CALL UP
Padgate, Blackpool, Turnberry, were stations on my road into life in the RAF.
By the time I left Turnberry to go to St Athan in South Wales, I had been drilled, marched and kitted out to something resembling a member of His Majesty's armed forces. St Athan was a training school to turn raw recruits like me into airframe fitters. I don't remember how long the transformation took, probably around six weeks and I passed out as an AC/2, Aircraftman Second Class with authorisation to inspect and repair the airframe of an aircraft under the supervision of an LAC, a Leading Aircraftman. To me the interesting part of all this is the ability to turn raw recruits, who had never seen an aeroplane in their lives, into skilled mechanics able to keep those aeroplanes flying. I celebrated my 21st Birthday in St Athan. Clare had come down to spend a week nearby at Barry Island and every spare moment we spent together. We went into Cardiff for a celebratory drink on my birthday but we did not feel very happy about it as we had no idea where I was going to be sent once the training course was finished. In the event I was posted back up to Scotland to an airfield at Turnhouse not far from Edinburgh where I started work for the first time as an airframe mechanic. The planes were torpedo-carrying Beauforts. They had a crew of two, a pilot and a navigator. There was room behind the pilot for a standing passenger and I often took the opportunity to fly with them. The custom had grown up that when a pilot was taking a plane for a test flight after work had been done on it he could ask for one of the mechanics who had worked on his plane to go with him. This of course was an attempt to ensure that sabotage was cut to a minimum. This was war and the enemy would try any trick to create havoc behind the lines.
I was not long at Turnhouse before I was sent to a small airfield to the east of Edinburgh called Drem. I suppose I was there about two weeks when I was on the move again. This time I went south to Halton in Buckinghamshire, just a few miles north of London. There I was to do an advanced course to pass out as an Airframe Fitter. I had to travel from Drem to Edinburgh then change to catch a train south that would take me eventually to Halton.
On the train from Drem I was in a carriage with bout six or seven other people one of whom was an elderly lady sat next to me. She engaged me in conversation in the course of which I must have said that I had been posted south. We of course never discussed with strangers the whereabouts of military installations so I certainly did not tell her where I was going. As the train pulled into Edinburgh station I waited for the carriage to empty as I was loaded with a kit-bag, rifle and all the other equipment we carried around. Getting my gear together I noticed a bag on the luggage rack that someone had left behind. I took it down and gave it to a railway porter as I had another train to catch and therefore had no time to take it myself to the lost property department. I thought no more about the incident. Some weeks later whilst at Halton doing my Fitters course, I had a visit from the RAF Military Police. They demanded that I let them search my kit. I had no idea what they were looking for and as I had nothing to hide I was quite happy for them to carry out the search. At the end of it I asked what this was all about and they said I had been accused by some old lady in Scotland of stealing her bag. As I was quite innocent I heard no more about it.
I enjoyed my time at Halton learning how to use tools, metal work and even how to use a needle and thread as there were still some aircraft with canvas on parts of the wings or tailplane so we had to be taught how to repair them.
Then off on my travels again, this time to Norfolk. When my name was called when we passed out at Halton I was told I was being posted to a place called Buxton Lammas. My heart leaped, Buxton I thought, a few miles from home in Derbyshire. Picture my disappointment when I found out that Buxton Lammas was nowhere near Buxton in Derbyshire.
Home for leave then off to Coltishall just a few miles from Buxton Lammas in Norfolk. This was my first experience of a fully operational airfield. I was posted to the Station Flight which dealt with all visiting aircraft and the station's own Headquarters Flight. The squadrons based at Coltishall had their own flight mechanics.
If my memory serves me correctly our Commanding Officer at Coltishall was Wing-Commander Johnny Johnson, a well-known golfer.
Our job as I have said was to service visiting aircraft and they certainly kept us busy. Coltishall is one of the nearest airfields as the crow flies, to the European mainland. So we used to get squadrons of fighter-bombers, usually Mosquitoes or Beauforts, land at Coltishall on their way out to a raid. They would fill up with fuel to ensure they had a full load on and then take off on their mission. On the way home they would again call in for fuel and a rest before making for base. We often had some of the big bombers like Lancasters or Wellingtons call on the way home especially if they had had a bad time and needed the medics.
It was on that airfield that I first saw blood that had been spilt in battle. When some of the large bombers returned that had been hit there would invariably be crew members who needed medical attention. On one occasion a plane landed that had been seriously damaged, the cockpit full of blood, the dead body of the pilot sat in his seat with half his head blown away. The second pilot had landed the aircraft. These lads, 18 and 19 years old proving Winston Churchill so right when he said, "Never has so much been owed by so many to so few." One of my jobs when on night duty was to go out onto the airstrip to meet incoming aircraft with a "FOLLOW ME" van. This was a small van with an electric sign on the back as the field was in darkness the pilots needed guidance to the dispersal point.
One night when I was on duty we were out on the strip leading a plane in when all hell broke loose. A German plane must have followed one of ours back and he came down the runway with all guns blazing. Fortunately nobody was hit and he got away without causing any damage. That was the only time I heard a gun fired in anger whilst here in England.
We often got aircrew posted to us whilst awaiting an active posting. One of these was a Spitfire pilot who was recovering after being shot down. He was not with us long but whilst he was he acted as entertainment's officer organising concerts. For one particular show he was putting on he said he needed to go to Manchester to pick up some theatrical gear. We had a small three-seater aircraft that was used to fly officers around on such errands. When I heard that there was a flight to Manchester I immediately had a word with my Flight Sergeant to see if I could get a week-end pass. Fortunately he was in a good mood and I got the pass. The next thing was to get the pilot to agree to take me. As there were only two Officers going he was quite willing and we took off for Manchester in this small aircraft which I think was a Piper Cub.
Once we were airborne the pilot contacted Ringway Airport to ask for permission to land there but he was told that no landings were allowed at Ringway. It was used as a training camp for the newly formed Airborne Regiment. So he had to find another airfield close to Manchester. The nearest was a Fleet Air Arm base outside Warrington. Now a Spitfire lands at a much higher speed than a Piper Cub. The pilot had obviously not flown this little plane very often so as we came down over the edge of the airfield it was obvious he was going too fast. We scorched down the runway and to our horror, there in front of us, across the end of the runway, was a line of Barracuda aircraft. Fortunately he had enough room, to throttle forward the engine pick up speed, and we were airborne again just in time. Huge sighs of relief as we went round again and came in at a much lower speed. When we got down the pilot went up into the Control Tower and from what he said afterwards must have been given a good ticking off with advice to "do some circuits and bumps before you come in here again"; for the uninitiated, that means practise your landing techniques.
Well, off I went on my week-end leave and that must have been in July 1944 as my first daughter, Linda was born in April 1945. So we can pin-point the date of conception.
Whilst I was in Coltishall, Clare came to stay in the village for a week and it was there she realised that she was pregnant.
Having been brought up in a Jewish home, she had never eaten bacon, nor for that matter, any other non-kosher food. But the smell of bacon frying in the digs where she stayed started her off with morning sickness. She was about four and a half months pregnant when I was posted overseas, though I did not leave these shores till the end of November 1944.
Whilst she was still visiting me in Coltishall I remember we went on a trip to Cromer and will always remember lying on the cliff top overlooking the beach when we heard the roar of aero-engines, and looking up saw coming from the east, aeroplanes. At first we could not make out whose they were, but as they came closer I recognised them as American Flying Fortresses, obviously returning from a bombing raid over enemy territory. It was the pattern during the war for the Yanks to do the day-time raids and our planes the night.
My elder brother, Leon had been called up before me and was also in the RAF. There was a ruling in the services that if an elder sibling wished to have the younger posted to the same station then they could put in a request and eventually after all the "necessary" forms had been filled in and passed by all the various officers, it would come to pass. Leon was at a radar station at a place called Neatishead, which is about 5 or 6 miles from Coltishall. As I was an Airframe Fitter and the camp where Leon was had no aircraft, the nearest airfield was Coltishall, so we saw each other quite a lot in the short time we were there. Before long Leon was posted overseas and as he did not know where he was going he did not apply for me to go with him. What was obviously in his mind was that he did not want me to go into an active zone if he could avoid it. In fact he was posted to Gibraltar, but more of that later.
My stay at Coltishall was pleasant enough apart from those times when aircraft came back from a raid with casualties on board. Some of the sights were horrific, cockpits full of blood, wounded crews needing immediate treatment. Our medics were always on stand by at night, hoping not to be needed but expecting the worst.
In order to keep the spirits up, entertainments were organised and in the barrack-room where I was billeted there was a group of four men who made up a musical quartet. They would play for dances in the officers mess and also for the other ranks. It was at one of these dances in the officers mess that I had my first experience of getting drunk. I was not used to "strong" drink, true I had drunk the odd glass of beer when out hiking the moors. But never had I spent a whole evening with a glass in my hand. I got very friendly with the leader of the band who also was Jewish. It is natural for people of similar religious or national background to be attracted to one another. The Scots, the Irish, the Welsh, all form bonds especially when away from their home background. It gives one a sense of belonging and despite the fact that by the time I was enlisted into the Air Force I had discarded any belief in religion and thought of myself as an atheist, as I still do, I was attracted to anyone who had the same background as I did.
So the leader of the band and I got on quite well and he used to invite me to go with the band to some of the dances they played at. He would give me a job to do, like looking after some of the equipment, and helping to load the van, anything that gave me a reason for being there.
On the night in question there was a dance in the Officers' Mess and I went along just for something to do. I had no partner to dance with and the women who were there took more interest in the officers than in a mere aircraftman. So I got bored and started to drink. I am told that by the end of the evening I was "smashed". All I remember was being put to bed by my friend and the ceiling came down and hit me. The next day I had the grandfather of all hang-overs and swore that never again would that happen to me, but it did, once more.
Eventually I was posted to an airfield on the South Coast, Manston in Kent, quite close to Ramsgate. On arrival there I was amazed to be informed that I was joining an RAF Servicing Commando Unit. The name Commando immediately conjured up thoughts of storming the beaches and front-line action. In fact the unit had already been in action in France. The job of these Commando units was to occupy an airfield as close to the forward troops as possible and service the fighter aircraft that were needed to support the front line. The unit I had been posted to had been involved in the landings in Normandy to open the Second Front. If my information is correct they went in on day 2 of the landings.
The Second Front, the attack on the mainland of Europe, which had been the focus of the political struggle in Britain since the attack on the Soviet Union on 22nd June 1941, was launched on the morning of the 6th June 1944 after a massive air attack by 2,000 British and American bombers. RAF Servicing Commando Units 3209 and 3210 went over the Channel to set up forward air bases in support of the invading land forces. I joined 3209 when they returned from France.
Whilst at Manston I became friendly with a member of one of the other Servicing Commando Units, Joe Woodley, who was in 3202 and had just returned from Italy.
Joe was getting married as the guy who was to be his Best Man was unable to fulfil this duty for some reason, Joe asked me to step into the breach, which I did. The wedding took place in West Croydon on November 4th 1944. I returned to camp and Joe and his bride went off on their honeymoon. On his return to camp Joe tried to find me but I had been posted overseas.
Speculation ran high as we all tried to work out what our destination was. It was obvious that we were to be sent overseas but there was no hint of where. As Clare was pregnant some of the lads on the unit approached the Commanding Officer pleading on my behalf that I be taken off the draft but to no avail. I only found out about this when I was told that despite my wife's condition I was still going overseas. If I remember correctly it was the Flight Sergeant who called me into the orderly office to tell me that no favouritism was allowed and the posting would stand.
Once the unit had been brought up to strength with more new postings we got our marching orders and boarded a train which took us to Glasgow where we went aboard a troopship. This must have been about the third or fourth week of November 1944.
The ship was the SS Alcantara, a passenger ship converted for troop carrying. I have no idea of the size of the ship but there were a lot of troops on board. Packed like sardines on all decks with very little room for exercise. In order to get as many as possible on board we did not have bunks but slept, or I should say, tried to sleep in hammocks. For anyone who has never tried it sleeping in a hammock is quite an experience.
We must have spent quite a few days sailing West into the Atlantic and then we turned and headed for the Mediterranean. The rumours on board had us being chased by submarines, someone even swore he had seen the conning tower but it all proved to be pure speculation. Then one morning we passed through the Straights of Gibraltar and into the Med making our way down to the Suez Canal and out into the Indian Ocean. It was now obvious that we were heading towards the Far East. So our target was to be the Japanese.
The journey through the Mediterranean and along the Suez Canal was a chapter in my life that I never in all my wildest dreams ever thought I would experience. One particular event remains with me to this day and as I sit here typing this story I can see in my mind's eye those beautiful flying fish leaping out of the water ahead of the ship as though they were saying to us "Follow us we will show you the way".
Into the Suez Canal, this amazing piece of civil engineering that opened the way to the East without having to go all the way round the African mainland. Here we began to see some of the sights of the Middle East. The camel herders on the banks of the Canal, the traders in their small boats offering all kinds of goods for sale which would be placed in a basket on the end of a rope, the other end having been tossed up to someone on the ship. If you were interested you hauled up the basket took the goods and put the money in the basket for return to the seller. The "Gally-Gally" man, a conjurer, allowed on board to perform his tricks. All these new and exciting scenes laid out before us in a panoramic view as far as the eye could see. The entrance to the Canal at Suez, gave us a taste of what was to come.
The port full of shipping going into and out of the Canal. Troopships taking troops home, who waved and called to us as we passed through on our way east, with obvious delight as they were going home to their loved ones. Cargo ships taking supplies to the forces still out in the Far East to help in finally ending this terrible ordeal that the world had suffered for so long. Little did we know at that time what further horrors were in store for the people of the Orient.
On through the Canal passing Port Said, Alexandria and out into the Red Sea. We called in briefly at Aden then across the Indian Ocean to finally dock in Bombay January 1945.