Training with the Air Training Corp was the closest one could get to the real thing, while at times it could be very close.
I started my flying experience by attending the ATC Gliding School at Hamsey Green nr Wallingham in Surrey. I had been there before but as an employee of the C.O. Len Hatcher who was in charge of the maintenance at the garage where I worked. Len H. was an experience pre-war glider pilot and was instrumental in starting the school at this private aerodrome. My involvement in the early days was in helping to deliver ex Hudson Terraplane cars that had been AFS Fire Engines and with the bodywork removed was ideal for towing glider back and forth for hitching to the winch.
Late one Sunday after the normal training sessions were completed the civilian instructor鈥檚 would be flying. On this occasion Len drove up, looked at me and said 鈥淵ou haven鈥檛 flown yet鈥? And no I haven鈥檛, not even sat in the seat, let alone heard of the theory of flight. Without more ado I was taken back with the Haflinger Glider to the start point where upon Len sat me in the cockpit, explained Joystick and Rudder controls and departed for the winch saying 鈥渉old it steady at that point鈥. Within a short time the slack in the tow wire was taken up and the person holding the wing tip was sprinting across the grass and I was airborne with silence, apart from the wind noise. Having crossed the field at no mean height, further airspeed reduced until terra firma was regained.
I had flown further than Wilber & Orville Wright after less than a minute's flight instruction.
Later in 1944 I was to returned in the uniform of an ATC cadet corporal and complete the scheduled number of flight both at Hamsey Green and Croydon airport. One Sunday afternoon at Hamsey Green just after the glider was airborne, a strange thudding sound approached with the shape of an aeroplane but with its tail on fire. Passed in front and continued on its way towards Croydon, ran out of fuel and its motor stopped, followed by an enormous explosion. From that moment all flying was grounded until further notice as we had just witnessed a V1 Flying Bomb, of which we saw many in the weeks following.
On my 16th birthday my friend Marcel (same birthdates 2nd July but a year older) decided to dress smartly and on this summers evening to walk down to South Norwood for a shandy at the Jolly Sailor Public House. On the way, the Norwood cricket club was playing despite the odd rumble of 鈥渄oodlbugs鈥. As we approached Goat House Bridge a strange swishing noise caused us to look up and just above the trees passed a silent Doodlebug. Apart from noticing its riveted body panels we dived into a nearby Surface Shelter as it exploded less than 400 yards from the direction we came from.
Picking ourselves up we raced back in the direction of the explosion to find one of our cricketing friend鈥檚 (Tony Mann) family home a neat pack of rubble. The Anderson shelter in the garden was undamaged and empty. We learnt later he had lost both parents and two visiting Aunts. The dust was thick and choking and then appeared many young girls in nightdresses, covered in blood wandering through this mayhem. They had been housed in residential home that backed onto the bombed house.
We guided them to the kerbside and sat them down to await the rescue services which were soon upon the scene. We could do no more to help, so continued towards the pub for our shandy which would now be more than welcomed. My mother on seeing us gave a shriek for we had not realised our Sunday blue suits were covered in grey dust and the odd fleck of blood looked worse than it was.
So within the space of a couple of months I had witnessed two of Adolfs V1 weapons in close up and more than ever intended to keep my head much lower in the future.
Recommended story
Story with photo