Tuesday 6 May 2008

WARTIME MEMORIES


Sandy 1944

CHAPTER 1
BEFORE THE HOSTILITIES
My involvement in wartime work really began before 3rd September, 1939, on which
date war was officially declared by Great Britain following the invasion of Poland by the German Army. That day saw the beginning of one of the blackest eras in the history of the world.
I was not under the discipline of one of the Fighting Forces at that early stage but I had become much involved because on 20th August, 1939, I had taken up my new appointment
as Depute Town Clerk of Stirling following a 5 months’ spell as Assistant Solicitor in the
Town Clerk’s Office, Kirkcaldy. In Stirling, I was suddenly confronted with national
emergency work, particularly an impending evacuation of mothers and children from
Glasgow, as well as food control functions, these and other miscellaneous emergency items
supplanting the otherwise normal routine of Council work. When I returned from Kirkcaldy,
it was to an Office beset with a new variety of responsibilities. The regular and customary
functions which I expected to face were suddenly being shelved in favour of a host of newfound
priorities. Supplementary to my regular appointments, I found myself appointed as
the Depute Reception Officer and Depute Food Executive Officer for the Burgh of Stirling,
the first-named post giving me a continuous heartache until the day I was able to lay down its
responsibilities on my call-up to the Royal Air Force just over a year later.
I was no sooner back in the Municipal Buildings, Stirling, in an Office which I knew so
well since I had spent all my post-schooldays there from 1930 learning how to be an officeboy,
a legal apprentice, a Solicitor and Clerk of Court, than I was to hear the Prime Minister’s
statement that war had been declared. Things were moving at such a tremendous pace – we
were notified within about a couple of days of my return that Stirling , having been earmarked
to be a Reception area for evacuees, would receive, on Friday, 1st September, 5464 evacuees
[including 2660 unaccompanied children] for billeting in local homes, and that they would be
arriving in special trains from Glasgow. Some time before that, the Burgh Assessor had been
instructed to carry out a survey of all dwelling-houses in the town to establish how many
vacant rooms there were throughout the Burgh and had established that there was an
exceedingly large number - a good deal more than the quota of evacuees listed to arrive.
It was a blessing that fewer than the indicated numbers did arrive as we quickly learned
how difficult it was going to be to get the cooperation of the public to take the mothers and
young children into their homes, except in the poorer parts of the town. Whether these
poorer people were glad to take the evacuees out of the goodness of their hearts, or because of
a higher sense of civic responsibility, or merely to get the Government’s billeting allowance, it
is difficult to say. It is a fact, nevertheless, that the folks in the less affluent areas came to our
rescue on many occasions. Our staff and the hard-working ladies of the Women’s Voluntary
Services were frequently left on the doorsteps with their pleas rejected by many residents in
large empty houses. Coupled with the reduction in the number of evacuees dispatched to
Stirling, many hurriedly returned to Glasgow, so that, on a survey carried out on 28th
October, i.e. after around 2 months, to ascertain the details of those remaining, the figure was
found to be 551, including 50 mothers, 27 Teachers, and 2 Helpers. Even with that smaller
number, there were many difficulties due to host parents becoming ill or wishing to be
relieved of their charges for a variety of reasons. I recognised that it was a great burden to
have strangers deposited with you for an indefinite period, often in a house full of attractive
furniture and fine ornaments, the greatest resistance coming when we were trying to billet
mothers and young under-5 children – there was less opposition to the taking of
unaccompanied school children. Ultimately it became necessary to resort to compulsory
billeting by the service of Billeting Orders, with a small Appeals Committee in the
background to hear and decide on appeals.
The Evacuation Office had built up a large stock of bedding, including blankets, etc. and
these were generously issued to house-holders who were prepared to take the evacuees. A
check of the stock on 6th November, 1939, revealed that there were still on hand 90 camp
beds, 1120 blankets, 2850 sheets, and 1675 mattresses, most being of very good quality.
The Government had obviously decreed that the evacuation of great numbers of the
population could be achieved smoothly on the basis of pure statistics, failing to realise that a
great human problem had to be surmounted.
It was all so different in the Food Control Office, which had been set up in the Reading
Room of the Public Library. The work there was progressed without any difficulty.
CHAPTER 2
MOVING TOWARDS MILITARY SERVICE
Since the list of reserved occupations was published indicating those who would not be
called up, at least in the first instance, with the critical ages, I had learned that in relation to
my post the reservation age was 25. Since I was only 24, I accordingly was aware that I was
not free from call-up and that the prospect of conscription would face me sooner or later. I
had no knowledge, of course, as to when the little brown envelope would fall through my
letter-box. All I knew was that, like flu in winter, it was bound to come.
It seemed no time at all before I received, on 14th June, 1940, the command to report
to the Medical Board Centre at the Allan’s School, Spittal Street, Stirling, on 18th June,
1940, for the preliminary medical examination. I passed my medical test all right, except that
my colour-blindness was discovered, thereby preventing me from having any air crew
involvement. As a matter of record, I was graded 2[a][v]. It was concluded that my eyes
were hazel, my hair was black, and that the examination had taken place 24 years 358 days
after I was born. In an interview, I had expressed a preference for service in the Royal Air
Force and this was granted. As the alternative to aircraft positions, which were ruled out
because of my defective eyesight, I was told that there was a great need to fill a post called
Clerk/Accounting and that would be my destiny. The pay was to be 3s.3d. per day and I
received the number 1119565. I was originally called up for 23rd September, 1940, then that
date was postponed to 29th November, 1940, on which date I set off for Padgate.
My enlistment notice sparked a bit of a panic at Town Council level, encouraged,
naturally, by the new Town Clerk, who did not wish to see his recently appointed lieutenant
snatched from him. A special meeting of the Council was called to try and have the call-up
notice cancelled on the basis that my work was of considerable importance to the community
and that it should take priority. The council, by a large majority, resolved to make
representations accordingly, but these were rejected. I have always been glad that it turned
out the way it did and that I could always claim that I ‘did my bit’.
CHAPTER 3
PADGATE AND BLACKPOOL
Apart from being my ‘kitting-out’ Station, Padgate served as my introduction to
R.A.F. life. I was just one of many raw recruits at the camp and I recall that at an early stage,
we were kitted out with our uniforms, greatcoats, and the other items of headgear and clothing
which fell to be issued to us. I also remember that some care was exercised by the Equipment
Section in ensuring that the various elements of the uniform etc. were of a good fit, giving us
reasonable satisfaction when we examined ourselves before a mirror on the change-over from
civilian gear.
I could not have remained at Padgate for a very long time because my next port-of-call
was to be Blackpool and I was there in time to attend a musical film show in the Opera House
there called ‘Up and Doing’ starring Binnie Hale, Cyril Ritchard, Patricia Burke, Stanley
Holloway, the Caroll Gibbons Band, and Leslie Henson, during the week commencing 2nd
December.
I certainly was there long enough to catch up with the first of a number of ‘superefficient’
Corporals whose job in life seemed to be to remove any semblance of selfconfidence
which had been built up from peace-time work, by reducing a recruit as far as
possible, to a pliable being and to act as an automaton when he, the bearer of these 2
chevrons, pulled the proverbial strings. The situation was particularly exemplified in the
dormitory where he imposed an iron-rule discipline. I had been introduced to my bed in a
large hut sheltering 30 or 40 new entrants to the Royal Air Force. The bed was an iron one on
top of which were to be placed 3 ‘biscuits’, i.e. short mattresses which when put together
formed a complete single mattress, along with blankets etc. We were all obliged, nay,
commanded, to leave each bed in the morning in a special kind of way, with the 3 ‘biscuits’
being gathered in a very neat pile at the end of the bed, and the blankets etc. folded and
stacked on top, all in accordance with the specimen demonstrated. I had to ensure that the
stack was erected inch-perfect – otherwise there would be a ‘bawling’ from the Corporal, and,
of course, that non-commissioned-officer could alter the position of the inches if he felt like
doing so, to give himself something to complain about. The Corporal never did his rounds
without finding faults. It wasn’t for you to think that the whole ceremony was a needless
waste of time. It was an essential part of the introduction to service life and you had to
comply – to the complete satisfaction of that Corporal – and all for the purpose of being a
Clerk/Accounting.
I was to meet up with another of the breed in Blackpool about whom I shall write later.
It is a mystery how these fellows developed into the dictatorial little monsters they turned
out to be. They give the impression that they had been trained by ‘Big Brother’ who was
still standing behind them! I wonder who told them to adopt the fearsome pattern of putting
their new charges down as far as they were able – and was it really so necessary? Did the 2
chevrons automatically change their personalities and did they get some satisfaction shooting
down men who were their seniors in education and intelligence? Alas, we shall never know!
Over in Blackpool, I was accommodated in a former boarding-house at 41 Alexandra
Road, care of Mr. Isherwood. I do not know what the arrangement with Mr. Isherwood was
– whether he was an employee of the R.A.F. or otherwise. He was certainly about the place
and, if I remember correctly, the establishment was responsible for providing meals for the
airmen resident in the premises with or without supporting R.A.F. personnel.
The group, or squad, with whom I found myself, were to be in Blackpool for the next
6 weeks or so for the principal purpose of learning drilling. For this, we marched up and
down the Esplanade at the seafront carrying out right turns, left turns, about turns, forming
fours, sloping arms, presenting arms, etc. – all the drill movements in the book - for the
purpose of being a Clerk/Accounting.
There were breaks from the routine, of course. When the Corporal decided to a pause
in the drilling manoeuvres, he would stand us ‘at ease’ and then he would give us a lecture as a
Professor of Psychology on a variety of topics culled from his large repertoire – often it was
‘how bad the Germans were’, or ‘how we could never hope to be good because we were not
doing our drills as expertly as he required’. Maybe it was words of wisdom from his past
experience as a ‘regular’ airman.
Midway through the morning routine, however, he introduced one diversion for which
we gave him much credit. At about 11 o’clock, he would march us to the Blackpool
Entertainment Park where, among all the closed-down amusement machines for the
entertainment of holiday visitors, beside the ‘Big Dipper’, there was still operational a
friendly stall at which one could have a mug of coffee or cocoa or other hot drink. I remember
selecting horlicks and it was very welcome on these mid-winter mornings as an antidote to the
cold east wind. It was one of the most memorable interludes which I recall from these R.A.F.
days for the pleasure it gave us at the time, and we blessed our much-maligned Corporal for
including it in our programme. We were, incidentally, on the south shore in Blackpool, i.e.
south of the tower, while aircrew personnel were accommodated on the north shore.
Life was not completely monotonous as we experienced a number of other variations
from the routine. One day, not long after our arrival, all the south shore recruits were formed
into a large queue stretching along the promenade facing towards the south pier, and snaking
up to the entrance to the pier Concert Hall. What this was for was a complete mystery to us
– we were not given an inkling as to what the purpose was to be. We were quite relaxed,
however, during the lengthy period – several hours – that we moved ever so slowly towards
our goal. Having discovered that there were new-found pals around, especially Welsh ones,
we began to sing such songs as ‘Land of my Fathers’ and ‘Men of Harlech’. After that we did
justice to the well-known Scottish songs – the longer we had to wait, the more extensive grew
our repertoire and others around substantially extended the choir. The singing naturally
became more muted when we were reaching the immediate precincts of our destination. And
guess what all the queuing and waiting was for! It was to give each of us a tie! It must have
been a second one because I cannot believe that we had gone around tie-less since Padgate.
On the other hand, probably the original one was suddenly out-of-date because of a subtle
alteration to the uniform. In any event, it was a relaxing few hours which we had made use of
in the best way we could – even though the exercise had needlessly used up countless manhours
and I wondered what sort of administrator had thought up this way as being the most
efficient method in which to give us each a tie – or maybe the waste of man-hours was not an
important consideration.
My second interlude from the daily round of drilling resulted from my selection to
guard the Brighton Hydro Hotel, this Hotel appearing to have been taken over as a type of
headquarters building within our patch of Blackpool. I was provided with a rifle and blank
ammunition and for 24 hours, I had to patrol the front of the building, facing the sea, on a ‘2-
hours on, 2-hours off’, basis. The night hours were bitterly cold, aggravated by the loss of
my normal sleep. The general impression I had was that the sea was frozen, and there were
so many inexplicable noises occurring somewhere in front of me and my guarded building that
it became a bit unnerving – I was alone, and I just had the rifle with the blank ammunition. At
one stage in the night, because of all the peculiar noises in front of me, I thought that the
invasion was taking place and that units of the German Army would shortly be across the
promenade. I was ever so glad when my 24 hours’ stint of guard duty came to an end. It
was, I assumed, all part of my training to be a Clerk/Accounting. Many other fellows had to
go through the same experience and their thoughts and concerns would be different to mine.
The weekly routine was again broken on one day each week when squads of Airmen
were marched to the Derby Baths so that each could have a shower. We placed our clothes in
the cubicles and, in our nakedness, walked or trotted along a corridor to the shower
compartments where we spent a reasonable time taking advantage of the soap and water
provided. Those who preferred to swim were permitted to do so in the swimming-pool –
also in the state in which they were born. I often wondered whether, in some secret corner,
there were young lasses of Blackpool viewing the naked R.A.F. talent and enjoying the
demonstration of manliness of the latest additions to the Air Force. I would imagine that the
air crew personnel on the north shore went through the same bathing procedure on another
day.
We were free of duties in the evenings, and this gave us the opportunity to visit,
according to our likes and dislikes, performances at the few winter shows which had not
become dormant or had been brought to an end because of the war, or to hear the spectacular
Wurlitzer organ in the tower ball-room being played by some noted Organist. An effort was,
in fact, being made by the Blackpool Authorities to maintain some semblance of their
established reputation as an entertainment centre, especially, no doubt, for the benefit of the
large number of Royal Air Force troops who were accommodated there, although holidaymakers
were now non-existent.
CHAPTER 4
YATESBURY AND S.H.Q. PAY ACCOUNTS SECTION
My spell in Blackpool came to an end about the middle of January when I had
completed my ‘square-bashing’ as we called the drilling exercises. It had been an uneventful
Christmas, with lots of seasonal cards and messages of ‘sympathy’ from my girl-friend, my
parents, my former colleagues in the Town Clerk’s Office in Stirling, as well as others. It was
the first time that I had been away from home at this festive season and there was nothing
that I could do about it – except look forward to the next Station to which I would, in due
course, be transferred.
When the posting came, it was to Yatesbury. I quickly found out that the Station was
in Wiltshire, a few miles from Calne, but within walking distance of that community, and, in
the opposite direction from Calne – also within walking distance – were the famous stone
circle at Avebury and the very attractive village of Laycock. Bath was some miles distant and
one required transport to visit that lovely town. When I arrived at the camp, I saw that there
was, immediately opposite the entrance, a large horse carved out of the chalky hillside. All
these places appealed to me as a basis for exploration and I soon had my ‘hiking boots’ on
and I began my touring when free at weekends, including, of course, walking round the white
horse on the hillside and examining it much more closely. I at once loved the district and was
prepared to put up with any discomfort in my living conditions
The hut which was to be my home was not substantially unlike the one I occupied at
Padgate and the Headquarters Office of Pay Accounts was my work-place during the day. I
knew all about piling the biscuits etc. and keeping my bed-space neat and tidy, so I did not
meet up with any accommodation problems. Work-wise, I was soon joining a team to pay
Airmen on pay parades, these being very formal occasions. The Airmen were arranged in the
same order as in the pay ledger to ensure that when each person’s name was called, there was
no confusion about who was to come forward to the table and receive the money. In turn,
each Airman, when his name was called, stepped smartly up to our table, spoke loudly the
last 3 digits of his number as a check, saluted , and was handed his remuneration. Whether the
pay was rounded somewhat or whether each was paid to the exact penny, I cannot recall.
What I do know is that I was put in charge ‘paper money’ and that I had a very large pile of
£1 bank notes which I peeled off in accordance with what the ledger clerk announced. There
may have been a colleague of mine sorting out the small change. The notes were always crisp
new ones and it was so necessary to be careful when dealing with them as, one knows, new
notes were difficult to separate. I speedily learned to exercise this high standard of care when
counting when, on an early occasion, I made a mistake of £1, being that much short at the
conclusion of the parade. I realised that this deficiency had to come out of my own pocket as
there was no way any other could be blamed. The pay calculating work had to be done in
these days without the aid of computers or pocket calculators, thus there was a great deal of
cross-checking.
Near our Headquarters Office, there was a well-stocked N.A.F.F.I. to and from which I
regularly walked for a coffee or a snack sometimes as an alternative to the meal in the camp
dining-room. As an example, when I tell you that we had bacon and beans for breakfast every
day for 3 months, one can understand the desire for a change. Life was proceeding quite
smoothly until there was a little upset. When I went to the N.A.A.F.I. premises, I was
normally joined by a group of young fellows. We were all happy to chat together although
we did not have a great deal in common except that we were far from home and were all trying
to adapt to our new life. On the occasion about which I write, there must have been 8 or 9 of
us engaged in animated conversation, when we heard someone angrily say –‘you, you and you
are on a charge for failing to salute an Officer. I was one of the ‘you’s’ although I had not
seen the Officer passing by. He was a Pilot Officer and was probably anxious that his newfound
status should be properly recognised – he wanted from ‘rookies’ the respect which his
new position in life demanded.
Very shortly after that incident, I was, cap-less in accordance with tradition, marched in
before a Flight-Lieutenant of the Station and, in reply to the charge, I told him exactly what
had happened and how I was sorry that I had not seen the Pilot Officer, probably because I
was on the other side of the group. The Presiding Officer did not waste any time in reaching a
decision to give me an ‘absolute discharge’, ensuring that nothing would appear in my records
to damage my future progress. And so it came about that I was nearly branded as a ‘criminal’
soon after I arrived in Yatesbury.
Some weeks after I had settled down in my new employment, I was offered the
opportunity of becoming involved in a series of interesting outings. One of the Senior
Officers at the Station seemed to have a connection with the well-known dog-race-track in
Bristol, or he had been approached to help out with a staffing difficulty on Saturday
evenings. The problem seemed to have arisen with regard to the operation of the ‘tote’. He
co-operated by gathering together a number of the Pay Accounts Airmen and we were
conveyed in a bus to Bristol each Saturday. On the first day at the track, we were allocated
to various jobs and the modus operandi for each was explained. Some of the lads were given
positions at the ‘tote’ windows and sold tickets to the ‘punters’, enabling them to meet the
public. I was given an interesting job, in the central control office, of calculating the pay-out
dividends based upon the overall revenue for each race less a percentage for overheads. There
was always a very big attendance and substantial betting and large sums of money were
involved, and that on top of the betting with the independent bookmakers. It was an unusual
diversion from our duties as conscripts, but one we eagerly looked forward to for the
relaxation it provided. We were rewarded with a small payment for our efforts. This
pleasurable work came to an end after some time. I don’t know whether the track closed
down because of war-related concerns or whether it was due to difficulty in getting petrol for
the little bus.
Yatesbury Royal Air Force Station was for ever a happy memory for me because of the
attractiveness of its surroundings and its potential for enjoying such a place as Avebury
which I visited on many occasions. I also did not allow the opportunity of seeing Bath pass
when there was available transport. Trowbridge was still another town which I made a point
of visiting and I am glad that I did so. I had noticed that cars in the area around Trowbridge
displayed the registration mark AM, the letters forming my initials. While I did not have a
car, I hoped that the day would come in the post-war era when I would possess one.
Ultimately, years later, my ambition was realised and, knowing that there was such a thing as
a personalised number, I confidently telephoned the Motor Taxation Office in Trowbridge
and asked whether they had any small ‘AM’ numbers on offer for transfer to another vehicle.
I was told that I could have AM22 or AM33 at a cost of £5 for the transfer. I selected
AM33 and displayed that number on the various cars which I purchased over many years –
until it had increased in value by many times the cost of my original outlay.
At the beginning of April, 1941, I made up my mind to apply for a Commission, this
decision being not a little inspired by a certain amount of encouragement from superiors. I
gathered together a number of written recommendations or testimonials from influential
friends who were anxious to help me. These included the Town Clerk of Stirling, the Provost
of Stirling, the Depute Town Clerk of Edinburgh, my old master the recently retired Town
Clerk of Stirling, and Joseph Westwood [Member of Parliament]. The Solicitor to the Air
Ministry in Scotland was also a good friend. On 30th June, 1941, the following confidential
memorandum was sent under the reference AMOA 366/1941, by the Officer Commanding,
No. 2 Signals School, Royal Air Force, Yatesbury, to the Senior Accountant Officer at the
Station – ‘Commissioning of Airmen – It is noted for information that recommendations as
under have been forwarded to the Air Ministry - - -
LEGAL OR ADMINISTRATIVE BRANCH – 1119565 AC2 McIntosh, A. SHQ RAF Stn.
Yatesbury’. I assume that this memo had finally gone through all the investigations and
procedures at Yatesbury and that the document had finally been dispatched to Air Ministry
on 30th June. Some time after that date, quite a bit later, I was given the opportunity of being
interviewed by a Selection Group in Adastral House, London, which, apart from one careless
observation by a civilian member of the Group, proceeded without a hitch. The strange
remark made by this member was to the effect that ‘it was generally well-known that
Scotsmen do not make good Officers’. It was probably said to provoke a reaction from me
which would be carefully analysed. I naturally responded and did my best to demonstrate the
inaccuracy of the comment.
Some months later, after an enjoyable summer in and around the Yatesbury area during
which time I visited and revisited all the attractive areas about which I wrote earlier and which
developed a growing appeal for me, and attending productions in the Station Theatre as they
arose, the most memorable being a show called ‘Tons of Money’, produced by Davy
Burnaby; also participating in occasional sports activities, I was notified that I had been
awarded a Commission in the Administrative Branch, with the initial rank, as usual, of Pilot
Officer. Before reaching that milestone event, I had gone through a period during which I
held the rank of Aircraftman 1st Class [AC1], being, I think, a fairly routine promotion, and
then, by examination, a Leading Aircraftman [LAC].
CHAPTER 5
POST-COMMISSIONING: R.A.F. SCHOOL OF ADMINISTRATION AND
R.A.F. STATION - WEST HARTLEPOOL
Before embarking on a more permanent spell with No. 4 Coastal Command’s
Operational Training Unit, I was to attend a Course for newly-commissioned Officers at the
Royal Air Force School of Administration, Stannington, where we were to learn the entire
scope of the administrative duties which we were likely be required to undertake in the course
of our future service. There were about 75 on the Course, and it was indeed very intensive
and comprehensive. At its conclusion, I was awarded First Place, a result which naturally
pleased me a great deal considering the number against whom I had to compete and their
undoubted spread of talent.
The other immediate post-commissioning experience was as a ‘super-numerary’ Officer
at R.A.F. Station West Hartlepool, where I spent several well-remembered weeks for
experiences which I had there. The Commanding Officer took advantage of my legal training
to instruct me to carry out 2 specialist tasks.
Firstly, I was asked to prepare a Summary of Evidence in regard to an accident
involving one of the Station’s Drivers, when a ‘Coles Crane’ was overturned on an ‘S’ bend in
the vicinity of the Station. It looked suspiciously as if the Driver had been driving the crane
too quickly resulting in the vehicle swinging one way and then the other as it approached the
second contrary section of the bend. It was not for me to prosecute the driver, however, but
merely to record exactly what happened. I do not know whether the Driver was Courtmartialled
– I had left ‘for new pastures’ before a decision was made.
The second case was intensely interesting. I was asked to defend a Canadian Airman
who was charged with ‘striking the sea while piloting an aircraft and causing damage to it’. I
think that that Pilot must have been the only one in the history of the Royal Air Force who
was charged with such an offence because I cannot believe that any other Pilot hitting the sea
would survive ‘to tell the tale or face the wrath of his masters’. I did my best to suggest
possible alternative explanations for the damage to the aircraft but it was of no avail, except
that one colleague Officer who had been incorporated into the Court-martial panel told me
later that he disagreed with the ‘guilty’ verdict because the striking of the sea had not been
proved to his satisfaction. That information, coupled with the imposition of the moderate
penalty of a simple ‘reprimand’ lifted my spirits and made me feel that I had served the
Canadian reasonably well.
My days at West Hartlepool coincided to some extent with the night-time bombing of
the adjacent Hull area. Some of the enemy aircraft passed over our Station and our defence
personnel, in their well-sandbagged machine-gun posts seemed to take every opportunity of
opening fire on the planes as they approached our unit. My concern was that we were
advertising our position, particularly to very low-flying craft as they were coming towards
us, when every second bullet seemed to be a tracer one which left a clear trajectory from its
firing position on the ground to the apex of its flight into the atmosphere. I felt it would have
been safer to have paused until the enemy aircraft had been nearer the overhead position.
These thoughts gave rise to one frightening experience which I had on an occasion I was
outside in the aerodrome one evening. I don’t know why I was walking about near the airfield
on this particular evening and I had no reason to believe that an air raid was imminent.
Suddenly, an extremely low-flying German bomber came towards me. All the Station’s guns
began firing, clearly, in my opinion as formulated from past experience, indicating to the plane
that it was coming over an important target. I was scared, and sought refuge by flinging
myself to the ground – it was the only thing I could do as there was no other means of
protection nearby – oblivious to the fact that my new greatcoat might become seriously
stained. It is said that your past life races past in your thoughts in such circumstances of
mortal danger. Well, I do not think that I had time to dwell on my thoughts as I clung to the
ground as if asking it to create a cave to protect me. The confrontation was over in a minute.
I was so happy to find that I could ‘stand up and brush myself down’ and reflect on how
fortunate I had been. When I had fully recovered my composure, I tried to seek an
explanation for my escape. I concluded that the German Pilot and crew must have seen,
reasonably clearly, what was ahead of them as they approached the airfield, notwithstanding
the darkness, because our Gunners commenced firing just as the bomber reached the perimeter
of our territory and those tracer bullets or shells must have provided a landmark track for
them; if the aircraft had dropped its entire bomb-load over the Hull area, I wondered why it
did not use its own on-board guns to fire back at our men. I also could not understand why
the bomber was flying so low, and the thought occurred to me that it might have been
crippled at some stage, and, while seeking a quiet way home by hoping to take advantage of
the blackness of the adjacent North Sea, it accidentally stumbled across out Station. I was so
sure that night that I would be at the receiving end of a bomb or a crashing aeroplane.
CHAPTER 6
R.A.F.STATIONS, INVERGORDON, STRANRAER AND ALNESS
My meanderings as an AC2, AC1, LAC and Pilot Officer were soon to come to an end
on my posting to Invergordon with the object of finding for me as permanent a billet as one
could ever hope to get in the Royal Air Force. I was to be introduced to a Station of flying
boats, accommodated in the Cromarty Firth, mainly Sunderlands and Catalinas. These were
to be the centre-piece of my war-time work until I left the R.A.F. and returned to civilian life.
I must explain that while I write of Invergordon and Alness as if they were 2 separate
Stations, in actual fact the latter grew out of the former. When I arrived at Invergordon in
response to my posting, I was to find that the Officers’ Mess was to be in a rather fine
mansion-house called Dalmore House at Alness, and that I had to have a bicycle to propel
myself backwards and forwards to the few huts which formed the headquarters of the R.A.F.
Station at Invergordon. The new Station was in course of construction at Alness and, in the
fullness of time, the Station settled there in new hutted encampments, the W.A.A,F.’s being
detached from the Airmen in their own camp in a woodland setting. The Officers, of course,
had their own Mansion House for accommodation and dining. As the number of Officers,
including those Officer Pilots providing instruction and being instructed, exceeded the
available accommodation in the House, there were numbers of adjacent huts providing
sleeping accommodation for the overflow. It was in one these huts that I slept during my
early days at the Station. There was a coke-burning stove in the centre of the room, designed
to heat 4 of us in beds at the corners, and I remember how I used to lie awake at night catching
glimpses of the outside frosty and snowy conditions through the spaces in the woodwork. It
was the tail-end of winter, 1941-42, when I had arrived.
While it had been a long train journey from West Hartlepool to the north of Scotland,
where I thought that I was going to find a semi-permanent home with the R.A.F., I was soon
to learn that I was to move to the south-west corner of the country at Stranraer to help in
setting up a new Training Unit as a Detachment, as it was called, of the major northern
Station. I spent several months there acting as the Administration Officer assisting in
establishing the new off-shoot. A number of Officers were accommodated in the George
Hotel, with the Mess being in the Nor-West Castle Hotel, it being the centre for socialising
and provision of meals. The George Hotel was not the modern re-furbished Hotel which, I
understand, it is today. I spent a long time trying to catch the mice which plagued my room
and indeed had a chart on the wall indicating my captures. The mice were gaining access
mainly through holes adjacent to the pipes coming through the flooring near the wash-hand
basin and other apertures at the skirting which gave the little creatures freedom of entry to my
small room near the top of the building.
On the lighter side, I never, in all my war-time service, came across a Catering Officer
who provided such magnificent fare as we enjoyed at Stranraer. How he managed to produce
such appetising food, day after day, is a mystery. There was no indication of war-time
shortages. To my liking, it was a great pleasure to come along to a meal based on lobster or
some other attractive delicacy. The Pilots did their flying training as they were obliged to do,
but I’m sure that they relished returning in the evenings to enjoy the good food and
fellowship in the Nor-West Castle.
It was really ‘hard going’ to be involved in setting up a new Station. So many things
are either not available or have not yet come forward from central stores, calling for a great
deal of improvisation. Still, my responsibilities were not as great as those of the air-crews.
How the detachment unit came into existence, I do not know. I would guess that it
was to increase the number of trained flying-boat crews as rapidly as possible to help in
countering the u-boat menace which was growing and causing much damage to merchant
shipping, the u-boats slipping up the North Sea from their bases in the Baltic Sea, fairly near
the Norwegian coast, then round the north of Scotland, and into the Atlantic where they were
free to attack convoys. While at Alness later, our Training Station was converted for some
time into an Operational Station to enable our flying-boats to join in the search for u-boats
going up the North Sea. At least one of our crew’s efforts was marked by success when they
returned to claim a u-boat ‘kill’ and were able to provide sufficient evidence to substantiate
their claim.
I occasionally joined the air-crews on their practice flights – ‘circuits and bumps’ as
they were called, i.e. take-offs and landings, and soon learned that it was an entirely different
experience to be in an aircraft which landed on water from one which landed on the solid
ground. The main body of the craft brought it quickly to a standstill while the floats, one at
the end of each wing, prevented it from tipping over. The water was a very effective brake.
I had 2 very interesting experiences at Stranraer which are worth recapturing among
these reminiscences. On the first occasion, which is often in my mind, I had joined a muchdecorated
pair of Pilots on a local refresher flight in a Sunderland. They decided to ‘put the
aircraft through its paces’. Whether it was part of their refresher course or sheer devil-maycare
bravado, I never got to know. They decided to make the aircraft a dive bomber, and,
having gained a fair height, they put it into a nose-dive towards the sea. I did not like the
experience because the plane was travelling at a great deal more than its regular knot-rate and,
in my edginess I began to see the wings and other body-parts disintegrating. With some newfound
courage, I did not show my concern lest I should lose face with my colleagues, but for
me it was all very unpleasant.
The other noteworthy, and certainly more pleasant, occasion was when I accompanied
a crew on a visit to our home Station at the Cromarty Firth. We flew on a ‘London’ Flyingboat,
setting off early one morning. Fortunately, it was a lovely crisp dry day. We halted at
Oban on the way north. Somebody had to transact business with the Operational Squadron
located there. Then we pressed on, skirting Ben Nevis where the snow-line round the
mountain was clearly defined. Next we proceeded up the Great Glen, above Loch Ness, over
Inverness and the Black Isle, and landed at our destination in the Cromarty Firth. Whatever
business had to be done was apparently satisfactorily accomplished and after receiving the
expected welcome and hospitality from the Station personnel – our colleagues – in the early
evening we set out to return to Stranraer. During the course of this part of the journey, I was
given the opportunity of piloting the flying-boat, and at once learned how, by finger-tip
control, one could manoeuvre the plane. I was effectively given my first lesson in flying
training and it was quite a thrill for me. I recall being told to ‘keep my nose up’. It is
seemingly a fault with new ‘drivers’ that they allow the nose of the aircraft to dip, probably
in a desire to see the sea or some other point ahead. The whole journey was a memorable
experience, and it added to my then limited background of ‘circuits and bumps’.
My spell at Stranraer covered the occasion when I was given a few days’ leave to get
married to Mary Gault in Fallin Parish Church on 25th November, 1942, the officiating
Minister being the Rev. Mr. Malcolm, who was one of the Ministers much involved in
promoting the work of the Iona Community. He was indeed a good friend to us when we had
the opportunity to go to his Church, and in helping with the arrangements for our marriage.
After the ceremony, we had a meal with about 50 members of the families and guests in
Millar’s Restaurant, Stirling, and finally Mary and I set off for a 3-day break in London,
staying at the Regent Palace Hotel. We trekked about for seemingly countless miles seeing
sights which we had never had the chance of seeing before and found London to be peaceful,
still as yet apparently unaffected by hostile attack.
While we had selected the date for our nuptials, there was some confusion as to
whether I would be given leave, because the date was conflicting with that on which I was
expected to return to Invergordon. The Commanding Officer, Group Captain Gordon came to
my rescue and I received a helpful telephone call to the effect that I was awarded 9 days’
leave from 24th November. I sent an immediate telegram to Mary to put her mind at rest.
At the conclusion of the marriage leave, I returned to the north. It was to be the third
part of my involvement with Alness, the Operational Training Unit for Flying Boats [mainly
involving the work-horses Sunderlands and Catalinas]. The first I regarded as those early
days when I cycled back and forward between Dalmore House and Invergordon’s hutted
Station. The second part was my recent detachment to Stranraer. The third part was the
current posting back as Adjutant of the Maintenance Wing at the slipway near the mouth of
the River Alness, or Averon as it was otherwise called, and the fourth part was to be my
taking over the responsibilities of Station Adjutant which lay in the future.
The slipway was where the flying boats were pulled ashore after a wheel apparatus had
been attached to each side of the hull at the water’s edge to enable them to be wheeled up a
concrete ramp. Then with the aid of a very powerful towing vehicle, they were brought up
on to a hard standing for such work as was required to be done on them.
I enjoyed the pleasant walk back and forth to the slipway along the banks of the
Averon where, at the weir or small water-fall, one regularly saw salmon leaping and making
strenuous efforts to gain the upper reaches of the river to spawn their next generation. It
amounted to a 10-minutes stroll to reach my room in what one regarded as the Maintenance
Wing Headquarters hut near the row of aircraft, now on wheels, having new engines or
propellers fitted, or extensive repairs carried out , or major servicing, all of which operations
were too difficult to do while afloat on the Firth. There was one unsatisfactory feature
which, I was aware, displeased many of the Airmen Fitters and Riggers and that was their
fairly regular need to work beside civilian personnel who were drafted in from the
manufacturers to undertake various operations. These people were paid at a much higher rate
than the Airmen and while the latter could not mount a formal protest, I know that there was
an underlying feeling of resentment that the maintenance arrangements had to be organised in
this way.
My ‘boss’ was Squadron Leader Robbins – a promoted ‘regular’ Engineer, who
appeared to be imbued with the traditional need to maintain a high standard of discipline in
his ‘little empire’. As one of the interviewers said to me when I was being assessed for my
commission – ‘Scotsmen were not really cut out to make good Officers’, probably implying
that they were not good disciplinarians. In my make-up, I rather resent the radical way of
disciplining from a hard ‘power-base’, such as would be expected from a ‘regular’ Officer. I
had never been trained as a ‘hard man’ demanding respect, such as in the case of the Pilot
Officer at Yatesbury, who put me on a ‘charge’ for failing to salute him. This was very much
against the grain in my case. I prefer friendly co-operation and getting the best out of people
by adopting a less antagonistic approach.
Squadron Leader Robbins and I got on well however, although I feel he sensed my
slightly different attitude to discipline. One day, when he was particularly annoyed with a
squad of Airmen on the Unit, for what reason I cannot remember, he ordered me to give them
a special drill ‘to instil some discipline into them’. I couldn’t protest. I had to carry out the
order. I assembled the lads near the Headquarters hut and marched them off to the farthest
point of the slipway from the Headquarters. I gave them a few right, left, and about turns,
recalling which step to give the command on from the many hours spent on the Blackpool
promenade. I had not done any drilling since then, and I didn’t feel inclined to become
involved in it again. I was quickly and thoroughly ‘fed up’ with the role which had been given
to me and, having stood the squad at ease, I told them that if they were unhappy at the
position in which they had been placed, so was I, and that it was of no pleasure for me to
carry out the Squadron Leader’s order to lead this so-called punishment drill. I appealed to
them to eliminate the need for any further such parades by doing what they were supposed to
do to the satisfaction of the Squadron Leader and also avoid me getting into this predicament
again. I’m sure my talk was of value because we never had any further occasion to have such
a parade. It did occur to me that a ‘regular’ Officer would have handled the matter
differently.
I enjoyed seeing all the work going on around me at the slipway and began to appreciate
the skills of the technically-qualified Airmen, many of whom would only, relatively recently,
have come from civilian life. Now they were carrying out major – almost structural – repairs
to Sunderlands and Catalinas, with the lives of air crews dependant on their ability to perform
the tasks efficiently. My respect and admiration for the lads grew when I learned that when a
violent storm was imminent in the Cromarty Firth area, some of them were formed into
skeleton crews to be on board aircraft for the purpose of starting up their engines to ease the
force of the wind pulling at their anchoring gear. On at least one occasion, an aircraft was
detached from its moorings and disappeared without trace during a stormy night, the loss
being discovered at daybreak.
In January, 1943, I was promoted to the rank of Flying Officer and in July, 1943, to
the rank of Flight Lieutenant, these promotions, coming so soon after my marriage, with their
accompanying increases in pay, being particularly welcome.
By skilful planning of week-end passes, leave periods, and permissions to live out,
mainly in the Commercial Hotel, Alness, when Mary was free to visit me for a few days at a
time, I was able to see her regularly from the beginning of 1943. This was a welcome change
from the Dalmore House routine. The first opportunity to take advantage of this new pattern
of living was from 31st December, 1942, to 4th January, 1943, when we booked in at the
local Hotel.
My administrative duties at the Maintenance Wing did not cause me any stress,
although my duties had to be interrupted occasionally for various odd reasons such as one is
unlikely to come across in civilian life. I would like to give one example. In June, 1943, I was
ordered to participate, along with many others, in an elaborate mock attack on Evanton
Airport, to find out how effective our assault would be and how their defences would
withstand it. This was thoroughly prepared in the ‘orders of the day’ which laid out, in
considerable detail, how the attack was to be carried out. I’m afraid that I made a somewhat
inadequate contribution because, at an early stage in the proceedings, one of the judges told
me that I had been ‘killed’, probably because I had stumbled into a hidden trap. I felt quite
well notwithstanding my calamity, but a bit annoyed that I had not made a success of my
part in the fray.
It was during the autumn that Flight Lieutenant Wilson, the Station Adjutant, was sent
to another post and I was appointed to take his place. This marked the beginning of a period
in the Royal Air Force when I derived the greatest satisfaction from the work which I was
able to do and it had taken around 3 years to reach this point. I was now in control of the
busy Station Headquarters Orderly Room, with a deputy, Flying Officer Hicks, a dapper
little fellow who had come from Fox Films and was inclined to see himself in his work as a
Film Magnate. Group Captain Gordon, the Station Commander, occupied an office at the end
of the corridor from my office, and we worked together a great deal, he not interfering in any
way with what I was doing. There was a Squadron Leader [Administration], without staff,
also in the corridor – a promoted ‘regular’ Airman. I never really got to know what his sphere
of influence was – whether, for example, he was in charge of me and my office – but he was a
harmless individual who also left me alone to my own resources.
Of course, there were some occasions on which we all had to work together. There
were periodic accidents involving the deaths of Airmen. The worst tragedy during my service
at Alness was when about a dozen Canadians were killed during flying training operations.
We had to arrange a very large funeral, with most of the Station personnel taking part. The
Station’s Pipe Band led the lengthy parade from Alness to a little cemetery lying between
there and Invergordon. After the Pipe Band marched a group of wreath-carrying Airmen, then
the coffins on R.A.F. vehicles, and finally there was a considerable number of the Station’s
Airmen. It was by far the saddest of a number of these tragic occasions. It involved a great
deal of planning, including, of course, communicating with the relatives in Canada, but the
funeral was carried out with great dignity.
My Orderly Room was, I suppose, the equivalent of a modern Personnel Department.
It was a base which any of the several thousand Airmen and W.A.A.F.’s on the Station could
rely on to sort out difficulties in their lives, whether due to a granny having died or the need
to get married in haste or to a hundred and one other difficulties which arise more readily in
the captive population of a major R.A.F. Station than among an equivalent number of people
in civilian life. The office managed the substantial movement of personnel, both inwards and
outwards, as determined by Group Headquarters, as well as, unfortunately, numbers of
Court-martials normally for absence without leave.
It was as an extension of these basic responsibilities that I offered to give legal advice to
those requiring it to help the young people solve their problems within that field. I did, in
fact, discover that there were many Airmen, and to a lesser extent W.A.A.F.s, with worries to
justify the offer which I had made, and, as a result, I ran regular sessions to try and resolve
the difficulties which were explained to me. One can appreciate that these covered a wide
spectrum. I can give 3 examples of the sort of things that were put to me - [1] I want to get a
divorce from my wife because she stores all the dirty washing below the bed and this
distresses me; [2] What can I do when I got married to an under-age girl of 15 who stated that
her age was 16; [3] I have been going out with a girl from the village [Alness] and she has
become pregnant – when advised that he had to face up to his responsibilities or come to a
suitable arrangement for the child’s up-bringing, he said – ‘she is a decent girl – she is going to
go out with another fellow and blame him’. My education was considerably widened as a
consequence of my entry into this voluntary work because I met up with strange problems
which I never knew existed.
There was a period when Sunderlands were occasionally losing their propellers in flight
and the Commanding Officer considered that it would be beneficial to air crew morale if
Administrative Officers, such as my Deputy and me, would sometimes join them in their
training exercises. I am happy to relate that I went through that period unscathed, but on one
occasion, my Deputy, Flying Officer Hicks, was not so fortunate, the aircraft on which he
was flying losing a propeller. Poor ‘Hickie’ had to spend several days in bed to aid his
recovery.
At one stage, as part of my work, I acted in effect as a primitive Meteorological
Officer. There was no sophisticated satellite information then available, such as exists today.
Relying on a number of items at known distances from my viewpoint, which ones I was able
to see determined the scope of visibility. When someone at Group Headquarters phoned
daily to co-ordinate the weather report for the benefit of flying crews, I was able to give an
exact measurement of visibility in the Cromarty Firth area. Whether the German
reconnaissance planes were able to tap into the information, I do not know, but we had fairly
regular visits from enemy spy-planes coming from the Sutors of Cromarty, the imposing rock
formation at the entry to the Firth, and flying over our aircraft. We never had any bombs
dropped on our Station, nor on any adjacent targets. There was the possibility, however, that
some of these spying aircraft never returned to their bases, because they may have been
intercepted by fighter planes stationed somewhere along the route between Inverness and
Aberdeen.
As diversions from the routine of the office, I prosecuted and defended at a number of
Court-martials. I cannot remember any of these proceedings being for major crimes; they
were generally for such demeanours as absence without leave, although it has to be said that
such offences were looked upon quite severely in these days.
Apart from the business of the office, especially in summer, the long clear evenings
gave us scope for recreational activities. ‘Double Summer Time’ was in operation, and in
consequence, there was daylight until very late in the day. Several of us were interested in
playing golf, and we took advantage of the freedom to play over Alness Golf Course which
was attractively laid out on the hillside above the village. We had very many enjoyable
evenings there, our games usually finishing past the midnight hour.
I, along with some others, occasionally had the opportunity of fishing from a boat on a
small Highland loch on the hill not very far beyond the golf course, and we enjoyed this
experience as well. The loch was so under-fished that, when you cast a line with 3 hooks on
it, you normally caught 3 fish. The fish gave the impression that they were surrendering
themselves to any angler.
Our fishing adventures at the loch inspired a fishing venture which was not exactly
crowned with financial success. We learned that the fishing rights on the Averon were
available for leasing for the season at £20. After some effort, 20 Officers were found who
were pleased to contribute £1 a head for 2 good reasons – [1] that we could each share in the
pleasure of river angling, knowing that, as lessees, we were asserting our rights and we would
not be troubled with water bailiffs, and [2] with a captive population of several thousand
Airmen, many of whom were expected to be keen anglers, there was the chance of making a
profit by selling permits to fish at 2s. 6d. a day. The anticipated profit was not to materialise
although some of the £1 contributors did take advantage. So far as the Airmen were
concerned, we would have required a team of Bailiffs to patrol the river to get a return on our
outlay. As it was, we were relying on the goodwill and honesty of the interested Airmen to
purchase permits. For the record, the syndicate’s total income for the season was 2s.6d.
In the Aultnamain area, on the hill road from Alness to Bonar Bridge, I got to know a
Farmer who kept hens, and who thereby had a regular supply of eggs. I was aware that, back
home, eggs were scarce and, after coming to an arrangement with the Farmer for a regular order
of 6 eggs at a time, I made a fairly solid egg-box into which I was able to pack 6 eggs for
posting to my wife. The empty box was posted back to me, and so began a shuttle eggservice
to the Stirling area. There was always a warm welcome in Stirling for my egg
package. That egg-box travelled many miles in its lifetime, and the procedure fully justified
the effort collecting the eggs as well as the postage involved.
My social life at Alness was quite varied. This was important when one had to have
regard to the long dark days through the winter months. The best dances were those run for
the benefit of the Airmen and W.A.A.F.s. Officers were not permitted to attend unless by a
manoeuvre such as the one I adopted to circumvent the problem. In my position of newfound
authority, I appointed myself to a new position of Officer in charge of Airmen’s
Dances and many an enjoyable evening I spent with the young ones in the guise of being in
charge of them. I naturally participated in the dancing and only my uniform indicated that I
was somehow different. Those present treated me as one of their own although my presence
may have served some beneficial supervisory purpose which I never got round to analysing.
Following conversations with some of the Dance Band musicians who were at the
Station, I encouraged them to establish a good Dance Orchestra which we could make
available to other R.A.F. and Naval Stations in the vicinity. The leader was Corporal Eddie
Warin, who was an expert musician and I recall that ‘Lofty’ played the Double-Bass, having,
in civilian life crossed and re-crossed the Atlantic Ocean on the ‘Queen Mary’ playing that
instrument as a member of the liner’s Dance Orchestra.
With so much talent around, I also encouraged the setting up of an Entertainments
Group which in due course supplemented the official E.N.S.A. Groups which toured the
various Units, these including Ralph Reader and his Gang Show and featuring other wellknown
personalities in the entertainment world. One such entertainer whose name seemed to
remain in my mind, was Cardew ‘the Cad’ Robinson, complete with his long scarf, who
appeared on television many years after I left the Air Force. Our own entertainers provided
regular concerts. Corporal Bain, from Macduff, a Telephonist, could always be depended
upon to sing ‘Delia’ to great applause, and high-lights would include a series of ‘black-andwhite’
sketches, with a ‘punch line’ at the end of each one. The Group was also given
permission to give performances to entertain the troops in surrounding Stations. On one
occasion, while in course of giving a performance at the Naval Base on the Dornoch Firth, I
allowed myself to be coaxed into participating in one of the sketches. The sketch went
something like this. When the stage curtain opened, I was sitting at the front of the stage,
with an attractive W.A.A.F. on my knee. I was saying some words of endearment to her in a
Polish accent – the Poles w’ere extremely popular with the lasses in these days. After my
sentences in Polish, as best as I was able to speak it, she said to me – And what part of
Poland do you come from? – To which I replied – ‘I really come from Glasgow, but this is the
only way I can get a girl-friend!’ At this point, the curtain was quickly drawn. The
considerable amount of applause in the crowded Station Theatre surprised me.
There was another different type of occasion on which I visited the Naval Station when
it was necessary to call on their Hospital Unit. One of our W.A.A.F.s had been complaining
of stomach pains and she was hurriedly moved to the Naval Hospital. She gave birth to a
baby, much to the surprise of her friends, and, as I understand it, to the Hospital Staff as
well, There had apparently been no indication what the cause of her trouble really was and it
was alleged that she had not understood what was happening to her. I went along to the
Hospital to see the girl and to thank the Staff for what they had done. Thinking that I had the
air of a medical man, they asked me whether I wanted to examine the girl. I declined their
offer with an appropriate explanation. I was told that this was the first baby to be born in
that Naval Hospital. The young girl was the daughter of a railway worker and his wife, the
man looking after a railway crossing just outside Inverness on the way to Nairn. I felt it was
my duty to visit them and break the news about their daughter. They appreciated my visit
but were completely shocked, not having any idea about their daughter’s condition.
We normally had quite a lot of snow during the winter months and there were a couple
of memorable occasions on which the snow played a big part. While it was not unusual for
senior personnel at Alness, including the Commanding Officer, to pay liaison visits to
adjacent R.A.F. and Naval Stations, the Group Captain was not present on the occasion
about which I am about to write. A number of us had been invited to receive hospitality at a
mansion-house of a lady of some standing in Strathpeffer, which was situated some 12 miles
or so from our base. We enjoyed a very happy evening, taking full advantage of the festive
fare which she had so generously provided and the warm surroundings of her lovely home,
completely unaware that, shortly after our arrival, the snow began to fall – and it fell – and it
fell. When it was time to go on our way, the roads were impassable and there was no
alternative to spending the night on her luxurious sofas. We managed to set out on an
adventurous journey back to Alness early next morning. The second snow-fall provided a real
boost for our Station. It was well publicised that the extremely important Inspector-General
of the Royal Air Force would be along on a certain day to carry out a formal inspection. We
were so concerned at the amount of mud which was lying around, due to exceptional rainfall,
that the whole place would be assessed as uncared-for and generally untidy. On the day
before his visit, there was a heavy snow-fall and every part of the Station area became like a
Christmas card setting. Needless to say, the Inspector-General was charmed at how
beautiful our Unit was in its winter white coat, and as a result, he gave us a most glowing
report. I think that we had a stroke of good fortune on our side, or someone had been praying
very hard indeed.
I always enjoyed the Christmas meal at the Airmen’s and W.A.A.Fs’ dining halls when
the Officers maintained an established tradition of serving the ‘Christmas meal’ to the ‘other
ranks’. We all entered into the spirit of the festivities and a very good time was had by
everyone.
Some Officers were out on a limb, as it were, not forming part of the administrative and
training personnel. These were the Chaplains representing the principal religions, who each
held the honorary rank of Squadron Leader, and who went about quietly attending to the
spiritual needs of their flocks. I often went along to see the Church of Scotland Padre, who
was a Minister in Glasgow prior to his entry into the Air Force. He was not particularly well
supported in his religious services. We decided to develop interest in his existence and
availability by starting a Social and Hobbies Club at which Airmen could practise some of
their hobbies. For example, I remember that building model aeroplanes and even wireless sets
became exceedingly popular and was adjudged a success, stimulating interest in the Church
Service as well.
On 25th January, 1944, an anniversary of the birth of Robert Burns, the National Bard
of Scotland, the Scottish Officers in the Mess decided to organise a Burns’ Supper. Haggis
was a strange dish to many of the English Officers as well as to other colleagues from foreign
lands then in residence with us. We borrowed the kilts from the Pipe Band, as well as some
rifles from the Armoury, and set out in the darkness of the preceding evening to ‘shoot the
haggis’ in the woods, at least in sufficient quantities to provide ample fare for the Supper.
Those who were in Dalmore House heard sporadic firing coming from the direction of the
adjacent woodland, and it can be assumed that those who were ignorant of Scottish habits
accepted that a good job was being done. During the following evening, we had the Burns’
Supper, using the kilts as far as they could go, to emphasize the Scottish nature of the
occasion. We had ample knowledge of the procedure for such an important occasion by
arranging for the haggis to be ceremoniously introduced and ‘addressed’ and so on. With the
co-operation of the cooks, we had a memorable meal, terminating the evening with some
semblance of Scottish dancing, some of which was demonstrated on top of the tables. It was
agreed that it was a worth-while event, and the visitors from other Nations who had the good
fortune to be present would, I am sure, remember the evening for many years.
Towards the end of 1944, I had a very interesting conversation with the Commanding
Officer. Completely ‘out of the blue’ one day he decided to tell me that he had been allocated
a quota of awards for personnel on the Station. These were apparently handed down from
Group Headquarters and he was to be the judge as to whom they should be given. He told me
that he really wanted to give me an MBE, there being one available, but that as there was a
Squadron Leader Admin. on the Station, who was senior to me, he ‘would need to give the
award to him’, but that he would give me a ‘Mention in Dispatches’. I accept that he did not
need to tell me anything. It made it clear to me, what I later learned in life, that the standard
of one’s award was normally determined by one’s position. In other words, there have
unquestionably been many cases where awards of a higher degree were deserved but these
were adjusted downwards to match the rank of the individual. We have been told by numbers
of ‘influential’ politicians that the position would be rectified and that the ‘award by class’
arrangement would be brought to an end. Nothing happens. It looks as if the system is too
deeply embedded in the ‘seat of power’ to be altered. When I got a ‘gong’ much later in life,
it was on the basis of inclusion in ‘the Prime Minister’s list’. The Prime Minister seemed to
be incapable of defeating the system. We are told from an early age that we are all Jock
Tamson’s bairns, but Jock Tamson appears in many guises and his children are not equal in
the eyes of the award-makers.
Especially in the winter-time, the assembly area was the spacious warm lounge
accommodation near the foot of the main staircase in the mess. It was there that you were
sure to find somebody who was prepared to have a good chat, or argument, with you. It was
such a cosy area that we were frequently joined by a couple of robin ‘red-breasts’, escaping
from the severe cold outside, or maybe, who knows, to hear the chatter. It was in that area
that I regularly talked to the Training Instuctors and the flying boat pilots who had been
posted to Alness for refresher courses or for other reasons. I think that I am correct in saying
that everyone who piloted a flying boat had to spend some time at Alness, which meant that
anyone who spent a period of service there was almost sure to meet , in the course of his
stay, all the personalities who had seen service with these remarkable craft, and learn that
these pilots were of many nationalities, coming from as far away as Wagga-Wagga in
Australia.
It was how I came to meet Flying Officer Dennis Briggs, who was involved in finding
the German battleship Bismarck after it escaped from the pursuing British in the Atlantic
Ocean after H.M.S. Hood was sunk by it on 24th May, 1941. He had long talks with me
during which he told me exactly what happened on that fateful morning 2 days after the Hood
went to the bottom.
Before repeating my conversation with ‘Briggie’, I would prefer to recount a portion of
the Bismarck episode as it has been officially recorded. All the events took place between
24th and 27th May, 1941. As stated above, the Hood was lost in a sea battle on the 24th,
after which the British ships maintained pressure on the Bismarck until 0306 hours on the
25th when contact was lost as a result of a skilful starboard manoeuvre followed by a
northern loop, At 0401hours, H.M.S. Suffolk signalled ‘Enemy contact lost’. During the
night of 25th/26th, the Bismarck maintained her course to St. Naziare and there were no
incidents on board. On the morning of 26th, as the Bismarck was approaching the French
coast, the crew were ordered to re-paint the tops of the main and secondary turrets in yellow,
and in the afternoon, a dummy funnel was constructed to try and confuse the British. At
0300 hours that morning, 2 Catalinas took off from Lough Erne in Northern Ireland in a
reconnaissance mission in search of the Bismarck. At about 1010 hours, Catalina Z of 209
Squadron, commanded by Dennis Briggs, sighted the German battleship and the battleship
answered with very accurate anti-aircraft fire. The Catalina jettisoned the 4 depth charges on
board and took evasive action after its hull was holed by shrapnel. The contact had been
broken for more than 31 hours. Flying Officer Briggs contradicted that report when he told
me that ‘We didn’t discover the Bismarck – it discovered us – the first thing we knew was
that we were being fired at’. I have often wondered what would have happened if the
Bismarck had not given away its position by opening fire – and whether the Catalina would
have flown past the German ship, unaware that it was in the vicinity – and whether the
Bismarck would have reached the safety of friendly air cover near the French coast. Were the
Bismarck’s gunners too ‘trigger-happy?
My days in the Cromarty Firth area, as the reader will have gathered, had much variety
but I did really feel that I had contributed some worth-while services during my spell at
Alness. The ‘powers-that-be’ had a little unpleasant gift for me however when, with V.E.
day approaching, they posted me abroad – I think it was to be Egypt – and I had to go to
R.A.F. Station, Uxbridge, to get my instructions, after which I would be granted the
customary embarkation leave. This was a dreadful blow.
CHAPTER 7
UXBRIDGE - V.E.DAY CELEBRATIONS IN LONDON
I had left Mary at Stirling Station on Saturday evening [5TH May, 1945] to travel
south to Uxbridge, via London. The train was 2 hours late in reaching London, but I arrived
at my destination during the course of the Sunday [6th] as I was obliged to do. If the
unfortunate reason for me leaving Alness was ignored, it was certainly a quite remarkable
stroke of luck that I arrived at R.A.F. Station, Uxbridge, just 2 days before V.E. day, so giving
me the opportunity of seeing, and participating in, the celebrations in London. The formal
programme intended for us was thrown into some confusion, or at least, temporarily
abandoned.
On V.E. Day [minus 1], during the forenoon, we were put into groups of between 20
and 30 and were free for the remainder of the day. This enabled me to go to early lunch and I
was in the tube for London by 1 o’clock. I set out for Piccadilly where crowds of people had
already gathered. There were hosts of flag-sellers, and decorations were being hung from
buildings at great speed. Newspapers were being sold like hot cakes. I walked along to
Trafalgar Square, past Nelson’s Column, then on to Buckingham Palace, Houses of
Parliament, Whitehall, Downing Street, etc. There were many Cabinet Ministers rushing
around the Downing Street area. I paused with the crowds here and there waiting for
something special to happen. There seemed to be hundreds of camera-men. Then suddenly I
saw a long procession, with an effigy of Hitler held high, on their way to Hyde Park to have it
burned. I followed – then on to St. James’s Park and Buckingham Palace once again where
workmen were busily engaged on the King’s balcony. They were sweeping it and laying
down a wooden platform. A few minutes later, I bought a newspaper with the headline
‘King’s balcony gets a sweeping’. There were thousands of people outside the Palace and all
the gardens seemed suddenly to become a sea of red and white flowers, the tulips providing a
magnificent display. What struck me about the folks in London was that they would stand
for hours waiting and hoping for something to happen. Wherever you saw a battery of loud
speakers being put up, you were sure to see a crowd assemble. During the course of the day,
I met 2 friendly faces from Alness – an Officer and a Flight-Sergeant to whom I had given
leave passes a few days earlier – it shows the vast number of people a Station Adjutant
connects with.
We all knew by about 2-45 p.m. that the war with Germany was over, and everybody
expected to hear Churchill at any moment. The crowds were disappointed when that did not
happen.
Lots of people were climbing up lamp-posts and all over the statue of Eros. Many
neon signs were flickering back to life. Half the American Air Force seemed to be in London
celebrating. By 8 o’clock in the evening, the whole city was a mass of flags and bunting. All
the walls were transformed to red, white, and blue, with many stars and stripes. There were
countless uniforms and coloured dresses, with naturally, red, white and blue being the
predominant colours. For 1s.6d. I had a meal of fish, greens and beetroot, plus tea, in Lyon’s
Corner-house.
I lingered awhile until it became dark so that I could relish the display of lights and the
myriad show of colours. Then, with very tired legs, I was back in Uxbridge by 9-30 p.m. to
enjoy a 9-hours sleep, not being unduly disturbed by the terrific thunderstorm which
happened during the night.
On V.E. Day [Tuesday, 8th May], our 9 a.m. class was curtailed to 10 minutes to
enable everyone to attend a short Parade-ground Thanksgiving Service, after which, following
another early lunch, I once again set off for London with a new-found friendly Air Force
Officer, from Port Ellen in the Western Isles, who needed help in finding his way around.
The sun was shining beautifully and there were already huge crowds when we arrived about
1-30 p.m. Starting at Piccadilly once more, we followed the route which I had taken
yesterday. All the traffic had come to a stand-still and the throngs of people were so great
that it was difficult to thread your way through them – wherever one went every place was
mobbed. Near the Houses of Parliament, I heard Churchill’s speech through the loud speakers
and I’m sure that the cheering would be heard all the way to Stirling. As I mentioned already,
lamp-posts were favourite look-out places, so also were traffic signals, pill-boxes – anything
that was above ground level.
A few minutes after 3 o’clock, there was a great commotion. Churchill was on his way
to the House of Commons and he was being ambushed by the crowd. His car was proceeding
at less than walking pace and passed within 5 yards of me. I had a perfect view of him for
nearly 5 minutes – it was a stroke of luck.
There were so many amusing and happy interludes – lorries full of people shouting and
singing – immobile in the streets – the Pathe-Gazette Camera-man trying to get super ‘shots’,
ticker –tape showers from buildings, picnic parties on any grass area that could be found, and
the sun was shining all the time. At 4 o’clock, we walked back to Leicester Square and
managed to get into a café, where I had sausage and toast, 2 pieces of cake, and 2 glasses of
lemonade, all for 1s. 10d. When we left the café, there were waiting queues over 100 yards
long. We continued up to Piccadilly, where the crowds were having a wonderful time –
dancing on the street and playing with massive balloons. There were people on windowledges
auctioning hats which they had hooked from heads below. Then a car-ful of wounded
men would pass by and they would get a tremendous cheer.
We next walked to Buckingham Palace where, a few minutes after we arrived, the King
and Queen, the Princesses, and Churchill came out on to the balcony to rousing cheers. Then
we went up through Marble Arch and round by the West End, past an American Club where
there were many Americans at windows and on ledges throwing oranges, chocolate, cigarettes
and money coins to the large crowd. We decided that we had had enough – oh no, there was a
Service in a bombed-out church and we just had to attend it – so picturesque and unusual. We
finally reached Piccadilly to get or train for Uxbridge to find that all the entrances, except one,
had been closed. About 100 Policemen were on duty trying to keep order and there was a
mile-long queue for trains stretching round several blocks and all the way underground to the
platforms.
We ultimately ‘made it’ and arrived back at the R.A.F. Station in a state of nearexhaustion.
Notwithstanding that, I went for a late-night walk round Uxbridge to enjoy the
sights of all the floodlit cinemas and public buildings. As I prepared for bed at nearly
midnight, I could still see, through the window of my room, the rockets and search-lights
beams streaking over London. My feet were sore and my body was aching, but I intended to
be present at an E.N.S.A. Concert the following evening.
The next day [Wednesday, 9th], I wrote a long letter to Mary and told her to expect me
on Saturday [12th], the letter containing much detail about which train I might leave on from
London and when I was likely to arrive in Stirling. As part of my forward thinking following
that week-end, I said that I would go on to Alness on Monday morning [14th], where I would
arrive in the evening, and that I would immediately apply for the balance of my privilege leave
and my embarkation leave with the aim of being back in Stirling on Wednesday [16th] or
Thursday [17th]. I never returned to Alness in accordance with that expected programme
and I never had to make application to anyone for embarkation leave.
The final letter home reported that on the 9th, I had attended ‘the class’ at 9 a.m., that
we had a break at 10-10 and another one at 11-30, that at 12noon we adjourned for lunch until
2 p.m. when we were due to visit the ‘local release centre’, and finally, it had been arranged
that, within the next 2 days, we would visit the ‘release clothing centre’ at Wembley.
It is difficult to record the confusion of my feelings at the beginning of that momentous
week in Uxbridge. I had no sooner arrived at the hub of Government than I had developed a
fuller appreciation of how near we were to the cessation of hostilities. I had, within hours,
been present at the remarkable rapturous display of emotion and relief on the part of
countless thousands of ordinary people, demonstrating in their own uninhibited way and
endorsed by Heads of State and Government with a minimum of pomp and ceremony, that
the demanded ‘unconditional surrender’ was now an accomplished fact. At the same time, I
had to wake up to the realisation that I had been sent south to attend a course in connection
with an overseas posting.
The real end of the story of my war-time experiences turned out to be as follows. My
overseas posting was cancelled. I was given immediately at Uxbridge what was called a ‘Class
B’ release from the Royal Air Force ‘at the request of the Ministry of Labour and National
Service in order to perform work of national reconstruction’ on the basis that if, at any time, I
ceased to carry out the work for which I had been released, save for health reasons, my release
would be revoked and I would be recalled to duty with the Air Force. I never ceased to
undertake the work for which I had been released, thereby preventing myself from being
exposed to a recall. I was ultimately and finally discharged from the Royal Air Force on 14th
February, 1946, exactly 5 years and 8 months after receiving my original enlistment notice, by
Order issued by Uxbridge on 24th January, 1946, and accordingly severing the hold the
R.A.F. had on me.
During reflections in these final days at Uxbridge, I often pondered how fortunate I had
been in my postings and experiences to avoid exposure to risk and peril, and generally about
the ease with which I had so far completed my period of service with the Royal Air Force. In
my heart, I was grateful for all of this when so many others had been involved in situations
involving great sacrifice. I thought, particularly, about my brother, Blythe, a ‘desert rat’ in
charge of a tank, who had to fight at El Alamein, then all the way through North Africa,
Sicily, Italy, and Germany, finally sitting ‘in the field’ on their Armistice Day with German
soldiers whom, a few days before, they had been trying to kill, and conversely the Germans
them, just like friends and colleagues discussing and trying to find out, as best as they could
understand each other, what they were fighting about. For the record, my sister, Peggie,
served in the W.A.A.F. in Egypt at the conclusion of the war, and the following sister and 2
brothers, being younger, joined the Forces later – Charlotte [A.T.S.]; James [R.A.F.]; David
[Army] - in post-hostilities roles. No-one seemed to be interested in joining the Navy!

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