Part 2

Chapter 17

RAF Halton - 21st Entry

As I have already said, I reported to Halton accompanied by my father. I was dressed in tropical kit, ie. khaki shirt and shorts, and the overcoat bought in Gibraltar. After a short discussion, my father handed me over to the Sergeant Major 2nd class in charge of "C" Squadron 2 Wing. This, I believe, stood me in good stead. I appeared to others to be a 5', 5̋ stone weakling. I was, however, tougher than I looked but, at that stage did not let on. I was shown a bed in a barrack room which was centrally heated and highly polished. It was a good job that it was heated as there was snow on the ground outside. I sat there bewildered on the bed which had no springs and pulled in and out. It was called a McDonald bed; I believe he must have been a sadist. The mattress consisted of three biscuits. The first move was made by one of the other lads who said it was supper time. We lined up at the cookhouse for soup in a pint mug and a piece of bread. As it happened, the Orderly Sergeant who was present, was a technical man and a jolly good chap. He beckoned to me to go with him into the kitchen where he instructed the cook to give me a couple of huge sandwiches filled with roast pork. I took them back to the barrack room and shared them with two or three of the lads, an action which did me no harm at all.

McDonald beds could be tipped up and, although it was standard practice to play this trick on all newcomers (after all I had arrived at least a month after the others), I heard them whisper about it when I got into bed; they felt so sorry for me that they decided to leave me alone. I lay tight, breathed a sigh of relief, thought of home and went to sleep. The following day I was sent to the hospital for a medical. As I have said, I was 5ft tall and weighed 5̋ stone wet through. The doctor put me through an extensive examination, couldn’t find anything wrong, but also couldn’t believe his own findings so sent for another doctor for a second opinion. In the end four doctors decided that I was fit! Next came the fitting out. Everything was OK except the working greatcoat which was second hand and so long that it nearly touched the floor. It took me a long time to get that replaced. Why on earth we had to wear Pantaloons and Puttees, I have no idea. Not long after that, I was detailed to attend the dentist. I drew the short straw and was seen by an Army dentist nicknamed the "Mad Major", although actually he was a very good dentist in terms of skill. I opened my mouth at about 9.00 am and closed it at about 12 noon. In that time he had, taken out two back teeth with anaesthetic, filled five large teeth without and broken several needles and at least two glasses. Each time he broke anything, he swore then promptly apologised. Finally he patted me on the back, told me that I was a brave lad and that was that. It put me off dentists for years.

As I was being Sworn In, I was asked if I agreed to be vaccinated to which I replied "No". The Corporal then said "In that case you can’t get Sworn In then". At that I changed my mind and agreed to be vaccinated. The Swearing In ceremony was then completed but, funnily enough, I never did get vaccinated. Thus, I became a U/T Metal Rigger.

I can only generalise about Halton as throughout term time life was much the same day by day. Being nearly two months late, I had a lot of catching up to do both at school and workshops. At school I was put in the top class, R1, and spent the whole term catching up. I took a midterm exam and ended up in the bottom class, R6. At the end of the year, another exam and I got back into the top group in R2. Throughout the three years at Halton, the teaching was excellent and the teachers top class. A Pass at the end gave me an Ordinary National Certificate, although none of us was told that at the time.

I was in 2 Wing which was divided into A, B and C Squadrons. Each of the Squadrons was controlled by a WO II and a Flight Lieutenant. After a couple of months our WO II was replaced by an excellent man called Paton. He was the best non-technical man I came across during the whole of my time in the RAF. With him in charge we won drill competitions and, as a consequence, got some extra holiday weekends as a reward. One funny incident with him happened on a very hot Summer’s day. A friend of mine and me put on white shirts under our tunics and went out to drill. In those days tunics buttoned right up to the collar which meant that the shirts were not visible. However, on this particular day, Mr Paton decided that we would drill without tunics so, in a sea of grey-shirted apprentices, were two white-shirted chaps! Much embarrassment. He just sent us off to change, no charges. Sensible chap, he knew how to differentiate.

Each day we marched eight abreast accompanied by a drum and trumpet band down Bulbeck Hill to the Workshops or School. At Workshops, I had more catching up to do. The first year was basic training involving the making of various objects so we learned to file, hacksaw etc. The first job was a cube followed by a hexagon fitted into a lump of cast iron. Thus, we learned about micrometers and verniers. My instructor was a civilian, Mr Britten. A Sergeant instructor in an adjoining section saw that I was in trouble reaching the vice so brought me a footstool to stand on! I met him years later when I was Technical Adjutant at Husbands Bosworth. He walked into my office as a Flying Officer. I felt then that I really had caught up. Over the three years Metal Riggers learned to make sheet metal fittings, welding, tin bashing, heat treatment of metals, plating and, of course, the art of rigging an aeroplane. We also learned to use fabric and about doping. There was also a metallurgy course which was very interesting. From time to time throughout the course, we had to make test jobs which were always some sort of metal fitting involving calculation, bending allowances and so on. There was always a test job on the passing out exam. We spent a month on the aerodrome course during which my time in the Scouts came in handy as I knew all the knots for picketing aircraft etc.

We were also given a flight in an Avro 504N during which the pilot handed over control to the pupil. When my turn came round, I didn’t hear him say "You take it" so it was no wonder that the aircraft wallowed about all over the place. He wasn’t impressed with my flying skills at all. I wasn’t either as I didn’t know that I was supposed to be flying the thing. I had one other flight at Halton when some of us lined up and a Sergeant Pilot took us up one by one. At the end of the line was a Service Policeman, not a favourite species! When the pilot got to him he said "Sorry, I’ve finished for today". At the time we thought it funny but, on reflection, it was cruel as it made him look a fool.

Every year there was a Parent’s Day when, among other things, the parents were shown the wonderful food being prepared. I don’t know whom they thought they were kidding! Anyway once a year we did have good food. On that day there was usually an air show and once a few well-known flyers gave an exhibition; they included Winifred Spooner and Amy Johnson. Winifred was friendly and gave autographs but Amy was rather remote.

Sports facilities at Halton were splendid. I got into the Wing Hockey team and the Squadron Cricket team. The Flight Sergeant in charge of the Cross Country team wanted me to join the Wing team but I preferred Hockey. I can’t remember seeing any Soccer played there although there was plenty of Rugby. The playing facilities were excellent with lovely Cumberland Turf stretching over many acres. There was an athletics track. I tried but wasn’t good enough.

Church facilities were good but rather spoiled because we had to parade in pantaloons and puttees, be inspected and then forcibly marched to the relevant Church. I was Church of England at the time and went to an evening service which was voluntary. During the third year I was confirmed. Our Padre was a Wing Commander Walkey, an excellent chap who lived in Wendover with his family. Sunday evening was open house to anyone who cared to walk to Wendover and partake of tea and buns at his house. His son was, I think, at University and a good athlete who subsequently went out to South Africa as a Missionary and was killed.

For the first eighteen months the 21st Entry was Junior Entry and the 18th the Senior. Juniors were paid about 3/6d a week and seniors 5/-. The real pay was 7/- and 10/- respectively and the difference was saved and paid out as a lump sum when going on holiday. The Senior Entry provided the Leading Boys who acted as "prefects", one to each room. A number of us in our Entry were selected to make up a "Model Room" thus giving the impression that we would become Leading Boys. Most did but not me and my friend Jim Batho. We, apparently, were regarded as Model Pupils but not promotion material. During our time, boys were also made Corporal and Sergeant Apprentices. I think that they thought it was the way to a Cadetship but it didn’t always work that way and many were disappointed. To attain a Cadetship, it was necessary to be good at both School and Workshops.

I suppose that you could say that Medical facilities were OK, particularly the hospital, but going sick with minor ailments was a nightmare. I was twice detained with ‘flu and kept away from School and Workshops. The result was a stay in Sick Quarters polishing the floor and generally having a miserable time. In theory one could be sent to bed but I never heard of anyone being so lucky.

A surgeon at the hospital was trying to see how small an incision he could make when removing an appendix. I think his record was ½". Seven of the boys in my Squadron, including Jim Batho, decided they needed the operation and were duly operated upon. They got three weeks sick leave which was a real bonus.

One task which we had was to study a particular subject, referring to library books, and produce a book which had to be handed in at the end of the Schools Course. Each boy had a different subject which meant that a lot of reading was required and there was no way to cheat. Being the last one in the Entry, I got the rather boring subject of "Four Eminent Victorians". I picked two scientists plus Gladstone and Disraeli. The result was quite good and I filled a complete exercise book, however the subject had no particular interest to me. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, and knowing a little more about the peculiarities and hypocrisy of the Victorian age, I could have chosen different people and made the project much more interesting. I doubt however, whether I could have got hold of any reference books which would have outlined the dirt, drudgery and cruelty which lay beneath the veneer of Victorian England. Dickens should have been one of my choices. At the end of the last year, we took the final School and Trade exams. The School exam covered Maths, English, Engineering Drawing (based on term work), Theory of Flight, Materials and Structures. The pass mark was 60% which I obtained quite easily. The Trade Tests covered, amongst others, Basic Rigging and a Test Job. The pass marks were: LAC - 80%, AC1 - 60% and AC2 - 40%. I was tenth in the Entry but only got 72%. I was disappointed to pass out still playing "Catch Up".

Things I shall never forget about Halto:

• The truly rotten and inadequate food.

• Corporal Grinter - a Service Policeman who hated Apprentices.

• The Blacksmithing course where the Corporal in charge, who had a lovely tenor voice, sang "It Happened in Monterey" on and off all day long.

• The Wing Raids across the drill square from No 1 Wing and on your own Senior Entry.

• Cutting Grass with a dinner knife.

• Wearing Pantaloons and Puttees.

• Being issued with three items of each piece of clothing, towels etc., but not being able to wear or use one set, which had to be permanently on view in our locker.

• Having to carry a silver knobbed stick when in our Walking Out Uniform.

• The high standard of Warrant Officer and Technical SNCOs and the low standard of Disciplinary Corporals.

• Me, demonstrating somersaults in the barrack room.

• The regular reading out of King’s Regulations.

• Early on, being taught Logarithms by a friend, Jim Smith, in the barrack room as part of my "Catching Up" period. I saw him again at Silverstone when he was a Flight Lieutenant pilot.

• Saveloys and peas, the only food I liked.

• The radio operated by a chap in our room by the name of Wadsworth. He linked each bed with a line round the heating pipes. The terminal block at each bed was an Army hard tack biscuit. We each had a set of earphones (Aunt Rose gave me mine).

• Winning a football sweep in my room. Whoever won had the job of running it. I won seven consecutive weeks after which everyone decided it was not worth running!!

• The riots in the dining room when there was no jam for tea. However, did they manage to run out of jam?

• Going home to Hounslow and taking a friend of mine, Frank Swain, instead of going to the Hendon Air Show, where we were supposed to be. As a result I met Perle.

• Learning to play Billiards with Jim Batho.

• The NAAFI girl hanging, topless, out of the top of the canteen. She was sacked the next day.

• Trying to clean the greasy cookhouse tins in tepid water.

• Mum, Dad and Betty visiting on Parent’s Day with Betty wearing an eye patch as she had a stye.

• Our feeble attempts to learn about sex. No official information was available. It was a case of learning by degrees.

• Two of us ordered to clean out the garage of a Flight Lieutenant’s house and knocking over a foam fire extinguisher covering one of the house walls. It took us forever cleaning it off.

• My Aluminium Test Piece starting off as about 5" x 5" and, after my efforts, ending up in perfect shape about 3" x 3".

• My disappointment that we didn’t get to use the gymnasium despite it being well equipped.

• My Mum’s weekly food parcel. I was the only boy so privileged.

• The welcome which Mum and Dad gave to my friends when I took them home on long weekends (Once or twice a term).

• Being bellowed at by the Wing Warrant Officer 1 for walking in the front door of the Sergeant’s Mess. This was early on.

• The farewell tendered by Grizelle (the AOC’s daughter) whilst we were all waiting for the bus to take us to the Railway Station at the end of our three years. Although well intentioned, saying, quote, "Will you be sorry to leave?", unquote, showed that she didn’t understand at all how we felt.

The passing out parade being over, we were able to put down our choice of Stations. I got my first choice, Northolt, which was only ten miles from home at Hounslow. So started a new life.

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Chapter 18

RAF Northolt - 41(F) Squadron

We were, I think, given three weeks holiday on passing out from Halton in December 1932. As a newcomer to Northolt in January 1933, I was attached to Station Workshops. As it happened, this proved to be a lucky move for me as the Sergeant in charge was an ex-boy who had passed out as a Corporal. This was a procedure relative to earlier entries and was subsequently cancelled. Instead of working on aircraft, I was put in the office to update all the technical Air Ministry Orders (AMOs) which were sadly out of date. The Sergeant told me to read them carefully because the subjects in AMOs often cropped up on the LAC’s written exam. I was allowed to take the first exam in 1933 and sure enough there were questions related to the AMOs I had dealt with. The result was that I had the highest marks at Northolt - 83%. Soon after that I was sent to West Drayton to take the LAC’s board exam. With a written mark of 83%, the examiners didn’t ask any really awkward questions, merely went through the motions. 

My “props” were sewn on in August 1933 so I was off to a good start. During that time I did a rigging and fabric job privately for a Flight Lieutenant Wheeler who had a small private Bluebird aircraft. He did the engine himself. We had two attempts at a test flight but both times the engine cut out on take off just as the aircraft was about to turn. He was a good pilot, however, so managed to land it safely on the aerodrome. Generally, Northolt was a good station but the Commanding Officer would not allow new boys to wear civilian clothes; it was a case of wearing pantaloons and puttees or slipping in and out without getting caught. Other snags were Guard Duty, Coal Fatigues (deliveries to Married Quarters) and Fire Piquet. I was excused the latter as someone decided that I would make a good “Airman of the Watch”. This duty was a week’s duration with responsibility to the Duty Pilot. It included sending out weather reports, cloud cover and types of clouds etc.

By this time I had been allocated to the flights on a Bulldog aircraft. My fitter was a 17th Entry chap called Cyril Kimber. He was a good friend and I took him home a few times to meet Perle and her friend Brenda. Unfortunately Brenda got too serious for Cyril and so his visits ceased.

During this time I was getting more involved with Perle and I suppose that I fell in love with her and saw her most days. She lived in Hounslow where Mum, Dad and Betty lived in the barracks. We used to spend a lot of time cycling. Unfortunately her father resented me and, on one occasion, walked across the street when he saw me coming towards him on the same side. Basically I believe that he was a bully and generally not a nice person. Her mother was a lovely person but crippled with arthritis and could only sit in a wheelchair. Perle and I used to take her to the cinema and Park on Sundays to listen to the band; she was very grateful for this. She died early and Perle went to live with another couple. I was able to visit there and as a fact I learned to fish since the man of the house was a keen fisherman. Just prior to Perle leaving her father’s house, he broke up her cycle. I went out and bought two new ones which solved that problem.
Whilst at Northolt I did not play much sport except tennis. I ran for the Flight in the Cross Country race and came in second. I got the usual invitation to join the Station Team, but at that time my friendship with Perle was the most important thing to me so I refused.
In the Summer of 1934, I was detached to Tangmere. 43 Squadron had got into a mess with their Hawker Furies, most of them being unserviceable. One Rigger from each Fighter Squadron was sent there for a month to help them out. I spent a pleasant time there and played a lot of tennis with a 17th Entry chap called “Split” Brightwell. Our final game was for five shillings which he won! During this time, I had borrowed £32 from my Mum and bought a 350cc BSA Blue Star Motor Cycle. Just before going to Tangmere I had a crash, the handle of the bike going through a car door. No one was hurt and both me and my passenger had baled out. An AA man witnessed this and it was settled knock for knock thanks to his evidence.

During the time I was at Tangmere, Cyril Kimber rescued the bike and replaced the forks so that when I got it back it was as good as new. I promptly sold it! At Northolt itself, the CO had decided that airmen in civilian clothes should wear hats and acknowledge officers by raising them in passing. We all bought berets with a little sprig in the middle. To raise our hat therefore, we got hold of the sprig and pulled. The whole thing was a farce.

At holiday times we went, as a family, to stay with Aunt Rose at Winchelsea. Perle came with us and some snaps of us at Winchelsea are in the albums. Our love story was a very innocent one but we were very good friends.

Then the blow fell (I had been forewarned by the Orderly Room Corporal); a telegram arrived at Winchelsea requesting my return to Unit for Posting. I was posted to 800 Squadron Fleet Air Arm and The Courageous. Around that time, my parents moved to Chatham barracks. It turned out well for me because Courageous was in the middle of her commission and the posting counted as an overseas posting which, at that time, was a five-year stint in Iraq, India, Egypt or some such place.

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Chapter 19

HMS Courageous

Wondering what I faced, I reported to Gosport. When I reached the barrack block I found that all the "bods" were out. When they eventually drifted in, I saw one chap who looked very dour and hoped that I would not be working with him. Sure enough, he turned out to be my Fitter on the Flight Commander’s Osprey and his name was John Loader. In truth, he turned out to be an excellent chap and did more than anyone to introduce me to my new life. All the technical men were ex-apprentices so we all understood each other. I was only twenty and easily the youngest. The "Courageous" was in the Atlantic Fleet and wherever it went it was followed by the destroyer HMS Sturdy. This was a safety measure to pick up people if an aircraft was lost overboard. 800 Squadron was a fighter unit and its Flight Commanders had Ospreys, which were the sea versions of the Hawker Hart, whilst the other pilots had Nimrods, sea versions of the Hawker Fury. The Osprey had a turret and carried a Navy Air Gunner. We spent about half of our time at sea and half at RAF Upavon in Wiltshire; it really was the easiest overseas service possible. The good thing about this was, of course, that I was able, from time to time, to go home and see Perle and my family. Perle and I corresponded throughout my time in the Fleet Air Arm and I was very much in love with her. Unknown to me, however, our relationship was coming to an end. On my last leave from Courageous we got engaged on my 21st birthday. At the time we were on holiday at Whitstable staying with Mum, Dad and Betty in a bungalow. I’ll never know why she agreed to the engagement because not long afterwards, when I was posted to Andover, I found out that she was seeing someone else. I asked for the ring back and exchanged it for a gold watch! It sounds rather laid back but, at the time, I was terribly upset. 800 was a good Squadron and everyone went out of their way to help me. We slung hammocks on a small deck open to the elements at the side and I was shown how to fit stretchers on the hammock to make it more comfortable. The Mess Deck was below decks as were the aircraft, which were, with wings folded, housed in a hangar at the fore end of the ship. The wings were folded before they were taken below which was achieved by means of a huge lift. Taking off and Landing was a bit "hairy". On take off, the aircraft was positioned at the rear of the flight deck, the wheels were chocked and the fitter and rigger lay on the deck holding a rope attached to each chock. On the signal "chocks away", the engine would rev up and the chocks would be pulled away while the groundcrew lay flat on the deck until the tail of the aircraft had safely passed. Each aircraft had a large hook and, on landing, the pilot released this and it caught on the landing wires across the deck. If the hook missed, the pilot would open the throttle and go round again. To make all this possible, the ship would turn into wind. One of the funnier landings I saw was an Avro 504N. It was so slow that it did not need a hook and in fact had difficulty catching up with the ship. He just made it and on landing came to an immediate stop. The front doors of the hangar could be opened, the theory being that aircraft could take off from within the hangar. It was tried but wasn’t very successful. The heads (toilets) on board were rather peculiar. In effect you sat in a small cubicle which covered you from the lower chest. Anyone with VD had to use special cubicles painted red. Bathing was also embarrassing. The baths were round metal containers about ten inches high and three feet in diameter. This you filled with hot water and sat, stood and washed with everyone looking on. Not a pretty sight.

The Navy had a long tradition which went right back to the time of Nelson. Captain’s Rounds was one example. Whatever you were doing, you had to stop and stand to attention. One day I was bleeding a hydraulic system on an aircraft when the call for "Captain’s Rounds" went out. All my hard work went for a burton as I watched all the oil pouring out of a brake pipe which I wasn’t allowed to connect. It was much more important to stand to attention! "Fubsy", our Flight Sergeant played pop with me for arguing. Incidentally, "Fubsy" means short, fat and squat and does appear in the dictionary. Another thing which struck us as funny was when anchoring. The stern was tied to a buoy with a steel hawser, which was pulled in with a grass, a thick rope. In all ports other than Portsmouth, the RAF chaps were expected to help pull this to strange cries of heave-ho, avast etc., which we always pretended not to understand. At Portsmouth, the Navy personnel had to do this all on their own. This they did with some difficulty since the ship was undermanned. Airmen also had to paint ship in the hangar.

This was the subject of much discontent and was only stopped when an Air Vice Marshal came on board and talked to us, asking what our trades were and where we had trained. The word Halton came to the fore and there was no more painting for us. The chaps in our Squadron were a friendly lot and I got on with all of them. I was particularly friendly with two; one was a good gymnast and the other a Scot who played a good game of tennis. Whenever we had the opportunity on shore at Upavon, we played. Upavon had an indoor court which proved to be very useful; it also had the best run NAAFI canteen that I ever came across. Getting back to the Scot, he was married and came from Cupar in Fife. He was the sort who, when a bit squiffy, used to cry in his beer saying that he had let his wife down. To my knowledge he did not have a drink problem, but what he did have was a problem at sea when even a slightly uneven sea made him seasick. As a result, whilst we were at sea, I serviced two aeroplanes, mine and his. One day we played tennis on deck and he missed the ball which went straight onto the Quarter Deck. We scarpered back to our deck but we were found and taken in front of the Officer of the Watch whom the ball had hit. As it happened, he was a decent sort of chap and quietly told us off in a friendly fashion explaining that a tennis ball was a bit different to the bar of soap which had hit him the week before. Apparently the matelots had been playing deck hockey using a bar of soap as a ball. Speaking of hockey, I played for the Fleet Air Arm team which was quite a good team. Oddly enough, I was the only airman who played for the Courageous team and I scored a few goals for them. I don’t know why no-one else was picked. We played mostly in Malta. The chap who was the gymnast had an uncle who was the captain in charge of the tug boats used at Valetta. We could go ashore and stay with his family. His daughter had a great capacity for playing shove halfpenny. At the Naval Club in Valetta, we played Tombola but never won. Winners could get as much as £80 and were given an escort back to the ship as that amount was an awful lot of money in those days. On board, for recreation, I learned to play bridge and chess. One of the RAF Sergeants was a Chess Master who used to play eight of us at the same time; no-one ever beat him.

On occasion, four of us were allowed to borrow a sailing dinghy. The first time I crewed was off the Orkney Islands. The Courageous was anchored offshore so we made it to the beach, pulled the boat onto the beach and went about a ̋½ mile inland where there was a farm which would give us tea. The only money we had was 3/10½d and a 1½d stamp. We told the farmer’s wife this and she said that was alright. We each had two boiled eggs, as much bread and butter as we could eat and as many bannocks as we wanted. The next time we took the dinghy out was in Gibraltar Bay. We had a lovely sail half way to the nearest point in Spain, had a swim, got back in the boat and set sail. Then disaster, the wind dropped to zero! Nothing else for it, the two biggest and strongest had to row it back. By this time, the Officer of the Watch was getting a bit worried and called out part of one of the watches. The Captain’s motor boat was also lowered just in case, however the rowers did very well and got us back. The crew of the Courageous however, made us climb up a Jacob’s ladder to get back on board. In doing so I lost my cap. Of course the watch which had been called out hooted and catcalled and the motor boat crew did a complete circle before we started the climb and the wave it made swamped us and the boat. We weren’t very popular with the crew as they were supposed to be resting. Somehow my cap was returned. At Scapa Flow, the four of us were invited to crew a larger boat, captained by a Lieutenant RN, in an official race. We got to the starting line when guess what, the wind dropped and we all had to operate an oar and row back. It was all good fun however. Whilst we were around the Orkneys, the Fleet Air Arm hockey team was invited to play a girl’s school. At 10-0 we gave them our goalkeeper! The girls took it all in good part and we were given a lovely tea. During my time on board, I got regular mail including letters from Perle who also sent me a huge parcel of fruit which she got from Marks and Spencer. A time or two, Courageous did a speed trial. It was quite an experience watching the wake at more than 30 knots. I believe that, at one time, She held the record for a trip from Portsmouth to Gibraltar - less than 24 hours. Occasionally an aircraft would run into trouble, ie missing the wires on landing and, either swerving into the funnel or diving over the side. One of our Nimrods went missing but the pilot was picked up. I’ve always remembered that because, the day before, the rigger, for some unremembered reason, had painted a red dot on the fuselage. One day later it was gone, red dot and all. As I recall, there were no fatal accidents whilst I was with them. Everyone talks about the rough Bay of Biscay but I found the Irish Sea was the roughest. Fortunately, I was never seasick. As I have said, in between cruises, we were stationed at Upavon in Wiltshire. We had a pleasant time there and during that time, I was able to get some flights in my Osprey. One weekend, the Flight Commander took me to Northolt for the weekend which meant that I could see Perle.

I think that, by then, my parents had moved to Chatham. They lived in Married Quarters for a while then rented a house in Gillingham, 41 Carlton Avenue. It was here that I bought their first radio, a Murphy. During my last cruise, I volunteered to be a Sergeant Pilot. I was given a complete aircrew medical but, having passed on everything else, I failed the eyesight test. The Naval doctor was very good; he patted me on the shoulder and said "Hard Luck, Good Try". Although I hadn’t done a full commission, I was released and on 20 August 1935 was posted to the Air Navigation School at Andover. It was almost the point at which Perle and I would separate. She had moved from Hounslow to Southall where she lived in a bedsit. My story at Andover starts in connection with her.

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Chapter 20

Air Navigation School Andover

The Air Navigation School was a pleasant and friendly set up although I am not sure that the Flight Sergeant thought much about me. I was by far the youngest and probably thought I knew it all. One day I crossed him about something, I’ve forgotten what, and he got hold of me and said "What you are is a Confidential Bullshitter". I didn’t think it fair but he seemed alright later on. The CO was a hockey player and he had found a new one in me so I finally settled in. Now, what was I to do about Perle? I hadn’t given up entirely. The first thing I did was to buy a decent racing cycle with drop handlebars. I put down 2/6d and agreed to pay 2/6d per week. The first available Wednesday, I set off for Southall, about 60 miles, but got a puncture. A week later I set off again with exactly 1/10d in my pocket. I bought a few apples to eat on the way, stopped en route and got tea and two buns. I reached Southall where Perle and her landlady gave me tea. I had a little money left and again stopped for tea and buns at the same place as before. That left me with 1d so on I went. About ten miles from Andover, I tried to buy a cup of tea for a penny but as it was 1½d, he wouldn’t give me any. I trudged on dead tired and although I felt like lying down at the side of the road, I eventually arrived back at camp. I had not been able to get Perle to change her mind so the following day I sold the bike and cleared it with the dealer. I was miserable and unhappy and I think my Mum thought that I would never get over it, however life was soon to change when the Air Navigation School moved to Manston. It was a rotten camp with terrible food - a typical training camp. I forget what they were training for. However, there was a bright side as I was in Kent and Aunt Alice, Aunt Rose and Aunt Molly all lived in Canterbury so St Edmund’s School was open house to me. I was also welcome at Aunt Alice’s house (Mr & Mrs Philpotts). I persuaded my Mum to go with me to Naylor & Roots in London to buy me another motor cycle - another BSA 350cc Blue Star. She also lent me the money. This gave me the freedom to go to Canterbury every night and home to Gillingham at weekends.

I also went to see Granddad Ward at Willesborough. At the time he was living with Jesse Owens’ wife and they gave me tea etc. I also took the driver’s test in Canterbury and passed. For a short time I was involved with one of the maids at the school. Her name was Jean and she was Welsh, her home being Swansea. The episode did not last very long but did include a visit to Swansea to see her when she was off work ill. However, she went back to an old boyfriend and finished with me. She was a friend of Aunt Alice but after that, Aunt Alice, who was really upset, did not talk to her again. Nothing much happened at Manston. I was put on a charge for having a dirty hairbrush. I was up in front of the CO with whom I played hockey. I explained that prior to Christmas 1935, I had made a rug for my Mother and had used the hairbrush, which I normally never used, to brush the rug. We were not used to kit inspections but Manston was an awkward place for full-blown Regulars. The CO admonished me and that was that although I think that he was amused. Later our team played hockey against RAF Henlow at Manston in a round of the RAF Cup and drew 1-1. We had to replay at Henlow and I went by motor cycle the day before and stayed in the best hotel in St Albans. 10/6d Bed and Breakfast! We lost the match but whilst there I came across one of the chaps who had been lent to 43 Squadron at Tangmere. In turn, he introduced me to his friends who included George Ritchie. They were on a conversion course to Fitter 1. On 12 March 1936 I too was posted to the conversion course. The innocent was still abroad.

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Chapter 21

Conversion Course - RAF Henlow

It was here that the "Grippo" gang started but more of that later. Henlow was a most uncomfortable place to be in that one half of the men there were experienced ex-Apprentices, all LACs, and the other half were raw recruits. There was a so called Disciplinary Squadron Leader there who was in charge of both as regards Administration. The two did not mix and it almost got to riot proportions. It was resolved when the Squadron Leader was posted as a result of the Conversion Course Senior entries and the Flight Sergeant Discipline applying for postings back to their respective units. This was obviously a serious situation because a lot of time and money had been spent on training. Apparently, before I got there, one demonstration had been the placing of pairs of Best Boots on the road beginning at the Guardroom and going in a long line through the camp. During the time I was there, I was given seven days defaulters for having dirty buttons. I was due to lose my leave as a result but one of George Ritchie’s Entry hatched up a plot. He had a letter coming which purported to be from my fiancee. This was on pages two and three, page one would have given the game away. I have forgotten whose letter it really was but anyway the CO seemed happy enough to let me off as my conduct had always been good. The story was that I was going to Wales to get engaged. I actually got to Wales but not to get engaged. I went with George on my motor cycle to his friend Tuckfield. They put the motor cycle in the front room for safety! When we left, the whole village of Ynysybwl turned out to wave us off. The people in the coal mining villages were smashing; on one occasion, I came to a village, skidded and over I went and about fifty people rushed to pick me up.

Technical training at Henlow was excellent with first class instructors. Although we went to school, the exam didn’t count towards the pass result. It was a good job really because I failed the electrical exam! I think that I was still fed up as no-one at that time had replaced Perle with whom I had been close friends for nearly three years. I was a bit silly I suppose.

When George Ritchie’s Entry was still at Henlow our favourite place to go was Bedford where I learned to row on the River Ouse. On Sunday evenings a band would play on a raft moored on the river and lights everywhere lit up the scene. It was during this time that I took George home. On the way we would call in at Highbury and watch The Arsenal. Afterwards we would have tea in a nearby café then on to home. That was how George got to meet my sister Betty. In the meantime I had sold my motor cycle. Some reorganisation must have taken place because we moved from the huts where we had been housed to permanent buildings and our part became No 1 Wing. After this, Henlow began to settle down and I got more involved with people in my Entry. The last thing I can remember George and me doing before he left was to play a joke on Tuckfield. We went into Marks and Spencer in Chatham and asked the girl at the corset counter for a pair of corsets. When she asked what size, we said any size would do. Poor girl, she was most embarrassed. When we returned to camp, we left them as a present in Tuckfield’s room. I think everyone in the room tried them on.

In our Entry we had a chap who was a beautiful pianist so we went out in the evenings looking for pubs with a piano. We would then start a sing song. If I recall rightly, the usual drink was Brown Ale.

We also went to a lot of local dances where I sometimes danced with a girl who had ambitions to be a chorus girl. She was an excellent dancer but rather a plain girl and I have no idea how she got on.

Whitsun 1936 arrived and we were due for leave. A chap asked me if I would make up a foursome on, I believe, Whitsun Bank Holidays; I said yes and as a result I met Betty Smith, a meeting which was to change my life. We went to Maidstone with the idea of going on the river. This we did and also had a decent meal; in fact we had a really pleasant day. That was the beginning. The chap who introduced us said that Betty was not the sort of girl to mess about with but was one to marry. As it turned out his statement was prophetic, but in a curious way it slowed me up. I felt that I had to be sure so our early meetings were tentative with the odd walk, dance etc. thus the relationship took some time to take off. Back at camp on the course things went on with all sorts of silly things happening. For instance, one chap had an imaginary Sea Lion in a suitcase under his bed. We used to take it on parade with us, leaving room for him in the ranks. The discipline NCOs wondered what on earth we were playing at. Then there was the "Grippo" gang which was connected to not panicking when you were told to hurry up. I was "Grippo" and my pal was "Gippo". It was all rather silly but I took it with me to Biggin Hill with me and became "King Grippo", which was my nickname for a long time.

During my tentative period with Betty, I went on holiday with Mum, Dad, George and sister Betty to Whitstable. It was probably July/August and the first night, George and I went up to the park at Tankerton where they were running a dance outdoors. We met two girls and I arranged to meet mine the following day. She was Joan Court whose father owned two chemists’ shops, one in Tankerton and the other in Canterbury. They were fairly well off and Joan had been to Public School. She was a quiet girl and I was not in love with her but liked her as a friend. Her parents invited me to meals and she paid one visit to Carlton Avenue in Gillingham.

Back at Henlow I had bought a 1924 Austin 7 Sports, the bonnet of which was held in place with a strap. The car went very well but I had a terrible job with the tyres. Mr Court thought that the car was a bit dangerous and he was probably right but I had a lot of fun with it. The friendship with Joan didn’t last and in the meantime I had picked up with Betty. I passed out as a Fitter 1 in March 1937 and was posted to Biggin Hill. Before I was posted, I sold the car for £10 but not before I had taken another chap to Gillingham for a fee of 5/- return. On the return journey one of the rear tyres split into two and disappeared into the night. I finished the last twenty miles on the wheel rim. Prior to that episode I once got onto the North Circular Road and on a roundabout lost my sense of direction. Instead of going round forward, I went round backwards; after the second circuit was nearly complete, a policeman’s voice out of the darkness said "I am sure you are lost, can I help?". He put me on the right road - a true gentleman.

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Chapter 22

79(F) Squadron - Biggin Hill, France, Acklington, Pembrey, Fairwood Common

Biggin Hill was an excellent Station and well run. The Squadron was equipped with out of date Gauntlets, a biplane with a fixed undercarriage. For some reason we also had a Hawker Hart. For my sins I looked after the Hart as well as a Gauntlet. The silliness of the "Grippo" gang continued with my Fitter’s mate, Tommy Schrier, being renamed "Pippo". As a side note, Tommy was rescued after Courageous was sunk in 1939. Unfortunately I then lost touch with him. By then I was a Corporal and the "Grippo" gang ceased to exist.

Together with a chap called Toms, I went to Halton to play in the RAF Tennis Championships. I got knocked out in the first round, but got to the semi finals in the Plate Competition. I played a stupid game. I was winning 5-0 in the first set but was foot faulted and lost it 7-5. The same thing happened in the second set. If I had won, which I should have, I would have played the Sergeant who had beaten me in the first round.

Being so near to Bromley, it was a simple train journey to Chatham and my friendship with Betty deepened. That summer we went to Whitstable as usual and Betty came with us. As it turned out, this was crunch time. We were on the beach one day and Betty, in a swimsuit, was just walking into the sea. I was sitting next to Dad when he suddenly came out with the words "Why ever don’t you make up your mind about Betty? Look at her, she has a lovely figure and would make you an ideal wife". From that moment my attitude changed; I felt free of my doubts and worries, proceeded to court her and found myself falling in love again. Later on that year we went on a holiday to Dymchurch, staying at a Bed and Breakfast recommended by Aunt Rose. One day we went to Hythe via the miniature railway and went rowing on the Canal. Who should be on the towpath but Aunt Rose and Molly, who were spending the day there? In those days we wouldn’t have even thought of sleeping together but we had a lovely holiday just the same. I still have the china rabbit that we bought at Dymchurch on that holiday. Sadly, I cannot remember when Betty and I got engaged but an educated guess would be Christmas 1937. I bought her a three diamond ring. For her birthday, in October, I had inferred that I was going to buy her a posh coat which she did not want. That evening when I met her outside Marks and Spencer where she worked, she went to her home, with me in tow, by a very indirect route, eventually we got there and she nearly cried when she saw that I had actually bought her a wheeled sewing box which was exactly what she wanted. She told me that the reason for the detour was that she was afraid of being disappointed.

It might be interesting to paint in some background to Betty. She came from a family which had a well off half and a poor half. She came from the poor half. The paternal part of the family had roots which originated in Alsace Lorraine and the name was Schmitt which was changed by Deed Poll to Smith in 1917. They were Catholic and her father died in 1932 at the age of 45 leaving her Mother to bring Betty up on her own. This had the effect of blunting one of her ambitions which was to become a Court Dressmaker where you paid for the training. When she was eleven, she won a scholarship but was not accepted by the Grammar School because she was too shy to answer a simple oral question which was "What was the date of the Battle of Hastings?". She knew the answer but couldn’t bring herself to say. She was, however, accepted by the Technical College. She was very good at sewing and dressmaking. Her other great interest was her love of dogs; she had the gift of being able to approach and handle strange dogs no matter how fierce or menacing they looked.

Back at camp, work went on in a routine way. Nothing much happened until in 1938 we were told that we would be getting Hurricanes in due course. I was playing for the Station Hockey team which did well but didn’t win the RAF Cup. I also played football for the Squadron team. The Station Hockey team played the Station Football team at football and drew 1-1. I scored our one! I also came second in a half mile race on Sports Day and won a set of fish knives and forks. In June 1938 I was sent on a Hurricane course at the factory. One week later, on 3rd July (my birthday), Betty and I got married at St Michaels Catholic Church, Ordnance Place, Chatham. A day or two earlier, we had to see the priest. While Betty was talking to him, the organist’s wife came out and asked me if I knew anything about birth control. I suppose she was a non Catholic with a mission but the question was kindly meant. I told her that we did. Funnily enough, earlier in the year, Betty had come to see me and we had walked around Bromley talking about the subject. Betty did have a problem really because birth control was against all the teaching which she had been given. However there was no real choice since my pay, including Ration Allowance, was £2-12-6d and Betty’s pay was about the same. The rent that we paid for a flat in West Wickham was £1-5-0 per week and we gave her Mum £1 a week to augment her pitiful widow’s pension of 10/- plus the little amount she could earn cleaning. Betty was lucky enough to work for Marks and Spencer who arranged a transfer to Catford which was a short train ride from West Wickham.

The wedding went off OK after a bad start when the taxis didn’t turn up. Betty’s Uncle Louis came to the rescue as he had a car. My Dad scrounged a lift from one of the neighbours. By the time we got to the church it was almost time for Mass to start so the church was full, however the priest was very good and managed to get us married in time. It will seem silly now but we had both saved £14. Betty’s money was to save and mine was to pay for the wedding and bungalow at Whitstable which we had booked for our honeymoon. I didn’t have much left but Betty still had the savings. By the time I got married I was working in the Station Workshops who gave me a pewter fruit stand as a wedding present; I still have it. We had a small reception at her Mum’s house. It all sounds simple by today’s standards but it was a pleasant and happy occasion. I had arranged to travel First Class to Whitstable on the train thinking that we would be alone but no, someone jumped into the same carriage. After our holiday, we went to Halton for me to play in the RAF Tennis Championships. We stayed in a hotel in Wendover. I was knocked out and it took them so long to organise the Plate Competition that we had to leave as we couldn’t afford too many nights in the hotel.

On the 1st November 1938 I was promoted to Corporal which helped a lot on the financial front. We bought a second hand tandem. Betty couldn’t ride a bicycle but she was able to sit on the tandem with no trouble. We did one longish trip on the tandem; this was to Brighton where we stayed in the Cycle Association’s Bed and Breakfast for 2/6d each. A good bed and a lovely breakfast. We saved a bit from my Corporal’s pay and later on bought a saloon Austin 7. I think that we sold the tandem when we bought the car which cost £12. We had a lot of fun with it. On one journey from Chatham, the engine stopped on a main road lined with houses. I went to the nearest house to get some help and told the chap that I thought that the jet was blocked but that I didn’t have a key. "That’s funny", he said "I have two so you can have one". Lucky me. There was also a stopcock inside the car to cut off the petrol supply. Several times, Betty knocked this with her knee and of course the engine stopped. It was all good fun and we were happy. The flat we had consisted of a large sitting/dining room and a large bedroom. In between, a dressing room had been turned into a small kitchen. We could have a bath at any time. Then of course it was 3rd September and the war was on.

As soon as war was declared, all personnel living out were brought in which caused real confusion. At the start we were put into Married Quarters and then into newly built Blocks. They soon realised that this was a stupid move particularly as nothing was happening so we were once more allowed to live out. Betty and I had been getting a bit uncomfortable in the flat as the owner wanted to let it to other people as well. We moved, for a short while, into a furnished bungalow in Biggin Hill Village. Betty contemplated joining the WAAF but was told that she would not be allowed to serve on the same Station as me so that was a non starter. In moving she had left her job at Catford and I am not sure how we coped but somehow we did. I sold the little car, which had given us so much pleasure, for £10. After a while we found an estate in Addington, Surrey where they were letting houses for 15/- per week. We bought some furniture on the never, never and settled in there. It was only about a four-mile ride in to camp which was ideal. Nothing much was happening in the war although I believe that our Squadron shot down one intruder; other than that it was sit and wait. Each day we went to work and each evening we went home. I dug the garden and planted lettuce seeds etc.; a penny packet of seeds from Woolworth produced 100 lettuces! Life went on until 10th May when Hitler invaded Belgium. We were told to get into a Bombay troop carrier which had seats down the sides. The trip to Merville in France didn’t take long but for the first time in my life, I was airsick as the trip was very bumpy. Our Squadron’s aircraft flew in and then, for them at least, all hell was let loose. We took over a Nissen hut from the Army. It had a concrete floor and nothing at all in it. We decided to make some beds using by using four-gallon petrol tins with some wooden planks, which we had found, stretched across. At least we weren’t on the concrete floor. On the first day one of our Flight Lieutenants was shot down but later that same night he turned up safe and sound. After two days I was left with two mechanics to repair a Merlin engine. We were left with two rifles and a Colt 45 (mine). The Squadron was playing away somewhere and having a torrid time. Later on they came back and after ten days we were evacuated. The journey by lorry was horrible as we were passing streams of refugees just trailing along. At one point the lot in my lorry all jumped out because they had mistaken a Blenheim for a German. I waved my revolver about and got them back in but was upset with them for panicking in front of all those poor people. We eventually got to Boulogne where we stayed the night. In the morning we went down to the harbour where there was a cross channel steamer full of ammunition. Fortunately, the senior officer was an RAF man who ordered the Army to chuck all the ammunition over the side to let us get on. Of course we had lost all of our kit. What grieved me most was the loss of my Dad’s button brush, almost worn down to the wood, which he had been issued with when he joined the Buffs as a very young man. The only man with anything was the Adjutant who had a huge box in which, he claimed, were Squadron documents. We reckoned that it also held his kit. We zigzagged across the channel and landed, I think, at Dover where a number of ladies welcomed us with tea and buns. We got on a train which took us to Tidworth in Hampshire where we were relieved of our weapons, given a meal and a bed for the night. The following day we waited hours for a train back to Kent. In London, the Adjutant dithered about so much that Sergeant Bert Parrish and I hopped it and found our own way back. I was disappointed however because, when I got home I found that Betty had gone to Chatham thinking that I would be away for a long time which meant that I had to sleep alone. Anyway she came back the following day. Our peace from then on was shattered really but, with the Battle of Britain starting, the Squadron moved all over the place. This didn’t affect me until they went to Acklington in Northumberland. We got Pickfords to pack up all of our things and Betty went to Chatham until I could find somewhere for us to live. I walked into a pub with Reg Hodder one night to have a drink and asked about houses for let. Oh yes we were told, "we have one", and so the appropriate arrangements were made. Cooking was done on a huge open fire, potatoes being boiled in a large kettle. I have forgotten how long we were there but we left in September for Pembrey in South Wales. Reg found some decent accommodation but we had a bit of trouble. A short stay in Burry Port was followed by rooms in Pembrey.

Betty was pregnant at this time so the District Nurse looked around and came up with Danybank Farm in Pembrey. The Lloyds were lovely people who allowed Betty to keep her dog Blackie with her. Blackie was a Peke which I had bought for her when we were first married and at West Wickham. Unfortunately she got out one day and was killed on the railway line adjacent to the farm. She was terribly upset and I bought her a Spaniel to replace him. For some reason, she did not take to it so Bert Parrish took it. Reg Hodder and his wife "Jim" were great friends during the time we were at Pembrey and they saw John after he was born. They had lost their first child but after they left Pembrey their first daughter was born. On the 9th December 1940 I was promoted to Sergeant. March 1941 was when our first baby was due and he took his time in arriving. Arrangements had been made for Betty to have the delivery in Carmarthen Hospital. She was in labour for three days and while I was on tenterhooks she must have suffered acute discomfort. John finally arrived on 18th March but Betty had to stay in the hospital until

her blood pressure was normal. Earlier I had bought a Morris 12 saloon car but the tyres were somewhat worn so I borrowed a pair from one of our starter trollies and put them on the front wheels to ensure that I got the new baby home safely. Having done that we swapped the tyres back again. The chap who did that was J B Moss. He rode the Norton Works Development Model motor cycle in the Senior Manx TT races. Later he became a pilot and was killed in action and is buried in Charmes Military Cemetery, France. He was a grand chap.

By this time, my parents had moved to Manchester. With our Squadron was a doctor who owned his own aircraft; he was actually an Australian Flying Doctor. One weekend, we arranged to drive up to Manchester to see my parents, but before we went, the doctor took out one of my back teeth. It didn’t hurt at the time but it did later. We got to Manchester and got off to a bad start by knocking over their front garden wall. When it came time to go home, the "Big End" bearings broke and we went home by train. JB Moss’ father had a garage in Manchester, so he rescued the car and repaired it for me to collect later on.

Later that year, the Squadron moved to a new aerodrome at Fairwood Common. Once more we were looking for somewhere to live. At first we stayed with a Sergeant Policeman and his wife, then on to a place at Sketty. We introduced the landlord to the game of Monopoly but the trouble was that he wanted to play every night! Then Betty struck lucky as she saw an advertisement for a flat in Knoll Avenue, Swansea. The lady was asking £3 per week but when she found out that Betty was a Catholic she halved the price. It had two bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen and dining/sitting room and was really smashing. The lady subsequently became John’s Godmother. On 17 Oct 1941 I was promoted to Flight Sergeant and on 22 Feb 1942 I was asked to join 125 Squadron.

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Chapter 23

125 Squadron - Fairwood Common & Colerne

I was asked to join 125 Squadron because they had a problem Flight which needed sorting out. It was a Defiant Squadron where discipline was sloppy, record boards non existent and the crew room dirty and untidy. I found the ring leader as far as the ground crew was concerned, looked at his records and found out that he wanted to be aircrew. I told him straight that he had no future if he did not sort himself out; I made him march the other lads to and from work, which seemed to work. I put the usual systems in place so that the pilots knew what was going on and generally got the place in order which wasn’t very difficult. I had trouble persuading some of the aircrew that the crew room should not look like a dump but fortunately the CO backed me up. At this time we were still at Fairwood Common but then came the news that we were off to Colerne in Wiltshire to re-equip with Beaufighters. Betty wrote to say that she had gone home to Chatham because it was lonely without me so I looked around and found another farm and some lovely people again. It was here that we found John one day walking about among the cows. The farm overlooked the city of Bath and we were there when Bath was bombed.

At this time I was recommended for a commission but, as it was going through, I was posted overseas at 48 hours notice. This was May 1942 and there was no time to look after Betty or John. The Squadron sent me up to Ringway by Beaufighter but the pilot couldn’t find it and landed on a dispersal field which was too small. He realised his mistake and had to take off again by putting the brakes fully on and revving the engines to max boost before releasing the brakes. We took off, just, and headed back to Colerne. As we approached the airfield, the pilot could not get the undercart down. This engendered much discussion between pilot and ground control, part of which was:

Pilot: "We still have Flight Sergeant Turner on board, should he jump or crash land with us?"

Ground: "Oh, belly land with you on the grass; get the Navigator to hold him tight!".

The Pilot did a perfect landing and the next day I went to Wilmslow by train! There I met a chap called Bill Tyson who was destined to go with me wherever that was, so we repaired to the Sergeant’s Mess and got fairly tiddly. Early in the morning, and still hung over, we marched to the station en route to Greenock.

I shall pause here to record the movements of my parents. As I have said, when I was at Pembrey they moved to Manchester but not many months later they moved to Canterbury and 9, Clifton Gardens. Dad, for a short period, had to serve at an RAPC office in South London but his health deteriorated and he was invalided out. He took a job as Barrack Warden in the Army Barracks at Canterbury. I believe he was recommended for an MBE but this was not awarded. It was during this time that my sister Betty took a job as a postman. For further details see her pen portrait which follows.

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Chapter 24

Betty Kathleen Ritchie (nee Turner)

My sister Betty was born on 24th September 1916 in Whitstable Kent. I suppose that it could be said that, until she got married, she was always to some extent in my shadow. If she was it was because she liked it that way. Shadow or not, she was her own person with her own views, likes and dislikes. As children we played happily together for hours on end. The occasional spat was soon over and forgotten.

She was loyal to a fault, a virtue that she carried with her throughout her life. She was also patient in the extreme. As a child, she expressed her loyalty to me and her reaction to anyone who said anything about me was immediate; she went straight for them and nobody got away with it. She was average at school but expressed herself well in writing. After she left school, she trained as a clothes alteration hand. She was extremely good at that job and she could also make clothes very well.

She had tremendous energy and everything she did, she did well and quickly. On holiday she would get up early and walk for miles along the beach all by herself and always before breakfast. I think that in those periods she felt free and only aware of herself. Her chief sports interest was playing tennis at which she was very good. Her ambition was to beat me and she did this just the once. Once was enough for this modest lady. She would join in other games but tennis was her forte.

During the war, with her husband away overseas, she took on the job of postman. No-one could understand how she managed to deliver the letters so quickly. She had to demonstrate her methods to the supervisor, but he couldn’t keep up!

She married a friend of mine, George Ritchie, in 1938. Hoping to join him in Egypt, she was stopped by the onset of war. Sadly she never had children of her own but made up for this with the care and kindness she gave to my children and, in time, to theirs. She and George came to Leeds in 1946 after he had left the RAF. She was never truly happy in the North and, particularly towards the end of her life, pined to go back to Canterbury. I believe that she felt that, what roots she had, lay in Kent. One of the most important contributions Betty made was when our Mother was unable to carry on in Canterbury looking after herself. She helped to clear the house and moved Mum up to live in Leeds with her and George. It was hard work as Mum became quite confused but Betty cheerfully carried on and did her utmost to make her happy. That was our Bet, asking nothing and giving a lot.

Betty was a great collector of RAF memorabilia. It is an excellent collection now owned by my son John. Sadly, in her late seventies, all that lovely energy came to an end and she spent the final three years of her life in a hospital and home, confused and sad. They say that she died peacefully in October 2000. For me, the real Betty died some time earlier. In September 2000 I went to see her and she didn’t recognise me. That was heart breaking. Her husband, George, had died two weeks earlier but I don’t think that she knew. It was all so sad.

May she rest in peace.

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Chapter 25

Sierra Leone

At Greenock a crowd of us embarked on the cruiser, HMS Arethusa, with none of us knowing where we were going or why. We were given Yellow Fever jabs so knew we were going somewhere fairly horrible. The Senior NCOs were housed in the CPOs and POs Mess which was fairly comfortable. Of about 150 men, 50 of them, including the silliest Flight Sergeant I have ever come across knew that they were staying on the ship until it reached Egypt. The rest of us were told that we would be disembarking in Freetown. There were no RAF officers on board so all news came from the Navy. The Arethusa was a Chatham ship crewed with Medway personnel who recognised my accent which made me quids in. It was through this and their leg pulling that I acquired the nickname, "Jungle", a reference to the juice brewed by the natives from Palm trees. I remained "Jungle" until I returned to England. The ship carried us to Freetown unescorted, no other ship in sight, and went at about 25 knots day and night, getting there in five days. It was the only time that I have ever been seasick! On the last day the Mess Members presented me with a Cross which they had commissioned the Shipwright to make. There was much laughter. We didn’t go into harbour but anchored offshore and landed in boats on a piece of jungle. Eventually transport arrived and carted us off to a place called Hastings. It was a one runway airfield housing 128 Hurricane Squadron at one end and a Fleet Air Arm detachment at the other. No-one seemed to know why we were there or what for except for three Corporals who apparently came from a Coastal Command Unit in England and had been carrying out modifications on Hudsons. They said that we had come out to do the same thing in West Africa on Hudsons flying in from America. They also said that the Officer in charge would turn up shortly and sort things out. His name was Flight Lieutenant Tex Jarboe and he didn’t turn up for three months when our unit started operations; more of him later. In the meantime, General Headquarters (GHQ) in Freetown decided to distribute us all over West Africa. Hastings, at that time, was a tented camp with proper buildings being constructed and, as it happened, Bill Tyson and I were allocated to help out there.

I, of course, didn’t know what Betty was doing but, as usual, she coped and found her way back to Chatham. Writing this down makes me realise how difficult it was for her and how capable and courageous she was. She found a bungalow to live in on the Maidstone Road; this was "Corona" in New Horsted, Chatham.

The CO of 128 Squadron found out that I knew about Hurricanes and asked me if I would sort them out as they had more aircraft U/S than serviceable. He was right about that and I accepted the job on the proviso that I would have absolute control. This bearing in mind that there was an Engineering Officer and Flight Sergeant already there. My request was agreed and I duly took over. The first job was to inspect all the U/S aircraft which were in the hangar, allegedly awaiting spares from England. The normal practice on squadrons was to always have one aircraft completely U/S so that spare parts could be taken from it thus allowing the indent for the spares to be marked as AOG (Aircraft on Ground). This gave the request high priority. I nominated the worst aircraft and proceeded to repair the rest using parts from it. I also put everyone’s tool kits together so that they were available to all and stopped tool kit checks. Inside a week all the aircraft were back on the flights which they thought was wonderful. Then came another problem. The pilots reported that, at 30,000ft, the aeroplanes were all over the place. I checked one over and found out that they were Mk IIs which were fitted with pressurised fuel tanks. All the pilots had to do when climbing high was to pull a knob so that the pressurising device started to work. This they tried out and, of course, found that they were flying easily at a great height. I think that they thought I was some sort of magician. Why, I wonder, were aircraft given to squadrons without instructions concerning new developments. There would have been an AMO somewhere but they didn’t seem to have it.

Once in West Africa, I wrote to Betty every day but for weeks we didn’t get any letters and when we did, they weren’t always the earliest ones written

I played football at Hastings. The WO i/c was an ex professional I think and a good chap. The only other item of interest at the time was that the cookhouse burned down - what a mess. Anyway, by that time a lot of us were on the way to Takoradi on the Gold Coast.

This was a huge aerodrome with six huge hangars. Aircraft, in large crates, were shipped complete from England. The harbour was about a mile from the hangars and the road was lined with these crates. Each hangar assembled different types of aircraft but when I was there they were concentrating on Blenheims and Spitfires. Once built and tested, they were flown across Africa to Egypt. This was all part of the push to be at El Alamein. I thought that it was one of the best conceived ideas that I saw during the war. Although I was supposed to be helping, I was really surplus and then I came across a lot of Hurricanes in boxes with no-one building them. I asked the Squadron Leader in charge if I could have some men and tools to build the Hurricanes on the large hardstanding by the side of the hangars. He said that, if I could get three men from each hangar, I could go ahead. I saw each Flight Sergeant and told them that I had permission from the Squadron Leader to build Hurricanes in No 7 Hangar and that they were each to give me three men. This they did without question; no-one queried No 7 Hangar which was a figment of my imagination. I had Bill Tyson as the Sergeant Fitter and a couple of Corporal Riggers, all of whom had come out with me on the Arethusa. Off we went and, as it was highly successful, it reflected well on the Squadron Leader. Takoradi was a very different place to Hastings. It had proper housing, messes etc. and the food was quite good. Fruit such as bananas were plentiful.

In West Africa it was necessary to cover up completely after 6.00 pm when it got dark; this was to prevent mosquitos biting and passing on malaria. This wasn’t too bad in Takoradi but of course we were eventually to return to Sierra Leone. Work was done in the morning and late afternoon; the damp heat sapped one’s strength. Whilst at Takoradi a large batch of mail arrived and the SNCOs played a good joke on me. One evening they all had a letter each, addressed to me, and when I sat down to dinner each chap in turn came to my table and handed over the letters; there were about thirty of them, all from Betty. I was glad to get them and, as for the joke, we all had a good laugh.

I flew back to Hastings in a 200 Squadron Hudson while all the rest went by sea. Men were coming from all directions including Lagos and other parts of Sierra Leone where they had been sent. The word was that Flight Lieutenant Jarboe had at last arrived and that we were to start the Hudson modifications. The unit was named the South Atlantic Ferry Unit or SAFU for short. When we got back to Hastings we found the billets had been built and a new hangar provided. There were no aircraft and where was Jarboe?

He did finally turn up; a raw boned Texan would be the best way to describe him. He said that the modification parts had arrived and the first aircraft would soon be on the way. In the meantime, he went out and got to know the Wing Commanders and Squadron Leaders at GHQ. He also scrounged a Dodge truck in which he used to take some of us to the coast where we went swimming. It turned out that the three corporals, who knew more than anyone else about what we were supposed to be doing, had worked for him before and knew all about the modifications. Of course, there was nothing to be done without the aircraft so I had a huge Ludo board painted on the floor of the hangar; the dice, which was a piece of wood about 6" cubed, was thrown from a bucket and hours of fun was had by all. The first aircraft duly turned up but, when it came to fitting the radar aerials, we found that we did not have the necessary jigs to place them on the wings. I worked it out using trigonometry and it seemed to work alright because we never had any complaints. The aircraft in the early days were flown by Pan American pilots who were a really grand lot. They also filled the aircraft with tinned food etc. to such an extent that we had to create a store for some of it. Jarboe then got the three corporals promoted to Sergeant and me to Warrant Officer. He certainly had a way with him. In the evenings he was found more in the Sergeant’s Mess with us rather than the Officer’s Mess. As time went by more aircraft turned up, latterly flown by RAF pilots. Jarboe’s next move was to annex a Hudson and its pilot, who was supposed to be flying it out to India, its ultimate destination. This enabled him to fly down to the American base in Liberia. It was also used by the Flight Lieutenant and Warrant Officer pilots who had come out to train the RAF pilots who would then take the aircraft on. At that point he organised a holiday for himself in the States. To get there he paid for a civil trip from Liberia. He took with him our addresses and a list of things for our wives. Thus, in due course, nighties, stockings and so on arrived at our home addresses. Meantime, the Flight Lieutenant Pilot had taken over as CO of SAFU. He was being awkward about sending my commissioning papers through but in the end he did, because a Wing Commander at GHQ told him to sign otherwise he, the Wing Commander, would. I lost a full year’s seniority over this which showed up when I passed out from Cosford in January 1944. When the numbers were given out, the rest of the Entry had numbers starting 540; mine however started 529! I did try to get this sorted out but never succeeded. Back to Hastings. The Flight Lieutenant and I didn’t like each another but before I left, I won a bet or two. 128 Squadron had a new Engineering Officer and the Fleet Air Arm detachment had a couple of Hurricanes in boxes. Asked if he could build them, he replied that he could in a month or two. When I was asked, I knew that the chaps who had built them at Takoradi were still with me so I said that it would take two days. The Flight Lieutenant thought that I was mad but I said that all it would cost them would be a bottle of whisky. Sure enough, in two days they got two Hurricanes and I got the whisky. I also built them a Gladiator. All good fun. All our chaps were going down with malaria one by one but luckily I never got it. The next move for me and a lot of others was near. I was interviewed by a Squadron leader for a job at Bathurst, in the Gambia, to build up and operate a base for Sunderland Flying Boats. It was agreed and off I went with Bill Tyson and a number of Fitters and Riggers.

Odd Memories of Sierra Leone - Hastings

• Part of my job was to help the Officers to censor the men’s letters. One chap, whose wife was in the ATS had received a letter from her telling him that she had been promoted to Warrant Officer. His reply was one of congratulations but also said quote "I’ve always wanted to fuck a Sergeant Major and when I come home I will" unquote! The censors thought it hilarious.

• One day a Squadron Leader visited from Group and requested a trip in a Hudson. This was agreed. He had arrived at our airfield in a staff car similar to one we had ourselves; this was in addition to the Dodge. The thing about it was that the tyres on his car were brand new, unlike ours. While he was flying, we swapped his tyres for ours and he eventually drove away quite happily!

• In the first few weeks of preparing Hudsons, I painted various pictures on the noses along with the name of someone’s wife. Of course Betty was on one.

• The only way that we were able to reward a native worker was to give him two names; thus, he could draw two lots of pay.

• I didn’t see many snakes where we were but I remember a massive Black Mamba that someone had come across and killed. I was driving along a road one day when I saw one slithering across the road. The things that the natives didn’t like were chameleons. I don’t know why; perhaps something to do with their beliefs.

• On the airfield was a French plane which had been shot down by the British at the time when the French had given in to Hitler.

• One day an American pilot flew in much too quickly, burst a tyre and swung off the runway. I have forgotten what type of aircraft it was but it was an American single engine fighter. We went out to help him. He wasn’t hurt but he was in a violent temper. I offered to place a guard on the aircraft as I pointed out that it was vulnerable. He refused help in the most offensive manner so I cleared off with our men. The following day I was sitting at my table when he burst in yelling and screaming. Apparently he had left a rifle and parachute in the aircraft and sure enough they had vanished in the night. He threatened me but I told him that I had only had to call and four men as big as him would take him by the scruff of the neck and throw him out. He was a Lieutenant and a bad tempered one at that. He cleared off swearing and shouting. He was rescued later by the Americans.

• One evening we had an alert which everybody, except our unit, ignored. Jarboe got some Browning machine guns and set them up on huge aircraft jacks. So for an hour or two I manned a Browning. We were then told to stand down.

• Meeting Ralph Reader who said that he preferred the Sergeant’s Mess to the Officer’s where he was billeted. He was on some sort of show tour.

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Chapter 26

The Gambia - Bathurst

I travelled to Bathurst on a 95 Squadron Sunderland Flying Boat which did a twelve hour submarine patrol on the way. Once in the air, the Sunderland was a pleasant aircraft in which to fly. It was fitted out with a galley and eating area complete with a table and benches which could also be used for sleeping. At that time, it was thought that the flying boat was likely to be very much part of the future of long distance travel.

When we got to Bathurst, a Sunderland Squadron was already using the base; all maintenance had to be done either with the boat floating in the sea or pulled up onto a smallish concrete area. A large specially designed hangar and workshops had been built; this was large enough for a Sunderland to stand facing it. Four gantries had been built to allow the engine fitters to stand level with the engines. In between the hangar and the landing area was a large area which had been dug out and was waiting for the concrete. This eventually turned up but with no reinforcement iron. Our CO, Squadron Leader Howard and the contractors doing the work decided that something had to be done. Old bedsteads and anything else made of iron was collected and this had to do so, with fingers crossed, the contractors went to work.

One incident did give us a problem. A Sunderland took off and unfortunately caught the tail of another as it did. It got off alright but the hull was holed. After a 14 hour submarine patrol the pilot did his best to land so that he was on the concrete staging. He nearly succeeded but not quite. We built wooden supports under each wing and tried to pull it in with the huge tractor we used for this very purpose. Unfortunately our wooden supports did not stand the strain and one side collapsed so that, in the end, we only succeeded in literally turning the aircraft into a wreck.

In comparison to Sierra Leone, Bathurst was a pleasant place to be. The living quarters were virtually on the beach where there was excellent swimming. The Mess had a library and films were shown. It was there that I saw 'Casablanca'.

The set up at work was peculiar. Squadron Leader Howard was in charge of the Maintenance Unit, I was the Engineering Officer (acting) and a Flight Lieutenant Electrical Officer reported to me. I made Bill Tyson, who was a Sergeant Aero Engine Fitter, a sort of Technical Adjutant. We were generally responsible to the CO Bathurst who was closely connected to the Sunderland Squadron. It was at about this time that I was sent on my trip to Portuguese West Africa which is documented in the next chapter.

One incident which occurred where I was able to help. A sergeant who was Mess Treasurer had all the Mess funds stolen which was a serious problem. I saw the Station CO and asked him to give me 24 hours to sort it out. To this he agreed. I got all the Mess Members together and explained that the sergeant could be Court Martialled and suggested that if we each put in a pound, it would cover the loss. I put my pound in and they all followed. I could now report to the CO that the money was now OK. He agreed and the matter was closed. Needless to say, the chap concerned was most grateful.

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Chapter 27

Journey in West Africa - 1943

Motoring in Britain and all the impedimenta connected with it, ie. the garages, pull-ins, wayside cafes etc. are taken for granted. Not so in West Africa in 1943.

One day, looking out from Bathurst, with the sun glinting on the sea, I was sent for and told that help was needed in Portuguese West Africa to build and rig a vintage De Havilland Moth belonging to the Governor's son. I was told that I was the only person available to carry out the job and who was I to argue - a month's working holiday in a neutral country. Interesting!

Problems started straight away. The car to take me on the journey, driven by the Governor's son, was of foreign origin and had no brakes. There were no spares in Bathurst and no apparent way to "bodge" any. A further complication was that there were two more passengers, the British Consul, who had introduced the visitors, and a very attractive French lady, the wife of a French Army Lieutenant, who had decided to come along for the ride. It was intended to stay the first night at her house in French West Africa, being about two thirds of the journey through jungle and on rough roads. Despite the lack of brakes, we duly moved off with the horn as the only means of preventing accidents. If people along the way would not move, there was no alternative but to turn off the road into heavy undergrowth!

During the journey, we had to cross seven rivers. There were no bridges, only hand operated ferries, which consisted of wooden structures floating on the river and held in place by wires. They were either pulled across by a primitive form of a capstan, or paddled across by Africans swimming while others pulled on ropes. It was quite a dicey job driving a car with no brakes onto these floating platforms. I did not envy the swimmers either as one could see the glow of lights reflected in the eyes of crocodiles lying partly submerged in the water. There was much shouting and splashing to keep them away. Despite everything, we finally reached the French lady's house where she ordered dinner and treated us to Cadbury's Chocolate and Haig's Scotch Whisky, which, considering that we were in the middle of nowhere, was nothing short of marvellous. An hour later, we were sitting down to a seven-course dinner plus French wine. I shall never know how they did it.

The following morning, I was introduced to the French Commanding Officer, a Colonel of the "old" school who had a hook in place of one hand. Around his office, he had several shrunken human heads, no bigger than oranges, which had been confiscated from the head hunters who were active in the district.

The French could not help with the car so on we went, brakeless, to our final destination and my introduction to the DH Moth which was loosely assembled and standing outside on the edge of the forest. I managed to get it into a "Flying Position" with a lot of contriving. The instruction book was not much use as it was written in French. Fortunately, one of the Consulate officials interpreted for me. Eventually it was built and rigged and the engine checked over, however I never was to see it fly, as an oil pipe from the tank to the pump was cracked and it was time for me to leave. The pilot said that it would be OK as he could get it repaired. I never did hear how it went, but I suppose that it must have been alright otherwise I certainly would have heard.

After a month in which I enjoyed considerable French and Portuguese hospitality, I was back on the road again. This time it was in a small French car, once again with the Governor's son driving. The main incident on the return journey to the French Garrison occurred in the dark, travelling on what was no more than a cart track through the forest; we felt a terrific bump which shook the car and us. It was a deer which had hit us full tilt. It ran off apparently none the worse for wear; the car door however, was badly dented. The following day, I was collected by a civilian African driver in an RAF van. He was a Muslim and I was rather impressed by his attitude to life. He drank no alcohol and he only had one wife although his religion allowed him four; as he said "I love the one I have".

The only way, on the journey I have described, to obtain rest and refreshment, was to stop at the various French Army outposts. The ones I met were all pro-British. One in particular had a French Sergeant, alone except for his African Askaris, who spoke no English. Whilst being plied with glasses of rum, we had a long conversation using a French/English dictionary. Then onwards back to base and reality, where, on my return, and as a matter of course, I was interviewed by an Intelligence Officer.

There was a sequel to this journey. A year later, I got into a tube train in London. Sitting next to me was the self same Intelligence Officer who had interviewed me. In a city of seven million, I thought that a remarkable coincidence.

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Chapter 28

The Gambia - Bathurst Again

On my return, things were rather chaotic. A number of aero engines had appeared in large packing cases however nothing had been done with them; I organised the hangar so that it looked as though it could go about its business. I unpacked the engines and set them up on a sort of production line, allocated people to each and had them checked over.

I was concerned about Bill Tyson who seemed to be having nerve trouble. One of his jobs was to make out returns for GHQ. He would seal up the envelopes and then unseal them to check that he had done them correctly. We had been out there for over a year by now and I decided that it was time to send him home. This was arranged and he, and others who had been there longer, went home on the next available boat. Where corporals were involved, I was able to recommend the best LACs for promotion, thus I was able to reward some of the best men who had worked hard throughout. Some of the men came up from South Africa and when new people arrived I would check their records. I found one who had been in prison for a year and when I questioned him about this, it turned out that he had been found drunk in a native quarter. Such was apartheid. I sent him home too.

I dabbled in fishing as a hobby. We used to fish from a bridge over the river. It was teeming with fish of all sorts but the ones we caught most commonly were small with vicious tails. However I didn’t get involved the way some did.

I gradually saw home all the chaps who had come out with me on the Arethusa. I obviously wanted to go home but thought it only fair that I should be the last. When my time was near, my replacement turned up. I say replacement but, instead of singular, it was plural in the form of three Pilot Officers! I thought, and still do now, that this was funny. To get home, the last batch had to fly back to Hastings in a DC3 from an airfield which I think was called Yum Dum. As usual, when we got to Hastings, no-one knew we were coming, but fortunately we soon got sorted out. I had to relinquish my WO badges and revert to Flight Sergeant. After a few days we boarded a Polish ship named "Batori". I looked a right mess with a Warrant Officer’s cap. I wasn’t too happy in a ship which was in convoy and moved at the speed of the slowest, however, we arrived home without incident. It was September 1943 and the Atlantic war had turned in our favour. I think we landed at Liverpool because we were sent to Morecambe and housed in a B&B. Morecambe had been virtually taken over by the RAF, for instance, Woolworth had become the NAAFI. We were there for three days getting more and more impatient as, fairly obviously, we wanted to go home. I got friendly with a NAAFI girl and we spent a pleasant afternoon out at a small zoo and garden. Four of us took a ride in a horse drawn gharry which, on a roundabout, turned too sharply and tipped us out. No-one was hurt and it was all good innocent fun. Finally we were sent on holiday and I got a proper cap.

Odd Memories of Bathurst:

• The Pan-Am flying boats coming in with famous people, such as Deanna Durbin, on board.

• The ship load of sanitary towels which arrived but, for who?

• The lovely real silver bracelets made by the native silversmiths from Queen Victoria half Crowns.

• The medical inspections of our native helpers carried out by our MO. Any with VD were sacked.

• The typhoons and hurricanes which would blow up at a moment's notice.

• The odd Sunderland returning with only three engines, the fourth no longer possessing an airscrew or reduction gear. They had a habit of falling off, it was thought due to over boosting when trying to take off on calm water. Sometimes they travelled five miles before they got clear of the water.

• The Hot Pants worn by the French Lieutenant's Wife. People think that they were invented in the seventies - Not so.

Now for home and some surprises!

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Chapter 29

Home - September 1943

I arrived at Chatham Station in the dark with no idea of where the bungalow was. Luckily, a taxi appeared and I got home at last. The first surprise was to find out that my son John had, a few months before, been seriously ill with pneumonia. It was so serious in fact that, at one point, it had been touch and go. Fortunately he recovered but Betty must have had a terrible time nursing him. No mention of this was made in any of the letters to me, which was another example of Betty’s inner strength. There was a further surprise, the Morris 12, which I had last seen, broken down, at Fairwood Common, was in the "Corona" garage propped up on blocks. Betty had apparently got hold of Bert Parrish who had a temporary repair carried out, got it to Chatham and put it on blocks. I had long given it up as lost, as so many cars were, due to the constant movement of personnel. I had the engine completely overhauled in Chatham. The third surprise was a personal one. When Betty heard that I had reached Morecambe, she went out and bought some birth control tablets. Today this wouldn’t surprise anyone but it must have taken some courage in those days, and, bearing her religious background, was worthy of admiration. Thus, my homecoming and reunion were happy times.

"Corona" was a nice bungalow opposite the Shorts factory which was making Stirling bombers. A few days later I heard that my new posting was SM7 at Air Ministry. This dealt with the training of people in squadrons taking over new aircraft types. It also guided squadron personnel involved in procedures and organisation. I reported directly to a Squadron Leader whose first words to me were "Who is this fellow Jarboe who has been telephoning us to find out where you are?". Apparently Jarboe had been posted back to the USAF and was asking for me. The Squadron Leader knew that I was nominated for a commission, so I told him that was the first priority. I spent about two months at SM7, mostly dealing with Spitfires at Tangmere where I managed to find a furnished house to rent. Thus, I was able to live out with Betty and John. I also spent a couple of weeks instructing at another Station (I’ve forgotten where). Really I was just filling in time.

Just before Christmas, I was sent to Cosford to take a two to three week Commissioning course. All badges of rank were removed and we wore white hat bands. None of this was difficult for me and I duly passed out, more than a year overdue. Whilst at Cosford, I palled up with an ex Instrument Maker who was in fact, a bank clerk. He did very well as he was on full pay from the bank. He was commissioned in the Administration Branch. Time to be measured up for my new uniform and home once more on holiday, dressed as an AC2, no white hat band and with an Identity Card which said that I was a Flight Sergeant; talk about Fred Karno!

Whilst at Cosford, I was telephoned by Jarboe. I was not clear what he was offering other than a transfer to the USAF, but I turned it down. Life, I guessed would be a drinking spree. Perhaps I was wrong but I shall never know. Jarboe was something of a loose cannon but interesting and, in many ways, a decent enough chap, however I felt that I would be better off as my own man. During the holiday my new uniform arrived after a fitting and also my posting to Upper Heyford. This was a disappointment as I had hoped for somewhere in Fighter Command.

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Chapter 30

16 Operational Training Unit (OTU) - Upper Heyford

Situated near Oxford, this Station was for training new crews in the procedures connected with heavy bombers. The aircraft used were Wellingtons, twin engine aircraft designed by Barnes Wallis. After passing out, most of the new crews would go to a heavy bomber conversion unit to enable them to fly Halifaxes, Stirlings and Lancasters, however some would go to Wellington Squadrons.

From the maintenance point of view, there was one hangar used for 240 hour overhauls and another for 40 hour inspections. In charge was a Wing Commander with a Squadron Leader, who only had one eye and an over inflated ego, reporting to him. In turn there was a Flight Lieutenant and two Pilot/Flying Officers. I was put in charge of the 40-hour inspection hangar and the other was the Technical Adjutant. A representative from Vickers was also available for advice. Talk about overkill. Of course there were the usual flight personnel for daily inspections, receiving and despatching aircraft etc. On the first day there was a fatal crash involving the whole crew being killed. The Squadron Leader grabbed hold of me and took me to the site where the fire crews were dragging out unrecognisable bodies, all Canadians. I don’t know whether he thought that I would faint; if he did, then he was disappointed as I had seen it all before. The next day I took over my hangar. There were a Flight Sergeant, two Sergeants, several Corporals and a number of men and women. It looked chaotic and so it proved to be. I met everyone and studied the whole set up whilst trying to learn something about Wellingtons. One of the sergeants was most useful in this regard. I noticed that the WAAFs weren’t doing anything except fetching tea, sweeping up etc. I asked what trade they were and was surprised to find out that they were all Riggers and Engine Mechanics. The obvious question was, why weren’t they doing the job for which they had been trained? I was told that the Squadron Leader didn’t think that they were suitable for that type of work. The new Pilot Officer thought otherwise. I got everyone together and told them that there were going to be changes. I asked to meet the best corporal and put him in charge of a WAAF team of mechanics and told them that, in future, they would do the same work as the men and that everyone would do the fetching and tea making. A few days later, the Squadron Leader walked in and saw a Wellington on which my gang of WAAFs were busy carrying out a 40-hour inspection. He went berserk, so I suggested that we saw the Wing Commander. This we did and the Wing Commander said that he thought that it was a good idea which deflated the Squadron Leader completely. One other silly thing the Squadron Leader insisted on doing was personally inspecting the main spars of the aircraft. The reason for this was that, before they were modified, Wellingtons had a habit of losing a wing in flight resulting in some rather nasty crashes. New spars for later models were made from a different metal. The older aircraft were not allowed to be banked beyond a certain number of degrees and the spars were inspected with a magnifying glass between each flight. This was an important inspection and the Squadron Leader with only one eye was hardly the best person to carry out the inspection. When he did the inspection, I always got someone else to do it again. Fortunately he never found out! Another thing for which I got into trouble with him was when there were no aircraft on inspection which happened occasionally. I would send half the staff on a half day holiday leaving half on standby. This was normal procedure in Fighter Command where I had worked as a Flight Sergeant. A similar problem occurred when I was detailed to take charge of three armoured cars as part of the airfield defence system, when I also had to liaise with the Army Major responsible. Each car was manned with a crew of three and, in slack times, I used to disappear out into the countryside on armoured car exercises. The Major thought it wonderful but I’m afraid the Squadron Leader didn’t! Soon after, however, this particular Squadron Leader was posted and a replacement arrived. He was no better really, sarcastic and not very likeable (This man, in the thirties, was the replacement for Alan Cobham’s Observer who was shot in the air by tribesmen (Iraq) whilst Cobham was on his round the world trip). One of the duties was Duty Engineering Officer at night. There was nothing to do unless there was a crash and I only had one of those when an undercarriage gave way on landing. We only had a five-ton Coles Crane but somehow we managed to get the aircraft off the runway. The lads who did the job were brilliant so I opened the rum and everyone had a good ration. It was duly recorded in the book and was quite official.

We had a satellite station with the Flight Lieutenant in charge however at night, the Duty Engineer had to look in and check that all was well. To get there, I was given a motor cycle just for the day.

Upper Heyford was a peculiar Station with the Officer’s Mess split into two, Flight Lieutenants and above, and Flying Officers and below. It was a silly idea and didn’t lend itself to good relations between senior and junior officers. It was the only place where I came across this system. One day, the Station Adjutant, a WAAF, decided that I should do Orderly Officer duties for experience. The Flight Lieutenant, with whom I was friendly, stopped that. The same woman organised a religious discussion night which everyone, Officers, SNCOs and airmen, were obliged to attend; not a great success.

On the personal side, I was looking for somewhere for Betty, John and me to live but it wasn’t easy. In the end I went to a large house, near Steeple Aston, standing in two acres of land, all tilled as a garden. The lady who owned it was the widow of an ex Dean of Oxford University who was OK but a terrible snob. She let us have excellent rooms whilst a Sergeant, his wife and son were allotted to the servant’s quarters. We were expected to have a bath every day, which was great, but the Sergeant and his family were only allowed one per week. I believe that she had a daughter in a home for the mentally disturbed. Another example of her attitude towards the high and low was when John and the Sergeant’s son, both aged about three, got into the hay loft where they found lots of jam jars. These they took great pleasure in throwing out of the loft through the glass window. There was glass everywhere. In her eyes, John was to blame since he was the Officer’s son! When I left Upper Heyford, she asked me to find a replacement. Luckily I knew a chap called Moreland, one of the Wool family, and he was only too glad to find a place. She was happy too. I had previously volunteered for the RAF Commando Unit but the Wing Commander, who understood my problems, talked to the Group Captain at GHQ who was only too happy to put my name forward to help start up a new Station at Husbands Bosworth. Volunteers were requested from the men who volunteered en masse. Of course not all of them could be taken but a great number were.

Odd Memories of Upper Heyford

• Staying with Flight Lieutenant Caffyn and his wife and going to the pub in his pony and trap.

• Dancing during the same stay and doing the Polka with Mrs Caffyn and both ending up sprawled on the floor looking up into the eyes of the local Vicar.

• After the dance, going out to the Morris 12 and her peeing on one front wheel and me on the other.

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Chapter 31

Husbands Bosworth

I had only been at Upper Heyford for five months when the move to Husbands Bosworth came about. A fortnight later I was promoted to Flying Officer. Husbands Bosworth airfield was constructed on the estate of Lord Paget, who vacated his mansion, which became a school. The set up in some ways was the same ie. Wing Commander in charge, ex Navy, Squadron Leader, ex Apprentice, Flight Lieutenant, ex Apprentice and two Flying Officers. The other one was ex University and was the Technical Adjutant. I ran the flight’s workshop etc. and a Warrant Officer ran the Inspection Hangar. There was a much better spirit here however. As usual there were no Routine Orders so, from memory, I got things going concerning pre flight checks. I wrote them down and the Flight Sergeant saw that they were done.

One of the first problems to solve was to find somewhere to live. To do this I walked round the estate and asked all of Lord Paget’s ex staff if they had rooms. In the end the ex cook and ex butler duly obliged. They were nice people and had one son much older than John. The man worked on munitions so we didn’t see a lot of him. The Lodge had no convenience, the toilet being outside as was the water pump. Looking back I don’t know how Betty coped, but she did. I was able to show John around the base to see the Wellington aircraft, parachute room and Air Sea Rescue equipment. He wasn’t very old so couldn’t take it all in. The men made a lot of fuss of him and one of them made him a lovely model of a Thames fishing boat which he had for a long time. The Officer’s Mess was well run with no divisions so all ranks mixed well and got to like and respect each other. From time to time, Betty and John went back to Chatham for a break, which I could well understand. I stayed in the Lodge whilst they were away.

After about six weeks, I went to Hereford on a Safety Equipment Course for three weeks. Among other things I learned to pack parachutes of various types. I looked round Hereford and found that no accommodation was available. All the hotels had been taken over by Army, RAF or ATS. There were three Flying Officers on the course and I got friendly with one in particular. From then on, with no responsibility to worry about, we proceeded to make a holiday out of it, pubbing, dancing and Mess parties. The weather was lovely and Hereford Camp was covered in roses. Seemingly, in Hereford, there was no war although the place teemed with Service personnel. The atmosphere seemed unreal.

This was not my finest hour. I got friendly with a married girl at a dance and escorted her to her parent’s home which became open house to me. Her father was a Sea Captain. The problem lay in the possibility of becoming too friendly. She was really looking for a reason to separate from her Army husband. At the end it got farcical when she told me that the solution was for us to take ship with her father and go to Buenos Aires! When I got home to Betty, I found her upset because I had not sent her the usual number of letters and sensed that something was wrong. I told her the whole story and, bless her heart, she understood and took me in her arms. A telephone call ended that chapter in my life. The film "Brief Encounter" outlines the gist of the whole episode. Somehow, the experience strengthened our love; I think that we had weathered a storm together and come through stronger than ever. I suppose that, by today’s standards, it was all quite innocent.

Life went on and one evening Betty and I were invited to the Sergeant’s Mess to a dance. We had a smashing time and they made a great fuss of Betty. One chap in particular I remember. His name was Moon and he made up a drink for her called "Moon" Cocktail. Goodness knows what was in it but she got quite merry.

The Wing Commander suggested that I opened the Workshops in the evening for anyone to use for making toys etc., which is how I came to make a Pedal Engine for John. The Wing Commander asked who had made it because he thought it was jolly good. He was quite embarrassed when I said that I had. He wasn’t given to dealing out personal compliments. One day he took a couple of us to another OTU. The Wing Commander there was a chap called Robinson who was my first Flight Sergeant back in 1933 with 41 Squadron. He was the chap who I, as a brand new LAC, told how to get the oxygen bottle out of a Bulldog without taking the wireless out. They had been unnecessarily taking out radios for years.

Another day, the Squadron Leader took me to another unit to see how they did things saying that we would get lunch on the way. He was always talking about the posh meals he had on the trips so I thought that I would be onto a good thing. Not so, we stopped at a Transport Café and, while I had some sort of dinner, he had a cup of coffee. What a come down!

The other thing that I did was to create a vegetable garden outside the Nissen hut which served as my office. I grew lettuce and radishes etc. The Wing Commander quite liked my radishes. One final thing; I ordered a Flight Sergeant to take some men and bring a complete Nissen hut from somewhere across the airfield to the area where the other huts were. The thing was that I told him to move it in one piece! He put it on heavy duty skates and got it to within 50 yards of its destination before it bogged down. We finally got it into position - mad but ha