WWII Veterans' Stories

Harold (Mick) Stone

I note that Mr Stone was born 18th January 1919. This 80 year old is making an informative contribution to the events of WWII, particularly in respect to his activities in the Allies' Bomber Command. I thank him for this contribution.
Before posting his stories I want to show some of the photographs he so kindly loaned me for this purpose.
Harry Palmer

On first getting his "wings"

In 1998

Douglas Havoc Mk1 night fighter of 23 Squadron
operating in the intruder role from Ford, summer 1941

"How we kept awake waiting to be called for a trip"

The wedding with his first wife Mabs, at Debden church, whilst with 418 Squadron.

"Shows me looking for a threshold to carry my bride over."

2/508 Pine Ridge Road,
Coombabah. 4216.
Australia

20th November '98.

Dear Harry,

My name is Harold STONE and I was a founder Air Crew member of 418 Squadron when it was formed at Debden in December of 1941 having been transferred from No 23 Squadron with F/Lt Anderson and F/O Love with our crews. At that time I had 2 New Zealanders as my crew but on February 11 th 1942 I changed Observers to Sgt. Doug (Ollie) ALCORN (a Canadian) who stayed with me throughout the remainder of my tour doing 25 sorties together and I am the pilot mentioned in his citation on the Internet on page 21 of the RCAF Personnel - Honours and Awards - 1939-1949. This citation talks about how he assisted his pilot during the various operations but there is a much more interesting tale to be told about how he assisted his pilot.

It took until March 26th. for the Squadron to become operational when it was decided to do a mass raid on the Ghent oil wells in France to celebrate the occasion. By this time it was becoming obvious that my eyesight was deteriorating rather severely and I asked Doug and my Air Gunner ( Colin Forsyth) if they would like me to go sick and find themselves another pilot. They declined and thus survived the tour whilst so many other crews were not so fortunate. However, my eyesight got to such a state that I was unable to read the P6 Compass and the only thing I could see to set a course was the big O on the precessing Compass on the dash. Doug would talk me on to the required course and I would re-set the dash compass to O and adjust throughout the trip. But the time came when I could no longer see the runway lights on our return to base so my crew had to talk me on to the down wind leg. tell me when to turn in, drop the undercart, half flap and final turn in until I was able to see the approach funnels. Doug and Colin refused throughout to seek another pilot and so we managed to complete (my) tour safely. Sadly, Colin was lost on a subsequent tour but I lost touch with Doug.

You can imagine the affection I feel towards these two friends who supported me on so many hazardous missions such as the raid on the Phillips plant at Eindoven, the two 1000 bomber raids, the Dieppe trial invasion apart from the normal Intruder operations, train busting etc

After a rest, I was given a Flight at the experimental station at Defford but had to eventually go sick and have my eyes treated. After a course of eye exercises I was allowed to continue flying with corrected goggles and spectacles but was only allowed to become an Instructor. Later I was given Command of a Station at Perton and after 13 months transferred to Headquarters at Grantham as a PPC of I ( Permanent President Court of Inquiry ) investigating fatal accidents in the Group.

Regarding the tour of duty with 418, most people regard such as a terrifying experience ( which it was at times ) but there were many, many humorous and pleasurable times to enjoy and it was a great life if you were lucky enough to survive and I have great memories of those times. If you think they would be interested in seeing the above or hearing about other personal aspects of 418 wartime life, would you be so kind as to pass this on to the present staff of 418 wherever they may be. I am not able to receive Faxes or E-Mail but I would certainly like to hear from you if you fmd what I have described as interesting I wonder if it is possible to fmd out if Doug Alcorn is still with us and if so, where I could get in touch with him.

Your help would be greatly appreciated. Kindest regards and best wishes.
Sincerely,
Harold ( Mick ) STONE.

Mick Stone now has email capability and the following came to me on 16Dec98.

I'll start the ball rolling with an account of my experience on the second 1000 bomber raid on Cologne. Our primary task was to cross over to Holland about 20 mins. ahead of the grouping of the main force to get the German fighters up and lure them away from the main stream. As was the usual custom when on an Intruder sortie we flew over at around 150 ft. above sea level to avoid radar detection prior to approaching the coast, climbing to say 4000 ft. and then diving at speed through the flack belt. I had no sooner left the English coast when I was fired upon by a friendly warship and I was so low they had to fire DOWN on me as I went under their tracers. Pretty scary stuff !

After completing our task we stood off several miles away from the action to observe the results of the bombing and I cannot describe the scene as the whole city of Cologne was enveloped in flames. I then decided to return to England via France to avoid the returning bomber stream and after some time we saw what appeared to be a Lancaster falling out of the skies in flames. As we neared the area we could see the crew parachuting down, so we circled them to watch them land safely and then proceeded back to base at Bradwell Bay.

Many months later I had to attend a Junior Commanders Course in Scotland prior to being given a Station Command and the last thing the class had to do was to give a short talk to the rest of the class. A Squadron Leader told how he was shot down returning from the Cologne raid and had walked out through France and Spain. He told how as he was parachuting down he saw this aircraft circling the site followed round by the German fighter who had just shot him down. Needless to say, when we compared log books it was lucky old me who came very close to being history !

Here is the story received by Mick 25Dec98:

Since my last letter, I have decided to delay the story of Dieppe and instead will tell you about the raid on the Phillips Lamp Factory in Holland. Apparently the high ups decided that this was an urgent target and arranged for 418 to send 4 aircraft (Bostons ) to put it out of action.

We normally carried four 250 lb. but this time we were to carry 500 pounders. This meant that the fuel load had to be cut down and in order to reach the target and return to base we were to slow cruise there and back.

We were to take off at one minute intervals with yours truly in the lead. However as I taxied round the perimeter I ran over a glim lamp which had failed and burst a tyre, pulling off on the grass. It took 12 mins. to replace the wheel before I could resume. My concern then was that by the time I made landfall the flak belt would be well and truly on the ball having been alerted by the other planes ahead of me, so I decided to fly at normal cruise speed to try and catch up. But when I hit the coast I was able to cross over without a shot being fired and continued on into the Hook of Holland. After a short while I told my Observer that I thought we should be changing course to a Southerly direction but he assured me that we were dead on track. The reason I questioned our track was that I had flown over this area on other occassions and knew the lay-out of the permanent white beacons which ran North to South and probably intended to assist any returning aircraft which may be in trouble. The other revolving coloured beacons flashed a code which incidentally we were given before take-off.

Olly told me we were dead on track and not to worry. However, being the worrying kind I insisted and said I would circle the Island below ( in the estuary) until he sorted it out. After a little while he admitted that when he folded his map he had begun to follow a previous track line. I had to ask him to work out a new course while I worked out the fuel situation ( no computers in those days ! ).We finally arrived at the factory which we could easily identify in the full moonlight by the two canals alongside and the prominent chimney stacks etc. but there was no sign of any damage to the glass saw-toothed roof. I see from my log book that we bombed from 500 ft. and our hit was later confirmed by a long range photographic Hurricane.

We decided that the fuel situation was now so acute we needed to fly to base more or less in a direct course at slow cruising, climbing to approx. 4000 ft. as we approached the coast line prior to diving over. After some time, Olly told me that I should do my climbing bit and when I got to the required height I commenced my power dive without seeing any sign of the coast. This performance was repeated again and this time when I was down to 1000 ft. I felt I could not afford any further climbing and decided to continue at this height for the rest of the journey. Image our surprise AND horror when we found ourselves flying directly over Ostend ( the most heavily defended district on the coast )

The kitchen sink was the only thing missing from the barrage of Ack Ack which we endured for some 10 to 15 miles. The average person thinks that cannon shells come up in a straight line but this is not so. You can see from the tracers that they come up in what APPEARS to be a SLOW spiral but as they reach your height they shoot past at the rate of knots plus ! We had to literally jig around to avoid individual lines of tracers and managed to clear the area without being hit, landing at base with 35 gal. of fuel aboard.

It transpired that two of our team had not even crossed the coast - one with compass trouble and another making a poor landfall and deciding he had not enough fuel to complete the mission.

I am often asked about experiencing fear and trepidation whilst carrying out these operations and I can only admit to that at times this occurs even when on a normal flight, but there are two distinct kinds of fear !

One is due to a sudden happening ( heart in mouth type ) which subsides immediately on getting on with the job in hand. The other is a sustained uneasiness which continues throughout a prolonged emergency.

When I write again I will give you examples of incidents which gave rise to these two types not only whilst with 418..

The following report was received 31Dec98:

When I was at 9000 ft. at Yellowstone Park recently it occured to me that in my over 5 years with the Royal Air Force during the second world war I had only been higher than that on two occassions and in both cases the experiences were quite alarming to say the least.

The first episode was whilst I was at Church Fenton doing my O.T.U course. I should point out that at this time I had only 120 hrs. flying under my belt and the Blenheims we now flew were so teased out that if you had to wait for the runway to clear for take-off the ground crew had to put chocks under the wheels to allow us to rev the engines to prevent them from oiling up. I had 6 hrs. dual before going solo and that was all any instructor was prepared to fly in these bombs. Even the 2hrs. dual night flying check done was in an Oxford and single engined practice was also a solo effort !

So when it came to practicing use of oxygen I was told to fly as high as I could. I got to 21000ft. before the aircraft started to wallow and lose height every time I tried to gain extra altitude. To return to base I had to descend through a solid layer of cloud during which I lost the starboard engine and some instruments iced up. I broke cloud at approx. 2000 ft. but was able to maintain height until I was in sight of base. Unfortunately before I was able to re-join the circuit the port engine also decided enough was enough and gave up the struggle.I called to clear the drome for an emergency landing and was just able to reach the main runway but just as I was about to touch down another aircraft took off across my bows and I had to leap frog over it and land with a rather sickening thud. Believe it or not, when I reported in I was given a rocket for landing on the wrong runway. This then is an example of a prolonged state of anxiety.

Despite the above - the CO - W/C ( Batchy ) Atcherley of pre-war Snieder Cup fame was kind enough to assess me as " A good type of N.C.O pilot with enthusiasm and ability ".

An example of a "heart in mouth" situation happened during an intruder sortie over France. Flying at something like 2 to 3 thousand feet the aircraft was suddenly enveloped in 6 in. long blue sparks from the wing leading edges, props etc.. The whole plane was aglow and I remember taking my feet off the rudder pedals and holding the control column with two fingers thinking I was about to be zapped ! I understand that this phenomenon was known as " St. Helliers Flame ".

However worse was to come - One minute I was flying South at a low altitude and within a matter of what seemed to be two to three seconds I was tossed out of cloud at 18000 ft. in clear air facing North. There was no particular feeling of turbulance - we just did'nt know what was happening. Having no oxygen we got back down smartly and continued with the mission wondering all the time if we had to go through the same experience on the way home but we had no further trouble.

On another intruder sortie we were flying South through France at about 800 ft. when we came upon a series of red lights approaching us from ahead at about our height. There seemed to be about eight of them and as I banked to avoid their path they changed formation. Not knowing what they could be we were pretty concerned until we passed by only to find that they were the obstruction lights on the Eifell Tower in Paris ! A slight navigation error on our part !

For many years after the war I had frequent bad dreams relating to an incident which happened during the train busting phase of 418 operations. I will deal with this in my next report.

The following report was received 31Dec98:

By the end of October 1942 there was little enemy air activity occuring to justify intruder sorties so for most of November we carried out " Nickel " raids - leaflet dropping. On December 1st. we received the first of our Intruder Mark Twos. The bomb bay was replaced by a tray of 4 cannon. This altered the feel of the aircraft especially on landing so I had the two outer machine guns taken off from their nacell and fairing pieces fitted. Also removed the heavy armour plate between the pilot and the observer. A great improvement.

This started the attacking of trains which seemed to be a simple operation. It has to be realized that the only part of a train you could see at night was the firebox. You must also remember that there was no-one on the Squadron who knew anything about such an activity so it was left to each crew to work out how to go about it. So on our first sighting of a train I climbed to around 4000 ft. and approached the train from the rear until I could see the firebox and then attacked in a dive, opening fire with the cannons as soon as I could get a bead on the target. Can you imagine the noise of four cannons, the vibration, the cordite smell and the feeling of the engines going full tap ? Immediately a problem cropped up.

You could not adjust your aim until the first tracers started to hit home which seemed to take ages and left little time for adjustment . You are not looking at any instruments and don't realize how much height you are losing. When I finally decided to break off , pass over the train and climb away you can understand my horror in finding that I was actually flying among trees. I had not taken into account how an aircraft squashes down on changing from a dive to a climb. I must have been impressed by this incident as it formed the basis for many recurring bad dreams for some years after the war.

In subsequent train busting activities I had my Observer start yelling out each thousand feet of height from 1500 ft. and when we came down to 1000 ft. to yell thousand, thousand, thousand at the top of his voice. When I heard this I would break off and climb away giving my rear gunner a great view to assess any damage. I understand that the Germans eventually mounted a machine gun on a flat waggon to retaliate but I was never fired upon myself.

I am sure in my mind that we lost crews from the same problem. For practice in daylight we would drop a purple marker in the sea for firing practice and I have actually watched a pilot do this and go straight in without making any attempt to pull up.

Another survival tecnique I adopted was in regard to my crew warning of an emergency. In early days I would hear one of them calling -"look out Mick ". I would reply - " what - where ? " By the time this was sorted out we were in strife ! So I told them I only wanted to hear one of four things . UP RIGHT - UP LEFT - DOWN RIGHT or DOWN LEFT and I did'nt want to hear up right or up left ! On hearing a call I would push the stick fully forward, hard aileron and open the throtlle changing my height, speed and direction in an instant.

Some of you may be somewhat puzzled at what we doing flitting around enemy territory on our own without briefing so I will explain how an intruder squadron differed from a normal operation next time I am with you.

The following story was received 6Jan99:

I'll try and explain how an Intruder squadron differed from a normal bomber or fighter squadron. A squadron consisted of two flights of 10 crews plus the CO. Each flight stood by 2 nights on - 2 nights off throughout. All members of the group going on duty that night would carry out an NFT ( night flight test ) of their aircraft that afternoon and report to the flight hut half an hour before dusk. This arrangement caused a problem with getting adequate rest as the two flights were billeted in the same quarters and so the ones trying to sleep in the daytime were constantly being disturbed by the others tramping in and out all day. I blame this for accentuating my eyesight problem.

The crews on duty were listed on a notice board . Some time during the night the Command people would receive a blip to indicate that there was some action somewhere and would ring through to despatch an aircraft to attempt to close down that airfield. The crew on top of the list then stopped playing poker etc. and while they were being taken out to their aircraft, the observer would work out his required course. The best time I was able to achieve from the phone call to take-off was 12 mins.. If this crew managed to return safely, they were put to the bottom of the list and the only time this arrangement was not carried out was if the exercise that night was to be a multiple raid on a specific target or the weather conditions or something was considered to be hazardous for the limited experience of the crew at the top of the list.

It was rarely that more than say two sorties would be made on any one night so it could take some time before a crew at the bottom of the list reached the top. For instance, a random peep at my log book shows that I did a trip on a June 1st. and the next on the 21st. and it took me 12 months with 418 squadron to complete the 27 sorties I flew with them and ,if my memory is correct, in that time I survived all the original contingent plus 13 replacements. Obviously there were many, many nights when the squadron had no calls for it's service at all.

There was no briefing and no advice as to how to go about the exercise so in the early days we climbed to around 7 to 8 thousand feet and and patrolled the down wind area of the target airfield. This soon turned out to be a farce because if the Germans decided to allow an aircraft to land or take off they had stacks of time to light up the runway, complete their task, long before we could get down to do any damage. In future trips we did fiqure of eights for around 45 mins. at under 1000 ft.. This seemed to annoy our friends so they started to light up the runway and pull a plywood structure fitted with navigation lights round the perimeter track and down the runway thinking we would be stupid enough to think they would do this knowing that we were there. The idea was to entice us to fly over their field when their rule was that anyone ( friend or foe ) doing so would be shot down. On odd times they would actually have a plane take off with nav. lights on hoping that we would take the bait and as soon as their plane cleared the runway they would douse their nav. lights hoping that we would be in full chase too late to peel off before crossing the boundary. anyone ( friend or foe ) doing so would be shot down. On odd times they would actually have a plane take off with nav. lights on hoping that we would take the bait and as soon as their plane cleared the runway they would douse their nav. lights hoping that we would be in full chase too late to peel off before crossing the boundary.

Another ploy they adopted was to have a dummy airfiled nearby with the plywood planes etc. hoping that we would waste our bombs on this. I have no doubt that we lost crews falling for these plots. However, it did not always work for them as they wished. I was sent to Schiphol ( Amsterdam airport ) one night only to find the dummy airfield well alight. I had been there previously so knew the layout and position of the main airfield. After flying around for a little while I noticed that although We were flying in clear air both the dummy AND the main airport were experiencing rain slanting down from the East and I guessed that they thought we were also in poor flying conditions. So I did a naughty thing and flashed my nav. lights on and off. After a few moments the dummy lights were switched off and a marker searchlight beam indicated the main airfield which lit up like a Christmas tree. We approached the main runway with undercart down as if to land and as we crossed the boundary, swung left and bombed the main buildings from around 300ft..

In my next report I will tell you how crews were lost even before becoming operational from circumstances which on at least two occasions came very close to bringing my operational career to an untimely end.

The following story was received 12Jan99:

I think it may put things into perspective if I point out that at the time of joining my first operational Squadron ( N0. 23 at Ford), I had 203 hrs.5 mins. flying under my belt of which only 4 hrs. were dual night flying and 31hrs.95mins was solo night flying. Prior to leaving OTU a call was made for volunteers for two crews to go onto Intruder operations. Not knowing anything about what this entailed, I was one of the two volunteers posted to Ford together with another crew who was to join another Squadron based there. My memory does not extend to remembering the names of the other crews so I will refer to them as crew A ( my fellow 23 member) and crew B the other. My Canadian rear gunner ( Sgt. Louis Nault ) went with me and I was allocated a New Zealand observer ( Sgt Frank Hogg ).

Imagine our surprise and, I must say, consternation to find that the planes we were to fly on night operations were Havocs which had been intended for France but arrived too late for any action there. The instruments and instruction manuals were in French ! The engineers told us that, if the instrument needles pointed to quarter past the hour everything should be performing OK. If not, we should try and determine what the faulty instrument was from it's appearance. Naturally, no dual was available or possible. The bank of some thirty switches on a panel had illuminated tips to show their position at night but this was of little consequence as we had no idea what they were for.

Within a few days, the B crew was seen to come out of cloud over the channel and go straight in. No one had any idea what had gone wrong.

After having 11 hrs. daytime practice flying Crew A and ourselves had our first shot at night flying. Crew A took off ahead of us and as it climbed to about 300ft. it plunged to earth exploding in a fireball. We were already on our way down the runway and took off over the crash site flying for 1hr. 5 mins before returning to base.

Five nights later we had a further stab at night flying only to find that as we climbed away, at around 3 to 4 hundred feet, all the instruments went haywire, the port wing dropped sharply and we were on our way down ! Full rudder failed to pick up the wing so I reached for the throttles only to find that the port throttle had crept back. I was able to correct the situation by re-applying full throttle and not feeling too good terminated the session after 40 minutes. On landing we discovered that this American made plane did not have a friction nut to secure the throttles whilst at full throttle as had all the English planes we had flown previously. Thereafter I made sure that I had my hand on the throttles until we reached normal climbing speed and able to throttle back. There is no doubt in my mind that this problem was the cause of Crew A's crash.

Two nights later I had another go at night flying, carrying out practice homings from around 50 miles North . On about the third exercise, I lost radio contact and decided that I would fly on South until I saw the coast and then try to find the airfield. When the coast finally appeared, it did'nt look right somehow - the water was on the wrong side ! It was the French coast !! When I eventually found base and landed ,my Flight Commander said that if I was so eager to get to the other side, my next trip could be my first operational one. And so, 3 nights later I did my first Intruder operation on Caens.

On another occasion, I came in to land around 4 a.m. on our dew soaked grass field. The idea was that after touching down on the main undercarriage, the nose wheel would come down as the speed washed off enabling the brakes to be applied. However, on this landing, our brakes failed to operate. What to do? We were too far down the strip to attempt taking off again, and the propect of retracting the undercart would not be too healthy for the Observer sitting in his plastic cocoon. Within a split second I reached down in the dark, put my hand straight onto a lever and started pumping. The brakes came on and we were able to pull up normally. How could this happen ? Any emergency lever on any planes I had previously flown had at best only operated the undercart or flaps and no one on the Squadron including the ground staff even knew of this lever's existence at the time, never mind that it also operated the brakes.

After completing 7 operations with 23 Squardon, we were posted to Debden to help form 418 Squadron with Havoc IIs thank goodness but within 3 months we got our first delivery of Boston IIIs.

In my next report I will tell you of how sheer stupidity nearly caused an end to my flying career.

The following story was received 17Jan99.

Before I deal with to-day's subject I would refer you back to the previous page. I omitted to tell you what happened to Crew B on their last night exercise at Church Fenton prior to being posted on operations. The Blenheim they were flying lost an engine - literally - it fell off. The crew managed to bail out and land safely, but as you saw, their luck only lasted a matter of another month.

I would like to make it quite clear that the Squadrons I flew with were in no way responsible for the incidents I am about to describe. Orders came from somewhere higher up. I have often wondered who actually made the decisions which determined when and where an operation should take place.

On looking at my log book I find that on 7 of my trips there was no sign of aerial activity at the target area,mostly due to weather conditions.

Example 1. 28th. Nov.'42. Intruder on Melun and Bretigny. No aerial activity. 10/10 Mist over target area.

Example 2. 2nd. Dec.'42 Intruder on Evreux. Much fog. No aerial activity.

But the worst case for me took place on the night of the 22nd. Dec. '42.

We had completed our tour of duty on the previous day and were all packed up ready to go on leave. My aircraft ( G-George ) had been allocated to another pilot, and it was not my old flights night on duty so I had'nt carried out an NFT (Night Flight Test ). After dinner we had made our way to the local pub to celebrate our good fortune in surviving to rest. I should point out that I was a non-drinker, but to keep everyone happy I used to carry a beer bottle around and pretent to be drinking.

Around midnight I was called to the 'phone and told to return to base and do a trip. I argued that my crew had been drinking, but it appeared that the weather was pretty grim and the most senior pilot on duty had only limited experience. I suggested that I would ask my crew what they thought and would only carry out the operation if they said OK. Having agreed to go, we piled onto our motor-cycle ( 3 up ) and returned to base only to find to our amazement that the operation was " shipping reco. from Calais to Le Havre ".

Of course they were not to know the perilous state of my eyesight at that time, but the other fact is that if I had managed to spot a ship in the dark, I would'nt have a clue as to whether it was a German Aircraft Carrier or a local Ferry ! I always thought that we had a Coastal Command section of the Airforce to attend to these activities.

But the most pressing problem was to be able to take off safely in the fog in an aircraft I had not flown before. Taxying out to the runway, I had to stop 3 or 4 times to raise the canopy to lean over to wipe the screen with my glove. The only way I could see to take off was to lower my goggles and peer out of the quarter light until I was airborne and able to fly on instruments.

Anyone who has flown in England would know that the coastal fog rolls in from the sea, so if a coastal airbase is closed in, you can bet your bottom dollar that it would be no clearer over the water.

I see that the trip took exactly 2 hrs. so we were probably flying blind for something like one and a quarter hours without seeing land or sea and in the process getting completely lost. Therefore the only way to find base was to break radio silence and request a QDM ( Course to steer to reach base ) and after some argument they gave me courses to direct me round the greater London balloon barrage to Wheaton Aston.

As you will recall, by this time of my career I could'nt see the aerodrome at the best of times, but on this occasion, neither could my crew so we had no alternative than to call for " candles ". This causes a series of searchlights to be lit canopying the airfield. What a joke ! In the fog they were pale yellow beams not even strong enough to complete the apex. The only way for me to find the runway was to fly underneath these lights with my crew counting the number of gaps I had to fly around to effect a landing.

You can imagine I was not too impressed by our crew and plane being put at risk for such a negative project.

I have detailed most of the major happenings during my service and left out isolated incidents which happened frequently, such as :

Having the Port elevator shot off over Holland, causing difficulty in maintaining height and making a clean landing.

Being peppered by machine gun fire coming into land over the Thames estuary.

Having the front oleo collapse on landing with a full bomb load aboard. etc..

I make no claim to have been a better pilot than any of the others, so was I just lucky to experience so many incidents and manage to survive them ? Next week I will tell you how it seemed that someone up top was directing my course which turned out to be so unusual.

The following story was received 26Jan99

Having previously given you an account of the main incidents which I experienced during my operational flying, I would now like to tell you how it seemed that my whole unusual wartime career was being determined by happenings outside my control.

To start with, it was quite by chance that I came to be a pilot in the first place. In June of 1939, the British Government decreed that all males of 20 yrs. of age should register for 6 months military training. We had to attend the nearest Labour Exchange and fill in the obligatory form which gave one the option of selecting the service they preferred. ie. Army, Navy or Airforce.

Without exception, every one of my friends choose the Army not anticipating any active service. However, being somewhat optimistic, I chose Airforce and put in brackets - ( Pilot ). When war did break out on September the 3rd. ALL my friends were called up, sent to France and perished, leaving me calling at the Labour Exchange every day complaining bitterly that the war would be finished before I became involved ! It was some weeks before I received the call to arms in the form of a rail warrant to go to Padgate for selection.

When I arrived, I found myself in a detail of around 40 , consisting of the absolute cream of British society. Everyone was either ex Private School, Oxford or Cambridge University etc. with myself the odd man out with a modest High School education and speaking with a very broad Yorkshire townie accent. It really was a case of coming from the wrong side of the tracks and this had an effect on my career for a period of some two years.

On the first full day, we had to attend a selection panel to determine if we were suitable as a pilot, other aircrew or not acceptable as either, there being a severe shortage of aircraft available for training.

It was roughly 4.0 p.m. before I was called in to be questioned about my activities, hobbies etc.. The panel seemed to be quite interested when I told them my hobbies were photography and motorcycling. They wanted to know what sort of bike I rode, what was the fastest I had ridden etc.. In the end the head person asked me if I would like to have a go at becoming a pilot, and when I said I would, he said "well we'll give you a chance ". Imagine my surprise when I returned to our hut to find that I was one of only two chosen ,but my surprise was not in the same street as the surprise shown by my fellow applicants. They just could'nt believe it ! I guess that the panel had my school record showing a Matriculation with distinction in all three mathematical subjects, working at a Chartered Accountant's office and studying Accountancy and Advanced Arithmetic at Night School and they probably considered that plotting a course would not be too much trouble for me. The next day I passed the medical with flying colours despite having very obvious flat feet.

The next step was to attend Kings College at Cambridge for a 3 week induction course to learn Navigation, Meteorology, Morse Code with Aldis Lamp etc.. But - it also included squad drill ( Square Bashing ) and this set off an impacted wisdom tooth which put me in Hospital for 3 days ( blowing in a paper bag to get rid of the Ether ). Meantime, the exams were held and the top 8 or 10 pupils were sent to Rhodesia for Initial Flying Training while the remainder were posted to Western -s-Mare. My recollection is that the ones posted overseas experienced some problem which prevented them from completing their course successfully.

I was allowed to sit an exam on my own, but having missed the Met. lectures and Aldis lamp sessions I failed those subjects, but my overall marks were sufficient to allow me to join the also rans at Western- s-Mare.

We were taught on Tiger Moths and I have never forgotten the tremendous thrill of my first night flying in an open cockpit. We had to go to a nearby field before dusk, chase the sheep away and light 6 parafin flares as runway lights. Absolute magic !

However, I did take a fairly long time to go solo. ( 12.15 hrs.) My first instructor was an ex peace- time Sgt. from India who told me to hold off on landing until I could see the individual blades of grass. I just could'nt understand what he was talking about. The second instructor saw my problem immediately and in 35mins. had me landing OK.

One afternoon, I was in a Milk Bar with a fellow pupil when I remarked how stupid it was to place a notice on the mirror behind the bar where no-one could read it. He said, "what do you mean " and proceeded to read the notice word for word about a lost dog. That was the first indication to me that my eyesight was not as it should be and explained how it was that I was unable to distinguish individual blades of grass. It was puzzling to me how I had managed to pass a strict medical examination so few weeks previously.

My next posting was on October the 28th. 1940 to Kidligton S.F.T.S. flying Oxfords and as this period was somewhat uneventful I will continue with my stint at 54 O.T.U Church Fenton (which commenced on April 5th. 1941) the next time I write.

The following story was received February 5, 1999:

As I mentioned previously, the Blenheim aircraft we were now to fly were in such poor condition the instructors were reluctant to spend any great amount of time in dual flying. I had less than 6 hrs. dual ( All just circuits and landings ) before being on my own for the rest of the course apart from a 25 min. dual night flight in, believe it or not, a Tiger Moth ! This was on the 23rd. April. I then did a 1hr. 20 min. solo that night and a further 3.30 hr. night solo on the next night, still with a Tiger. The next dual night flight was on the 26th. May for 2 hrs. but this time we had progressed to an Oxford. That was the end of the dual night flying. On June the 1st. I was sent on my first night flight on a Blenheim , conspicuous by the absence of an instructor, but with Sgt. Nault ( a Canadian ) who was to become my Air Gunner for my early operational flying.

The Station Commander was Wing Commander Atcherley who was quite a character. He was one of the famous Atcherley twins who used to take part in the prewar Sneider trophy races. When we experienced a raid alert, we would be called back to base and our intrepid Commander would take off in his private (?) Hurricane trailing a light to try to get a raider to take a pot shot at him. I cannot vouch for this, but it seemed to be common knowledge that he held the record for the number of times he had been switched from a Group Captain to a Wing Commander. We all had a great affection for him as our Boss.

Church Fenton was only 18 miles from my home town of Leeds so I was able to sneak home on my motorbike for a few hours occasionally, and when I was doing a Vector Homing exercise one night I could see a large fire burning at Leeds, so I extended a reciprocal heading to have a look, finding that it was my local Cinema going up in smoke. It was years later that I found out that I was treated as an unidentified aircraft and set off an alert and sirens . Incidentally, I should tell you that it was 11 months from joining before I had an official day off.

A somewhat disturbing incident ( for me ) occurred on my last night flight. Up to that time, after landing we would taxi to the end of the runway, turn round the totem pole before stopping and radio "clear of runway". I did this on this flight only to find my engines cut out and when I got out of the plane I found myself in a ploughed field. The previous day they had shifted the totem poles to the other side of the perimeter track but had not made any mention of this in DRO's or the flight authorization book. This didn't stop them from deciding that the accident was due to MY carelessness. However, I see that there is a stricker in my log book at a later date informing pilots of their wrong impression regarding the siting of runway lights.

And so, on the 24th.June 1941 I was posted to 23 Squadron at Ford and it was here that I first experienced the feeling that I was looked upon as being socially inferior.

23 Squadron was an old Squadron first formed on September 1st. 1915 - disbanded in March 1919 - reformed on July 1st.1925. One of it's most famous pilots was Douglas Bader of Tin Legs fame.

At the beginning of WW2 it began Intruder operations using Blenheims and then in March of 1941 received the first shipment of Havocs. At this time it was still a grass airfield.

Most of the pilots had been with the Squadron for many years in peace-time and it was something of a blow to them to start receiving conscripts from other than the upper classes. I was treated politely but there was this atmosphere. There was only one occasion when this surfaced whilst with this Squadron. I was having a conversation with a P/O Williamson when he objected to a remark I made by drawing himself up to his full 5ft. 10ins. and asked me to understand that "he was an officer and couldn't be talked to like that". We had been through training together over the previous 10 months so I will leave it to your imagination to guess what I told him he could do with his officer ship !

It was not all doom and gloom though. I spent a lot of time in the gym and made friends with many non-aircrew and also became very friendly with the members of the station dance band. It's members were all from the big prewar bands and were top rate musicians. The band was called - "The Ford Quintette ".

The Duke of Norfolk lived in an estate nearby called Arundel Castle and he allowed us to use his ballroom for station dances. Very opulent.

I did 7 intruder operations whilst with 23. I also attended a Lorenz Course at No 1 Blind Approach School at Watchfield, flying Ansons and Oxfords.

My Air Gunner ( Sgt,. Nault ) departed to be replaced on September 15th. by Colin Forsythe who stayed with me to my rest. He was a New Zealander and one of the most superb type of person you could ever know. I had the pleasure of being with him at Buckingham Palace when he received his DFM for services prior to joining me. He received a DFC for his services with me at 23 and later with 418. I was devastated to learn that on his next Squadron he was shot down and killed. I owed him so much for his cheerful support and friendship despite my eyesight problems.

My New Zealand Observer ( Sgt. Hogg ) who came to me when I joined 23 had also had previous experience but when I was transferred to 418 he went on rest and was replaced by Canadian Sgt. Alcorn.

In December 1941 my Flight Commander ( S/Ldr. Anderson ), Flt/Lt. Love , myself and our crews were seconded to assist in forming the new Canadian Squadron 418 at Debden. I will deal with this period in detail when next I write.

The following report was received 15Feb99:

I joined 418 Squadron on the 15th. December 1941 and apart from S/Ldr. Anderson and F/O Love who came with me from 23 Squadron all the pilots and crews were new to Sqadron flying. The Observers were mainly from Canada. This meant that from the 15th. December to March 26th. 1942 I virtually did no flying other than taking pairs of Observers for practice cross country map reading exercises. Coming from the clear , illuminated skies of Canada to the poor English visibility they had considerable difficulty in keeping track of their whereabouts. I had no map to follow and merely obeyed their instructions and when the visibility got down to less than 3 miles in late afternoon we many times encountered problems. On one occassion, we were so lost, I decided to land at an aerodrome we could see nearby, with the idea that I would ask for fuel while the Observers would go into the tower to see from the D.R.Os where we were. Before I could re-fuel, they had discovered that we were only 20 miles from base so we took off in a hurry only to get lost again. Luckily, I came across a railway line which came in and out of two tunnels within a short distance and as I knew how this was situated in regard to our aerodrome I was able to land OK.

In this period, I flew only 11.35 hrs. on Havoc 111's, ( These had English instruments ), and 7.20 hrs. on the Boston 111's which we received on March the 3rd.. The rest of my flying was on Oxfords, Dominies and Magisters.

On March 26th. the Squadron did a nursery trip, involving all crews, as a bombing operation on the Ghent Oil Works ,each dropping 3 x 250lb. and 60x4 lb. bombs from 4000 ft..

My term with 418 was a mixture of emotions. There was excitement, a lot of fun and pleasure, but also a lot of sadness. The latter was to see so many fine young men fail to return, many from their very early trips.

As I came to survive so many of the original crews, including the two who came with me from 23, there was no-one with experience left to help the newcomers, so I was sent to the Alison engine assembly plant to learn about "Engine Handling and Fuel Economy " so I could acquaint the newcomers of these aspects of the planes they were about to fly.

I was also given the task of briefing the new crews for their initial nursery operation. I told them to restrict their activity to crossing through the flack belt, have a look around and come out, again through the flack belt. On one occassion, my Airgunner was standing in the doorway as the crew came out and overheard the pilot say to his crew - "Like Hell - I'm not going over there without having a go at something ". He failed to return !

I have dealt with a lot of the excitement in earlier reports, but there was also a lot of fun things happening such as when in December of 1942, a Spitfire Officer on one of the two fighter squadrons stationed at Debden said he knew where he could get Turkeys some place in Ireland. The whole Squadron took off and came back loaded with the gobblers. As I had my own plane which was only on call every odd two nights and then did'nt fly sometimes for weeks on end, I needed to keep in touch as well as keep the aircraft in use. Rather than just tool around the local vicinity, we would go to various places of interest. For example, we would fly to Church Fenton where I knew how we could get a bar of chocolate , a cup of char (tea), and a Wad (sticky bun) at the NAAFI canteen which came twice a day to the main gate. Or fly to visit the Donnington Brewery owned by one of the pilot's family. This was a fabulous place with a water wheel, swans on the lake, and 400 acres of malt etc., and 17 pubs. The power supply was via the water wheel charging huge glass acid cells. When I re-visited the estate 35 yrs. after the war, they had modernised and had mains power and a small mechanical bottling plant.

The most pleasurable event of this period was my marrige on the 10th. April 1942 to Mabs .Fuller who at the time was the W.A.A.F. Disciplinary Officer on the station. She was allowed to wear a white wedding dress to our marriage in the local Debden Church. Many of the station personnel attended and the reception was held in the Sergeant's mess. We were allowed a single night's absence, so stayed in a hotel in Cambridge for the night. The next morning, Mabs and I had the pleasure (?) of having my crew sitting on the bottom of the bed chewing the fat ! We did manage to have a 'proper' week's honeymoon later on at Bideford in Devon.

A further small pleasure was in having a New Zealander in my crew. He would get frequent parcels from New Zealand containing a cake, chocolate, makings for his roll-your-own cigarettes etc.. As he was only interested in the tobacco he would pass the other items to me. I should tell you here that my pay prior to becoming an Officer, only allowed me to purchase a small bar of chocolate and a glass of milk per day.

When we were both commissioned, with equal rank, he received twice my pay in hand and this was matched by a similar amount retained in New Zealand pending his return. This meant that when we went up to London for a night on the town, my crew would stay at the Strand Pallace Hotel whilst I bedded down in the Officer's Hostel, meeting them after dinner at the Palais de Dance as their guest.

It was during this period that I became aware of the animosity of my friends from 23. In one incident, the front oleo scarf ring fractured on landing allowing the front wheel assembly to collapse. I had a bomb load aboard so could'nt risk applying the brakes and the plane ran to a stop with the nose on the ground. Nothing was said to me about the incident, but Love told the Commanding Officer that I had made a hard landing. In the first place, he was not able to see the landing from where he was, and secondly, my crew could have told him that I had an ability to feather the aircraft onto the ground without them knowing we were down and that it was no different on this occassion. How you can damage the front oleo with a bad landing beats me, as you have to wait for the speed to wash off before the nose wheel comes down.

Soon after joining 418 I put in an application to be commissioned. The flight commander had to authorise this but S/Ldr Anderson kept it in his In-tray. Every morning I would take it out and place it on his blotter and every day it was returned to the In-tray unsigned. Nothing was said. It took until March before Anderson failed to return from a sortie before his replacement , S/Ldr. Brown came on the scene and immediately signed the application and passed it through. When my commission was granted, it was back dated 5 months and so I jumped from being a Flight Sergeant one day to being a Flying Officer the next.

In late April 1942, the Squadron was moved to Bradwell Bay, a new airfield on the East Coast. Things were pretty primitive for a while but it soon developed into quite a good station. By this time the flying personnel had become more cosmopolitan and I started to feel more comfortable and accepted. I was able to fly over to Debden occassionally to have tea with Mabs and usually took a Magister or Cygnet giving flying lessons to my Airgunner on the way.

An incident which caused considerable amusement on camp was when I motored into Chelmsford one afternoon. I had bought an MG Sports car for ten pounds to assist an aircrew member to settle a gambling debt. On my way back to base, I gave a lift to a lady laden down with shopping parcels. It was a winding country road and as I made to follow a bend to the right, the steering sheered and the car went off the road, though a post and rail fence finishing up rearing up an apple tree. The farmer came on the scene and was only interested in the damage to his fence. He told me it would cost ' twenty quid ' to mend so I gave him the money and told him he could keep the car. The lady and I caught a bus for the rest of the journey.

It was during this time that we were scheduled to take part in a large operation which we knew nothing about. I cannot remember how many crews took part but I know that there was at least our Flight Commander , myself and at least one other. We flew to Ford and on arrival were astounded at the huge complement of aircraft of all shapes and sizes parked all over the field. We carried out an NFT ( Night Flight Test ) but were not required to fly that night although other aircraft were coming and going continuously. At no stage were we told what was going on, but later in the afternoon were told to return to base. I set off but had to return almost immediately as I experienced dry icing as I climbed up. I did another NFT next day, but again was not required to fly that night and returned to base next day still not having a clue as to what it was all about.

After being back at base for some time, it became apparent that one of our aircraft was missing. The pilot was called McGillicuddy. After a few days, as no information came to light, his belongings were 'dispersed' only to have him turn up out of the blue minus his aircraft. It appears that when he did his NFT, instead of landing, he flew up and down the coast having a look at the action only to be shot down into the sea by a German fighter. He was injured but his Canadian Airgunner managed to swim with him to land and they were taken to a local hospital.

It was only after the war had ended that we learned of the terrible cost to the Canadian forces of this trial raid on Dieppe.

I completed my last sortie with 418 on the 22nd. December 1942 and after a leave, joined an experimental station at Defford on January 23rd. 1943 as a Flight Commander with an odd selection of aircraft. More about this stage of my career when I next write.

The following report was received 22Feb99

I joined T.F.U. Defford on the 23rd. Jan. 1943 little realising that my career as a pilot was about to be turned upside down. Defford was a station assisting the experimental division situated nearby on the top of a sheer cliff at Malvern. Our mission was to carry out various exercises to enable the scientists to calibrate their experiments,such as developing the Radio Altimeter. I was given command of a flight which had a varied collection of aircraft such as :- Havoc 11's, Blenheims, Hurricane 1's, Oxfords, and a Martinet 1.

The Officer's Mess was a real eye opener for me. There were all these scientists in civvy clothes, with leather patches on the elbows of their sports jackets, gathered round the central fireplace, smoking pipes and , although they were speaking in English it was like a foreign language to us. Rather like as if I was attending a Computer Convention now and trying to understand what all the 10 and 11 yr. olds were taking about. The other notable thing was the lack of hair on top and this gave rise to them being referred to rather unkindly as ' Egg Heads' or 'Boffins".

On the 23rd. I did a short flight in a Havoc as local familiarisation and on the 26th. had my first flight in a Hurricane. I had not previously flown a high powered , single in-line engined aircraft with a tail wheel , so everything was new to me. A ground staff member gave me a short run-down on the cockpit layout, cruising speed and revs., approach and landing speed etc.. I assumed that the aircraft had been prepared for take off, but as I powered down the runway and looked down to see if I had reached the desired airspeed to lift off, I saw that the airspeed instrument was registering zero ! I had no option but to continue with the flight and after flying around for about 45 mins. landed by flying the plane onto the runway .

My next flight in an Oxford on the 27th. was my first experimental exercise, but I felt so ill during this flight that as I came in to land , there being another aircraft already on his final approach, I set down on the grass off the runway. I reported sick and was sent to London to see Air Commodore Livingstone, the top RAF eye specialist. During the period from the 17th. January to the 19th. March, I was back and forth to London without flying and was eventually given spectacles to wear and corrected flying goggles.

I managed to continue more or less as normal until mid May with some difficulty as the new glasses had the effect of creating nausea if I had to do exercises such as flying in a 2000 yd. circle at 3000 ft. for over 2 hrs. being buffeted by the Katabatic winds off the Malvern cliffs. So it was back to London where they tried to insist that I give up flying. I said that there must be some type of flying I could still do, so I was given the choice of ferrying planes to the Middle East or becoming an instructor. I couldn't think of anything more boring than flying planes to Gibraltar etc., so I opted to become an instructor and was posted to No.42 (War) Course at No 7 F.I.S. Upavon.

More problems ! The instructors were used to receiving students who had just completed their own training, and who didn't wear glasses. So after a period of dual to learn the "patter", I spent most of my time at the Central Flying School flying with other students trying out their 'spiel' on me.

The most interesting part of the course for me ,was the B.A.T. section. I had had no previous formal training in Beam Flying, but having done so much night flying, I enjoyed this experience. It also provided me with one of the most amusing incidents of my service.

When it came to the passing out test, the Flight Commander, S/Ldr. Bisley said he would carry this out and suggested that we try out a new system which dispensed with the normal hood over the head and instead, a new Oxford aircraft had been fitted with a Sodium strip light attached to the student's control column illuminating the fluorescent instruments while the pilot wore special goggles which allowed for seeing lights but nothing else.

I took off and carried out the exercise which included a complete approach and landing.

As I cleared the runway on landing and stopped to radio 'clear', I lifted the goggles to find the S/Ldr. sitting with his arms folded and a puzzled look on his face. He said - " it doesn't work does it ? ". I said " sure it does " , whereupon he said, " swap over and let me have a go ". He made a rather shaky take off and circuit, but when it came to the approach and landing , he made a complete mess of it. The point was that there was no light on the other control column so he was unable to see the engine instruments and in leaning forward to try to see them he continuously kept pushing the control column forward and having to make a hasty correction. On landing, nothing was said and he gave me an exceptional assessment.

I wasn't game to explain to him that I had never bothered with engine revs etc.during my operational flying so long as the airspeed was adequate and I was coming down in the green section of the approach guide lights. I had trimmed the aircraft to do this early in the approach and could have come down hands off.

I passed out on the 2nd. August 1943 and after a short leave was posted to No 21 (P) A.F.U. Wheaton Aston as a fully fledged Multi -engined Flying Instructor much to the amusement of the existing staff. They had never come across a serving RAF pilot wearing spectacles. Some of my pupils were quite terrified until they got to know me.

On arrival at Wheaton Aston I began night flying instruction from the first day. From August 13th. 1943 to Dec. 14th. apart from 15 hrs. daytime Night Flight and Weather Tests my whole flying of 74 hrs. was instructing night flying. During this period I became very friendly with the then Chief Flying Instructor - S/Ldr. Speer affectionately known as " Dagger Speer ". He was an ex peace time ground staff who had converted to become a pilot and risen through the ranks to his present position. He was an absolutely wonderful person, very well liked by all. However, for some reason, he appeared to have a somewhat nervous disposition. I flew with him a few times and remember how uptight he got when I performed rather steep turns on an approach to land.

Some time in the middle of November, he was to fly the Station Commander somewhere, but as he got to the aircraft, he must have forgotten his map, so returned to the flight office. As he set off to return to his aircraft, he had to walk along the perimeter track in front of several Oxfords running up, and in his haste had failed to remove his helmet. In a tragic coincidence, a young visiting Spitfire pilot was taxying behind him at an excessive speed and in a straight line instead of zig-zagging as he was supposed to do. His propeller caught Dagger on the nape of his neck sending him rolling in a ball along the ground. He was dead by the time we could get to him.

After all these years I only remember with great sadness three of the many, many who passed through my service, as in the main , up to this time, they were not around long enough to get to know them. The three were my Sailor brother who was killed whilst on a convoy patrol to Russia, my dear friend and Air gunner Colin who was killed in a crash on his subsequent tour, and S/Ldr. "Dagger" Speer.

At about this time I became a Flight Lt., S/Ldr. Speer was replaced by W/Co. Stenner who , in turn, became a good friend to me, and had a significant influence on my progress from then on. My situation was now very different from the past , being now among pilots who stayed around for many months. I was also able to make friends with many ground staff through my training in the gym.. Two of these were Eric Boone and Freddy Mills who were both British boxing champions at their weights. Freddy opened a restaurant in London after the war, but I understand that it wasn't a success and he committed suicide.

At the end of August I was appointed as O.C. Night Flying and immediately started to bring in new procedures. Up to then it had been the practice for the Night Flight Commander to be at the flight office and when a pilot returned from his flight he would shut down the engines, enter the office and announce his return. The Flight Commander would then sort out a new pilot to take over. This system resulted in a huge loss of flying time achieved during the night.

I was able to persuade the Station C.O. to allow me to have an underground cable laid from the Control Tower to the night flight building. I had the back wall of the Tower painted black with horizontal and vertical lines in white, rather like a spreadsheet. The whole night's programme was chalked in. The Flight Commander made his headquarters in the tower and the radio operator had a peg board and a supply of discs.

As an aircraft took off, exercised, returned, approached to land and landed, his disc was moved from one hook to another and the Flight Commander would call the Flight Office to have the next pilot waiting to take over the plane. The only time engines were killed was for re-fuelling. The programme was wiped off the wall as it progressed and the next night's programme substituted. At the end of the night, the new programme was already up on the tower wall, was printed and on the mess notice boards before the pilots came in for breakfast or lunch. This resulted in a huge lift in aircraft utilisation and was probably the main reason I was selected to go on a Junior Commander's Course at Dallachy in Scotland.

I left Wheaton Aston at the end of November 1944 to become the Station C.O. at Perton and begin the most enjoyable segment of my service.

The following report was received February 28,1999:

Perton was a satellite of Wheaton Aston and was established to process pilots ( mainly from training in Canada ) prior to them being sent on to operational training as fighter or bomber pilots. An intake of 30 odd arrived each Tuesday and the postings came through on the next day. If a pilot was posted he went on a week's leave before reporting to his new station whilst the remaining pilots used that week to do what flying could be done with the limited complement of Oxfords available. It was only possible to allow each pilot one and a half hrs. flying on station, plus, one hour's Link Training and sometimes a night flight at the parent station, Wheaton Aston. We were unable to do night flying at Perton due to the presence of a factory chimney in line with the runway.

On arrival I was dismayed to find the airfield in such a neglected state. The flying was done from a flight office adjacent to the main gate and in a quite dilapidated condition. There was another office about 200 yds. further round the perimeter which was in a much better situation, so I obtained paint , rollers and brushes etc., and had the pilots and ground staff get to work to completely redecorate the building inside and out. I had them make vegetable and flower beds and got the gang-mower to run over the area between the perimeter and runway in front of the office each morning so anyone so inclined could practice their golf or tennis. As the office was only separated from a lane by a barbed wire fence, I had the Salvation Army come twice a day to supply us with tea and buns on the house.

As CO I was automatically President of the Officer's Mess and with my accountancy background was horrified to find the books virtually non-existent. Bar chits were not being recorded and departing Officers left without paying for drinks etc. consumed. So, as well as running the flying programmes I spent a lot of time auditing and writing up the Mess books, making sure that Bar Chits were paid before departure. The week' s liquor request was put through on the Tuesday, based on the Officer strength on that day, but by the time it arrived, half the intake had been posted and on leave, so we always had a huge surplus on hand. This allowed for any officer going on leave to be able to take with him a bottle off the top shelf. Also, even though I was myself teetotal I arranged that beer and spirits were left on the floor of the Mess Lounge after the bar attendant had retired for the night , so that any officer could have a nightcap after being on the town that night, ( making out a chit, of course ). Other than that I was quite content to leave the general running of the station to the Adjutant ,who had been there a long time, and concentrate my efforts on the flying side of the operation.

At one stage, unbeknown to me, the station was inspected by a visiting high up and apparently he discovered one or more Officer pilots in bed. This was not surprising to me as, if a pilot could only do one and a half hours flying in a week, he would get pretty fed up playing snooker or poker for hours and days on end. However, I decided to do something about the situation and devised a number system whereby a new pilot would be given a number for the first week, but if he was not posted he got another number for the remainder of his stay even if that was 4 or 5 weeks. For example - if his original number was 15, he became 615 for the rest of his stay, and by looking at the chart on my wall, he could see what time and on what day he was required to fly on any week. He was required to be at the flight half an hour prior to being scheduled to take off and, of course, he had to be on station every Tuesday evening. Other than that he had my permission to be off station, but no travel warrants were allowed. This worked like a charm. For the rest of the year, the props only stopped for refueling or from bad weather except for one single occasion. A Canadian pilot failed to turn up and reported a day late and,of course, under my system, there was no-one on hand to take his place. He explained how he had missed his train because of a lack of tram or bus service from where he was staying. I was ready to accept this until I casually asked him where this was, and to my surprise, he told me it occurred at Leeds, my home town ! I knew that there was an all night service there so guessed that he was not being exactly honest. I told him that he would have to forego the next weeks' break and go to Wheaton Aston to do some night flying. Unfortunately, he crashed on his first take off and I had the sad task of representing the station at his funeral at the Canadian cemetery at Leeds, where I learnt that his girl friend's father had been quite prepared to run him down to the station on the night in question.

Although there was no requirement that I personally do any flying, I tried to make a point of test flying with a pupil whenever I could spare the time. On these flights I would ask the pupil to carry out an emergency procedure such as Precautionary or Forced landings, Overshoots, X-wind landings, Single engined flying , Precision landings etc.. I did in excess of 30 of these tests, and I must record that there was not a single instance where the pilot carried out the test to my satisfaction, but their log books showed that they had been shown and practiced these emergencies.

My own explanation for this was that for some years now, pupils had been taught by ex-puplis, who then taught pupils, who again taught pupils and so on. I see from my own log book that the only times I carried out any emergency practice whilst at the central Flying School was when I myself was showing these to a fellow pupil while he was with me practicing his patter. It may not have been possible to have a different system, but the fact remains that I was disturbed to see these young pilots going on to operations so ill prepared for emergencies and not being able to do anything about it.

I would occasionally come across a pilot who would grip the control column as if his life depended on fighting the aircraft. It was known as " white knuckle flying ". In these cases, after warning them not to attempt this themselves, I would take over and demonstrate how you could take off, complete the circuit and land with hands off the control column, using only the throttles, rudder and trim control.

An isolated instance brought this to my mind forcibly. A F/Lt. McLean approached me while I was having tea in the mess one evening to ask if I would go with him on his last night cross country flight that night. He had been an instructor for some years in Canada and had many times my flying hours, but he felt that I would be able to pass on to him the benefit of my operational night flying experience. As soon as we took off I could see that he had been used to precision flying. A determined height of 1000 ft. meant just that to him and a course of 15 degrees had to be 15 degrees exactly and so on. On the first leg of the flight we could see an army searchlight ahead and he asked me if he could fly into it. I said OK but told him that if he did so, he would be canopied by several other searchlights. When this happened he was unable to see his instruments and got into a powered falling leaf situation and had he been alone would most certainly have crashed. Eventually I had to take over and flip out of the lights as I have previously described. On landing I gave him a pep talk to try to convince him that he would need to get used to flying on operations with his head out of the office . Sadly, I learned some time later that he had gone on to 4 engine bombers and failed to return from his first sortie. A tragic waste of valuable instructor material and 7 or 8 other crew members.

From time to time we would have strangers land for various reasons. One was an American Liberator. The Captain asked if I could lend him an Oxford and pilot to ferry parts from a nearby factory whose runway was too small for him to land there.

Another American flew in to get directions as he was lost. I offered to plot him a new course, but he said "no need - just point ".

A female Ferry Pilot dropped in one evening in ( I think ) a Tempest, also lost. I was just about to close the Tower and was on my own, so plotted a new course for her. She then asked me to assist her to restart her aircraft. It was cartridge starting and she gave me a fire extinguisher to squirt into the air intake if it failed to start. On the third attempt , just as I moved forward to do my squirting, the engine coughed and the huge propeller kicked over. If I hadn't jumped back smartly I would have been chopped in half !

However, the most interesting visitor arrived again just as I was locking up the tower and about to cycle to the mess dressed in my daytime battle dress. It was a Dove, and as I approached it a person dressed in an odd uniform descended and asked me who I was. When I told him I was the Station Commander he asked me to wait until he found out if "his Lordship " would like to speak to me. He reappeared and led me aboard. The opulence of the furnishings and decor was startling and the passengers were dressed in a variety of uniforms. I was led to the rear and introduced to this person called Sir ---------. I had never seen anyone so well groomed and impressive. His accent was extremely cultured as he asked me questions as to my past experiences and to my surprise he knew the actual code numbers for the experiments I carried out at Defford. As I was ushered out, his offsider told me that his Lordship was holding a reception at his nearby estate and had invited myself and one or two other Officers to attend. That evening, I , my Chief Instructor ( F/O Stan Rogers ), and the head W.A.A.F. Officer ( whose name I am unable to remember ), scrubbed up and drove out to the mansion. We were greeted at the entrance by a uniformed footman whose facial expression implied that he had just detected a rather obnoxious odour. We spent all evening standing against the wall of the ballroom watching the men in Tails and the ladies in ballgowns, dancing stiffly to slow tempo music. Not one person approached us to talk so we left before the supper was served.

My wife, Mabs had left the service to present me with our first daughter, born on the 10th. November 1944, so she was now able to join me. We lived out at a nearby farm run by a widow and her two sons who were about my age. Being a city bred person this was quite an experience for me. The sons were great company , both having a great sense of humour. The cattle were housed all day in a barn, it being Winter , and were hand milked. Chooks, Geese and other species were allowed into the kitchen and the yard was several inches deep in cow manure. I took this for granted and it was only when I went to live in New Zealand in 1947 that I could appreciate just how primitive this English farm was. I called at the farm in 1975 to spend a day with my old friends ( now grown men ) and found some modernisation. Now they used a machine like a Tellus Vacuum Cleaner with 4 cups to milk the cows one by one and the yard was an extra 2 to 3 inches deeper in manure. I enjoyed giving them the thrill of their staid British lives by whizzing them around the narrow Stafforshire lanes in the BMW I had bought at the Munich factory on the way through to England.

At one stage there appeared a person, dressed in a non-officer's uniform, sent to see how the station was being run. He was a Dutchman and was to return to Holland after the war to assist with the reforming of the Dutch Air force. Why he should spend some 3 months on such an insignificant station as Perton I was not to appreciate at the time. His name was Coke Sluyter and he was a most amiable character. He spent most of his time in my office just ''chewing the fat " and we had many hours enjoying each other's company.

One of my duties as C.O. was to hold Court to hear charges brought against the personnel. Most of these concerned pilots who had been picked up by the Army Provosts in Wolverhampton for being improperly dressed etc.. As I was only too well aware that within a few weeks or months, some of these youngsters would be killed , I would give them a little lecture about letting the side down and dismiss the charge.

One day I had a visit from the Army Provost Major complaining bitterly that his men were cheesed off bringing charges for no result. The next pilot coming up on charge was given 3 days CC (Confined to Camp ) which meant that he was not allowed to go out for the next two nights although, as we had no guards on the gate, he would have been able to go out anyway.

Many years later I was having a drink after work in an isolated timber town in New Zealand when I noticed a man in working clothes staring at me from across the lounge. He eventually came over saying he knew he had seen me before but couldn't place where. We established that we had both been in the R.A.F. and when I asked him where he had done his A.F.U. he threw his hands above his head and shouted - " Bull S....t Stone ". He was the pilot I had given 3 days CC and apparently that was what I was called at Perton.

This may have been so, but I can recall that when I was in my car ready to leave on being posted, the whole station personnel came to see me off. Some of the W.A.A.F's had tears in their eyes and as I pulled away, a ground staff airman opened the car door and put a carved Galleon on the back seat, mumbling that it was a going away present from the ground staff. So it looks as if " Bull S...t " did manage to predominate at Perton during my stay there and was appreciated by some of the permanents.

`I was posted to H.Q. 21 Group at Spitalgate in April 1945. I will deal with this stage in the next and final segment.

The following report was received March 8, 1999:

I had no idea what kind of work I was to perform at HQ, but I presumed that it had to be clerical and I wondered what I had done to be , ( as I thought ) demoted. When I arrived, I was made Officer in Charge of Accident Prevention which immediately confirmed my fears. However, I found also that I was given the title of P.P.C of I., which translated meant "Permanent President Courts of Inquiry ". This duty entailed investigating and reporting on any fatal accidents occurring within No. 21 Group. I had no idea how to go about this task and there was no-one around to tell me. What happened when there was a fatal accident was that I hot-footed it down to the flying pool and took off for the Station involved in any 'plane which was available. On arrival, I was given a fully equipped office complete with secretary. Everyone concerned from the CO downwards was at my beck and call, as was the local police when needed to search for debris and guard the wreckage. I had to take statements from any civilian eye-witnesses and any service personnel involved. If technical advice was needed I could call upon any experts in the field involved. As it happened, in each case I investigated it was an obvious pilot error so there was no aircraft failure involved.

I wondered at the time how I had been given what was such an important role without any tuition but it became clearer when I found that my new superior was no other than my old boss at Wheaton Aston, W/C. Stenner who, I am sure, had been responsible for my promotion to Station Commander at Perton.

Apart from the investigations, I found my stay at Spitalgate pretty boring, only relieved by a single happening. On Saturday the 8th. June I received a 'phone call from an instructor who used to be one of my staff at Wheaton Aston, asking if I would like to attend a Mess party there that night. As it happened the only aircraft available in the pool was the A.O.C's Dominie. When I asked him if I could borrow it for the week-end he said he might need it himself but suggested that his personal pilot, F/O. Wooldridge, could fly me over and for me to find my own way back next day. For those who know not, the Dominie was a twin engined biplane whose wing tips used to flap up and down in rough conditions making it somewhat unstable. The passenger area was well presented with carpets etc. but no sick bags, so as I started to feel ill, it became a problem of how to cope with the inevitable. My raincoat pocket became my salvation and needed urgent attention in the wash room of the tower on our arrival.

On presenting myself at B Flight next morning, the Flight Commander suggested that he arrange for an instructor and a pupil to carry out a cross-country exercise with me as a passenger to allow the flight back to be productive. The instructor, F/O Murphy, sat in the port seat with myself in the s'board seat and the pupil on the wing root immediately behind us. As we were taxying out, Murphy asked me if I cared to fly ,so I took over as he handled the radio, and proceeded to take off. As I was doing so, I turned to speak to Murphy and as I did, saw the pupil's face which had a look of absolute terror on it. As I was wearing a raincoat and cheese cutter hat AND spectacles, he had no means of knowing my rank or flying ability and obviously thought he was about to come to a sticky end.

During my stay at Spitalgate, who should turn up in my office but our Dutch friend, Coke Sluyter. He spent about two weeks with me ostensibly learning about accident prevention etc.. Again I could not fathom out why he should be learning from someone with so little experience in that field. This became clear to me immediately after peace was declared when he invited me to go to Holland with him on a 3 year contract to assist in reforming the Dutch Airforce. It was now obvious that his interest had been in me personally and not the particular activity I was engaged in. It was with considerable regret that I had to decline his offer as I felt that I was not enamoured by service life and was anxious to return to life in a commercial field.

Incidentally, as the end of the war seemed to be imminent, I had several long serving officers come to talk to me to express their fear of returning to civilian life after being so long detached in the force, and wondering how they would cope with earning a living, having no experience other than service life. They could not understand how I was so optimistic as to spend my idle hours making a model of a house I intended to build when finances permitted. Admittedly, it took me until 1948 before I could start to build.

I thank you for taking an interest in my WW11 experiences and hope that you have received as much pleasure in reading about them as I have had in compiling them.

Postscript . I left the service on the 5th. February 1946 with the best wishes of the British Government who presented me with 85 pounds sterling, a suit of civilian clothes including a trilby hat and a voucher to enable me to purchase a furniture setting in untreated pine. I had the choice of a dining suite, lounge suite or a bedroom suite.

It was only when I went to live in New Zealand in 1947 that I discovered that my late air gunner's brothers and many other returned servicemen had balloted to receive a ring-fenced farm, half house and stock, and by now had become well established.

As in Australia where I now live, I was and am not, eligible to join the ex-servicemen's League or have medical treatment in a Rehab hospital. Furthermore, there would be no Legacy assistance for housing etc. for my widow.

I also had tax deducted from my meagre pay during my service and given what was called a "Post War Credit" certificate which the Government promised to repay after the war. Thousands of British ex-servicemen never received their refunds as they either died or moved before these were paid out several years after the war.

C'est la Guerre !

An email from Mick received 1Feb99:

Hi Harry,

Many thanks for your latest. Coombabah is a suburb of Southport on the Gold Coast of Queensland. We are an hour by train or road South of Brisbane and say 5 miles North of Surfers Paradise, the holiday mecca of Australia.

It is an ideal place to live in retirement with a superb climate. There are International standard golf courses practically on every street corner. Top rate entertainment at the Casino and elsewhere. Every type of tourist attrction such as Dreamworld (as Disneyland ), Movie World ( as Universal ), Seaworld etc, etc..

I have lived in this area since I came from New Zealand some 34 yrs. ago and although I have travelled extensively, I would not want to live anywhere else. If you ever find your way to this neck of the woods, you have a standing invitation to stay a while with us.

I am going through the best years of my life, enjoying my extended family. I have a wonderful wife who takes care of my every need and between us we have 13 grandchildren ranging from 28 to 1, the latter being the only girl.

Am enclosing a profile of my airgunner's service which may be of interest to you and/or 418 Squadron. Please use it in any way you wish.

Kindest regards,

Mick

Following is the account of Colin Forsyth:

For those interested in the personnel involved with the formation of Canadian Squadron 418 at Debden, I would like to submit a profile of one member of the original crews.

Flight Sergeant Colin Forsyth came to 418 from 23 squadron in December 1941 and flew as an Airgunner with myself as his pilot for 27 Intruder operations prior to going on rest at the end of December 1942.

Colin was born at Tauranga, a small coastal town on the North Island of New Zealand. He had three brothers - Jack, Ken and Doug.. All four brothers were born in the same mould. Unassuming, true gentlemen in every department , they all had a keen sense of humour. Colin and Ken joined the New Zealand Air Force at the outbreak of war, Colin completing his initial training at Weraroa Ground Training School during February 1940, going on to Ohakea for further training.

Following completion of this course, he sailed to England on RMS Rangitiki to join No 5 OTU at Aston Downs and joined 23 Squadron on September 21st., flying on Blenheims, Beaufighters and Havocs. At that time his crew partners were both from New Zealand, the Observer being Sergeant Hogg from Christchurch and his Pilot , F/O Alan Gawth from Masterton.

They had their first sucess on the night of March 8th. shooting down a landing Heinkel and also damaging a Dornier before bombing the Beauvais runway. Another successful operation on board a Havoc resulted in the knock down of the German bomber group telephone communication system at Deurne close to Eindhoven.

When their Pilot was transferred as a Flight Commander to Hunsdon, I took over on July 18th. with Sgt. Hogg as my Observer but with my existing Airgunner Sgt. Nault ( another Canadian who had been with me during my OTU training at Church Fenton) . Colin joined me on September 1941 for my sixth operational trip. He had flown with another pilot during that time and been injured and burned in a crash on take-off on July 26th.. By now, Colin had been on 34 operations prior to joining my crew.

In December 1941 we were one of three crews posted to Debden to assist in forming 418 Canadian Intruder Squadron with Colin staying with me until we completed that tour of duty. When F/Sgt. Hogg was posted on rest , I was joined on Feb. 23rd 1942 by a Canadian, Sgt. Doug Alcorn who acted as my Observer for the rest of the tour.

In November 1942, I had great pleasure in attending Buckingham Palace to see Colin receive his DFM. He was commissioned in December as a Pilot Officer and promoted to Flying Officer six months later.

Naturally, he was involved in most of the incidents I have described in my own account of service with 418 Squadron.

At the end of his stint at 418, Colin was posted to No. 180 Squadron at Foulsham on daylight Mitchells, accumulating a further 20 operations before being transferred to N0. 98 Mitchell Squadron at Dunsford carrying out a further 15 operations before his fatal 16th.. He was flying with W/Co. Bell-Irving on a raid against Pois Cocquerel when they were shot down by anti-aircraft fire on their return leg at Abbeville. All crew members perished.

Colin had accumulated 102 operational missions during his service and truly merited his post-humous DFC.. He was probably the most popular person on 418, respected by all concerned , and I count myself as extreemly fortunate to have had him as a member of my crew and as a loyal friend.

I emigrated to New Zealand in 1947 and lived for a while with Ken, who had been awarded a DFC for his service as a bomber pilot in England. He and his wife had purchased a 50 acre block to run a small herd of cattle. Ken also trucked timber from the local mill to the nearby rail station. I stayed to help complete a house they had bought and re-located on their property. Sadly, Ken suffered a fatal heart attack within a few years.

Doug and Jack were able to obtain adjacent ring fenced farms complete with half houses and initial stock at Oropi, an area in the foothills a few miles from Tauranga.