under the veranda. What a welcome to Iraq!

Within the week we were once more aboard a train heading for Baghdad in the same miserable conditions. We had some grub in our ration bags and we stopped seemingly in the middle of nowhere where an Indian Army field kitchen had been set up to provide us with CHAI I can still recall and almost taste that cuppa! It was strong, sweet,with tinned milk and piping hot and after a long time without a drink it tasted like something from the Gods.The reason we had stopped there was that there was only a single track from Basra and Baghdad and we had to wait in a loop line until the train arrived going South. On board I must refer to the toilet!! Ina stinking cubicle a HOLE in the floor immediately above an axle and a searing blast of heat and sand on one鈥檚 rectum and with the swaying of the carriage it was difficult to be 100% accurate with one鈥檚 aim . Enough of that we eventually arrived at Baghdad and were transported to RAF Habbaniya on some trucks which I am convinced must have been First World War vintage. It has stuck in my memory that the drivers were open to the elements 鈥� no windscreen. Habbaniya鈥攚ithout doubt the finest overseas station the RAF ever had. Unlike all other stations there were proper flushing toilets showers baths and central heating during the winter months.The billets were brick built with wide veranders tiled floors ceiling fans in fact all one could want in the way of accomodation. There was an Olympic sized swimming pool, an indoor and outdoor cinema a riding school , four Churches( including a Sinagogue) five separate Units each with It鈥檚 own Officer鈥檚 and Sergeant鈥檚 Messes and of course Mess Halls and Naafis. The perimiter of the camp was strongly fenced andeitheronr or two and was some 25 miles long as a result the police had a mounted section to enable them to patrol the camp.What had been up to now a bunch of men under a Draft Number became 56 RSU (Repair and Salvage Unit) and a part of Paiforce (Persia and Iraq Force).Our task was to cover the whole of the area up to and including Jordan and Syria either repairing crashed aircraft on site or dismantling ,bringing back to base and repairing there if possible. One of the first jobs I went on was in to Persia to Kermanshah to recover a crashed Hurricane from an Aussie Squadron ( maybe when I am more aufait I will be able to insert photos here)The job itself provided no problems however we were shot at by tribesmen on the Paitec Pass whom we learned later had been stirred up by German Agents.The pass was patrolled by a Gurkha detachment who were quick to provide some return fire however apart from the excitement (and fear?) no damage was done to our lot although others had not been so lucky as there was a couple of trucks at the bottom of the gorge. We travelled with a Queenmary (a long loader with racks along side for transporting mainplanes) a Coles crane
and normally one or two 3 tonners and a 15 cwt truck. As the Queenmary and the crane were relatively slow the 15cwt would always be well ahead when we were on the move preparing the meal especially in the evening as once the sun goes down it鈥檚 pitch black in no time at all.Everything seemed to be most welcome 鈥攖inned stews ,sausages bacon and hard tack biscuits not forgetting Chai!! When we first left Base we had bread and some other perishables in a large icebox but within a couple of days we had a box of cold water so then had to rely on the hard rations. We found that we could make hard tack biscuits quite palatable soak them overnight in a little water just enough to soften them without breaking up then drop in a tin of boiling bacon fat and He Presto a reasonable substitute for fried bread. Once the sun went down the temperature fell very rapidly in the desert and although the sand was too hot to touch during the day it was too cold to sleep on at night so we slept on the canvas tops of our wagons. There we were also safe from snakes and scorpions which would crawl into your bed to keep warm!!!
Another job I remember was going to the former RAF station Hinaidi on the outskirts of Baghdad which had been handed over to the Iraqi Airforce when
Habbaniya opened.. During the Raschid Ali uprising ( pro-German) their Airforce had bombed us so a pre-emptive strike by the RAF flooded the camp by bombing the Bund ( an earthwork) which protected the airfield from theTigris river. We collected a Percival Q6 which had been the Regent鈥檚 passenger aircraft it suffered badly from the flooding- the evidence was a tide mark about four feet up the hanger wall. There were just two of us Johny Johnson and I (fitters) a driver and a low-loader and some labourers on siteand as the plane was partially dismantled we soon had it loaded onto the low-loader to transport it to the riverside in town there it was loaded onto a large barge, I have photos of it and one of a mainplane being transported to the barge by ONE man carrying it on his back. Many years later I wrote about this to the Aeroplane magazine and had an article published but unfortunately the photos were not of a sufficient quality for them to print but as a result I was given a potted account of what happened it subsequently after we had seen it going down stream on it鈥檚 way to RAF Shaibah. We had two Boston aircraft crash land in the desert not far from each other having got lost in a sandstorm and oddly enough were piloted by brothers-in-law. They were both damaged but we were able to transfer serviceable parts from one to the other and fly one in to base then once that one was on jacks strip that one and go out with the spares and fly that one in.We had one on its way in very short time but the other we had to go down the Gulf to an American Army Air Corps base on an island there as this entailed travelling half the length of Iraq and down the Gulf to ship the required spares the second aircraft was with us for quite some time. The Americans were living in another world to us in regard to food etc. and when one of our lot enquired why a solitary plane was flying in circles high above the camp he was informed that as the ICECREAM MAKER was broken it was up there freezing it for them!!After the first Ploesti Oilfield Roumania raid which the Americans carried out not very successfully by all accounts , losing some a/c over the target some landing or crashing in Turkey one which arrived at Habb. and one which crash landed in Syria at Abou Kemal we went out to try to bring this in but our Crane was not able to lift such a weight so we had to dismantle as best we could and eventually deliver it in pieces to the US base at Lydda in Palestine where it was used as a Christmas Tree (for spare parts) The one at Habb. was patch repaired much to the astonishment of the crew who had expected that they would have to have a manufacture鈥檚 working party to do the job.and then flown back to their base in Egypt.Another job was collecting a crashed AVRO Tutor and a Hurricane fighter at Ramat David in Palestine While we were there the Yanks operating from there and Lydda had attacked targets in the Balkans I think there were seven from Ramat D. and in the early hours on their return we laying on the tops of our wagons were very surprised when the flare path was lit in response to the signal flares of the night repeatedly until we had counted more than a dozen or so .However it appears that a Focke Wolf Condor had shadowed them all the way home and observing the signals gave the same and when the runway was lit up layed a stick of bombs down it鈥濃�� The extra a/c were from Lydda who I think this pilot must have been had apparently got lost and landed at Ramat D thinking they were at Lydda. Is there any wonder that they managed to hit so many of our own?

Our unit was disbanded after about eighteen months and then I worked in an MU where I remember working on a Vicker鈥檚 Valencia doing a 12000 Hrs Inspection. These aircraft were huge twin engined biplanes and a direct descendant from the aircraft which flew the Atlantic (the first I think) in the 20鈥檚 flown by Alcock and Brown. The mainplanes were braced by a maze of streamline wires and the two engines were suspended inbtween the upper and lower mainplanes about half way along . The cockpit was open to the elements and the fuselage was a round sausage shape with windows along the sides where the passengers sat side by side on long canvas seats. The engines were started? by compressed air which nescitated first charging an onboard cylinder using a little compressor which took for ever and then if the engines did not fire then anotherage to recharge the cylinder again. When there was a strong wind we had to go out on the airfield and hang onto the wings and whatever structure came to hand to help to get the aircraft behind the fence and into the hangar. It would have been impossible for the pilot to have manoeuvred it as there was so great a surface area that the brakes would not have held it whenever the wind was up the rear .I recall an American pilot having seen this great stringbag on the approach as he was going into an office and on coming out some five minutes later and finding it in almost the same position said 鈥淛eeze is that goddamed thing painted up there?鈥� I think that he must have been the skipper of the Liberator that we had repaired I wrote about earlier.To get back to the major inspection on the Valetta, they were breaking these up at Shaiba and we needed replacement streamline wires on our aircraft as many were badly corroded and as there were no new spares in the Stores we received a lorryload of wires which had been retrieved from these aircraft. There were literally hundreds of these so Johnny

Johnson and I had the unenviable task of sorting these first of all into types and then selecting the best for our job. We had half a hangar floor occupied doing this and it was a Hell of a job cleaning off the wires to identify them and then putting them in piles ,later to select the best of each for our use it took ages and we were filthy long before the job was done.This was in the days before we had the modern solvents and cleaning agents for the work and our hands so our hands were ingrained with dirt long after the job was finished.We took the mainplanes off boxed once the engines had been removed(boxed= both upper and lower planes together with all the interplane struts and wires) then we exchanged the wires as necessary while the structure was on the floor resting on padded beams. Johnny and I both being Exbrats were left more or less to get on with the job and I remember when with some pride we told the Chiefy that the work was completed and that it was ready for a rigging check he asked Johnny for a streamline wire spanner. To say that we were thunder struck would be an understatement when he threw the spanner,quite a hefty chunk of fibre and metal , straight between the mainplanes where it hit some wire and bounced out whereupon he said that鈥檚 OK with the explanation to our obvious amazement that a bird couldn鈥檛 fly through there without hitting a wire so it must be right .Looking back I assume that he had been keeping an eye on us and seeing that we were doing a good and careful job trusted us when we said that everything was in order.(much different age to when I was in charge of a gang later during National Service some you couldn鈥檛 trust even if they swore that they had done the job)

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