大象传媒

There was a very strict but beautiful Queen Alexandra鈥檚 Royal Naval Nursing Service Matron who ruled with a loving rod of iron. No nonsense but a great sense of humour. As the ratings improved
they were allowed to go into Portsmouth but the Matron insisted that at least two stayed behind to look after the CPO and me. We spent hours playing 鈥淯ckers鈥�, the RN name for LUDO played at a devastating pace. For 4 months I lay on my back and never was allowed out of bed. Treatment was rest, rest and still more rest. That summer of 1943 was glorious, with wall to wall blue sky for days on end. In August my recollection is of watching the dog fights high in the sky between the Hurricanes and Spitfires and the ME 109鈥檚 and FW190鈥檚.
When at Gosport, before I first went to Gibraltar and again before we set off on the fateful trip out on May 13th I had made several friends at the Gosport Methodist Church. No-one had been allowed to visit me whilst I was in Haslar Hospital but, after being moved to Rowlands Castle, I had a visit, every Sunday afternoon, by two girls, Violet and Sheila. In wartime, public transport was not easy. They had to use the Ferry from Gosport to Portsmouth and then the rare bus to Horndean and then walk. Each week they came, bringing, in those times of very severe rationing, an egg, an apple or whatever they could find. (The egg ration, at that time was one egg per person a week each!). This was church 鈥渓ove鈥� at it鈥檚 best. I rather think that 鈥淰i鈥� was not so happy when I disappeared on leave to Sheffield to make acquaintance again with Elsie!
During all this time in hospital I had been very well looked after. The Navy food was quite different to the usual RAF food. Much more basic but good for all that. For example, in the Navy if you had 鈥減lum duff鈥� it would be on it鈥檚 own, in the RAF there would be custard also!
The nursing staff were mostly Red Cross volunteers but there were several Wrens and also two Royal Navy Nursing Service sisters.
On one occasion we had a surprise visit by Roy Cunningham, Jack Reid and C O Simpson when they returned to the U K after completing another operational tour. They brought with them a half hand of bananas which we raffled off to provide a few pounds for the British Red Cross. They also brought back the news that, whilst I had been in hospital my promotion to the rank of Flight Sergeant had been promulgated.
In mid September the Royal Navy surgeon advised me that we could risk a visit out of bed. It was then that I acquired the name of 鈥渢he penguin鈥�! I was certain that there would be no problem as I got up to walk down to the toilet. Legs over the side of the bed, stand up ready to go, step forward and -----just fall backwards on to the bed. With help from 2 nurses I made it to the toilet. On the way back I was a little more steady but, for two weeks I walked, flat footed, like a penguin!
At the end of September, I was given a choice by the Royal Navy Surgeon to either go back directly to the Royal Air Force Air Crew Hospital at Halton, with the possibility of two weeks sick leave, the maximum allowed under Air Force regulations, or one months leave from the Royal Navy. The problem was that during all this time in the hospital of another service the only pay received was 拢1 per week. The surgeon said that, if I took Naval leave, he would advise the RAF accounts that I had a considerable amount of back pay due and he would ask them to send payment to me at my home address. This I accepted and set off to Sheffield for four weeks leave. I received the largest cheque I had ever seen. It was my back pay for several months. Problem, we ordinary folk did not have bank current accounts in those days. However, by some means I cashed the cheque and lived like a rich uncle for a few days!
Returning to Rowlands Castle I was discharged with many hugs and kisses from the nurses. They had been somewhat dazzled by an aircrew member patient as a change from their usual 鈥渞un of the mill 鈥� naval ratings! but I am pleased to say that there were no ill feelings on the part of the Navy!

It was now back to our squadron base at Gosport where I was able to meet up again with the folk at the Gosport Methodist Church. They really had been fantastic in visiting me at Rowlands Castle over these many months; the welcome back was great but there was not much chance now to sit around with nothing to do. First of all I was sent to the Royal Air Force aircrew hospital at Halton where I was hospitalised for medical assessment for a few days. The food and general hospital conditions were far superior to the Naval conditions at Haslar and Rowlands Castle but there was some aloofness amongst the patients, with not much chance to get to know each other because the stay was shortlived. There was a medical review of flying prospects followed by a period of two weeks leave. So, for several weeks, I was again based at Gosport, operating in the control tower.
Immediately in front of the tower there was an aircraft catapult which was regularly used by the Swordfish aircraft of the Fleet Air Arm, based, just 5 miles away, at Lee-on-Solent. When they were in operation care had to be taken to hold back any other aircraft wanting to land. On the odd occasion there was a bit of a panic when the catapult did not release and the aircraft was left with engine running and the tail up in the air! Gosport was also very much used by the Air Transport Auxiliary; many of their pilots were 鈥渦pper crust 鈥� girls, including Amy Mollison (Johnson) and they brought aircraft of all types for onward collection by crews from the squadrons allocated to receive them. All in all it was quite an interesting and busy life. Leave was fairly regular and frequent and many were the times when I set off from Portsmouth Harbour station with Vi waving me off and Elsie meeting me as I arrived in Sheffield. Eventually the posting arrived for a visit to the Aircrew Remustering station at Eastchurch on the Isle of Sheppey. By this time all my belongings which had been left at Gibraltar had arrived and, well lumbered with 2 full kitbags and 2 large suitcases, I set off from Portsmouth Harbour station, changing stations in London, and changing trains again at Sittingborne to arrive at Eastchurch several hours later.
What a place. Many of the fellows there were halfway round the bend. They were the Bomber boys who had been through hell and back. They would wake up in the middle of the night screaming even although they may only have done two or three operations. Their recognised operations limit was usually 60 hours before they had a rest. My tally of over 600 flying hours and 63 sorties had been a completely different war, seldom exciting, often boring but we had been instrumental in beating the U-boat menace and saved the lives of thousands of sailors, Navy and Merchant Navy, and probably saved Britain from losing the war by starvation. Ours had been a protective service rather than a destructive one.
Bureaucracy at Eastchurch was not of the most efficient kind. It was said that, so long as you kept out of everyone鈥檚 way and you had a kit bag on your back and looked as though you were going somewhere you could just walk around every day and no-one would bother you!
After the hectic times trying to keep flying and maintaining some degree of effectiveness during the days on the Squadron, and those days in hospital anticipating more activity after discharge it was somewhat of a shock to find this 鈥渟low lane鈥� whilst decisions for your future were being determined . On two occasions several of us went up to London for a day. I well remember visiting the Windmill Theatre on one such visit; their motto was 鈥淲e never closed鈥�. Throughout the whole period during the London Blitz the show had continued to go on. Sheila Van Dam was the Producer and it was said that, although the Windmill was, at that time, the only theatre with nude girls on stage every show was well produced, all the girls were continuously chaperoned and all those appearing completely nude had to remain absolutely motionless whilst ever on stage.

Virtually all the audience at each show were service personnel; army, navy and air force, male and female. The performances were continuous; as you entered the theatre you made your way to whatever seats were available, usually at the back, and as folk moved out you worked your way to the front, including climbing forward over the seats!!

Eastchurch Remustering Base.

Most folk there were to be allocated to Flying Training Command to assist in the flow of new aircrew to all Commands; wherever possible postings were to Operational Training Units of the Command you had left which meant that some had to wait a week or two for a placement. I sought an early interview and was accepted to be sent to a Coastal Command training unit but there was a bit of a bottleneck, so, once again, a couple of weeks leave was given and it was back to London and up to Sheffield. The folk at home wondered just what sort of job this was!
The general conditions at Eastchurch were not up to the usual RAF catering standards and after only a few days at home I felt very much off colour with severe headaches and no energy. A visit to the RAF Medical Centre at the Balloon and Maintenance Unit at Norton in Sheffield produced a diagnosis of gingivitus with badly inflamed gums. The MO arranged for me to go to the Army Hospital at Middlewood; he would not let me make my own travel arrangements by public transport but insisted on travel by ambulance. Arriving at home in an ambulance took my mother by surprise! After collecting necessary clothing off we went to Wharncliffe hospital at Middlewood. What a shock; This was an Army Hospital, there were no sheets to the beds, just blankets; the beds were steel laths covered with three 鈥渂iscuits鈥�, (these were square stuffed pads which, put end to end, made a mattress of sorts!); this was the army! Horror of horrors, if you went outside the hospital you were issued with hospital 鈥渂lues鈥�. The Medical Officer, on seeing me the next day said that my treatment would be at the Army Dental Centre at Nether Edge which was at the completely opposite side of Sheffield.. The thought of travelling to and from Nether Edge, right across the city, by public transport and wearing hospital blues was not well received. Pointing out that my home was within 鈥漵pitting distance鈥� of the Dental Centre I suggested that it would make sense for me to be discharged from Wharncliffe and sent 鈥渟ick at home鈥� and take treatment in that way. The Doc readily agreed; off I went to stay at home for two more weeks whilst I received treatment.
My original two weeks leave from Eastchurch was well past but my time in hospital would, no doubt, have been signalled back to Eastchurch. So, in due course after suitable treatment and recovery, back to Eastchurch I went! Again by train, leaving near midnight, to arrive at St Pancras early in the morning, cross London, on to Sittingborne and then to Eastchurch arriving in mid afternoon. At the guardroom the Station Warrant Officer begged to know 鈥淲here the hell have you been? You have been absent without leave. You were discharged from hospital two weeks ago鈥�. The signal that I had been transferred to 鈥渟ick at home鈥� had never been sent! The discharge certificate from the Army dentist sorted that out and I looked forward to catching up on some sleep after a rather tiring journey. That was not to be. 鈥淵ou are to report to 40 Group Headquarters at Dumfries tomorrow morning 鈥� says the SWO. So it was a case of, collect all the baggage and back to London and then to Dumfries. Unfortunately, never having used Euston station when heading north I chose St Pancras which meant an extra two hours on the journey up the Midland main line rather than up the North Western route; arriving about 8.00am at Dumfries. Following a call from the Railway Transport Office to Group HQ transport came to collect me. A good Scottish breakfast was available and then the question was 鈥淲here have you come from?鈥� There were several RAF stations available to chose from, the Isle of Man and Ireland but I elected to go to West Freugh near Stranraer. As I had been classified as 鈥渕edically unfit for flying鈥� I was to lecture in Navigation and Meteorology to the budding aircrew. West Freugh was in somewhat of a backwater; it was surrounded by farm smallholdings which produced meat, (beef and lamb), cheese and milk for the surrounding Navy, Army and RAF stations and bases. We lived well whilst the folk farther south were very severely rationed.

My sojourn in West Freugh was, however, only for about three months and a posting came through for further training as a Staff Navigator at the Empire Navigation Training School at Shawbury in Shropshire, so it was 鈥渦p anchor鈥� again and away down south with a couple of weeks leave in between. I recollect arriving at Dumfries station very late in the evening, a few minutes too late for the Thames Clyde Express direct to Sheffield. There was not another train for several hours direct to Sheffield; however the Royal Scot, heading south for Euston, was due to pass through, nonstop, very shortly. Even in those wartime days the LMS still tried to keep their 鈥渃rack鈥� trains going as near as possible on time. An accompanying colleague desperately wanted to get to Crewe where his wife was due to have a baby. He went to see the station master and gave him a 鈥渟oft soap鈥� story about his wife, saying how ill she was, and asked if it might be possible to halt the Royal Scot to let us on! This was done as a result of which I caught up with the Thames-Clyde for Sheffield at Carlisle.

The next part of this story can be found at: a5403278

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