My Country Needed Me: Part Four

We had weekly progress tests, and they gave us little chits to record our success, or failure. Did I mention that the RAF has chits for every purpose. We were taught touch typing on old manual typewriters with steel covers over the keys so we were typing blind. Three weeks was all we were allowed to gain the required speed,
which was fifty words per minute. The essential speed for sending and receiving morse was 18,(Words per minute, a word being 5 characters) to pass as AC2, 20 for AC1, and 22 for LAC. We were also taught procedures for signalling, and a lot of technical stuff, about how the radios worked and that sort of
thing.

One almost "end of career" incident occurred. We went on field training, which meant taking a portable radio set (
portable if you have a three ton lorry to carry it) out to the airfield at Yatesbury, where a howling gale was b lowing. This was the airfield from where they flew Gloster Meteors, one of the earliest jet fighters, it could fly at 600 mph, which was much faster than anything else at that time First we had to erect a bell tent. This was easy I thought, I had erected many of those in the CLB.. First you lay out the canvas, pop in four tent pegs, pop the pole in and stand it up. The wind had other ideas and began to pull out the pegs. The Corporal in charge put his foot against one peg and said "knock it in further". I did try, honest, but instead of the peg I clouted his foot ! He was
wearing wellies! I thought that this was the end of a promising career, but he contented himself by running quickly through his extensive repertoire of naughty words. It was most educational. By the time we had the radio set up we were soaking wet, and I sat down on a little stool, got the radio going and signalled back to camp that we were operational. As I sat there the water was trickling down into my boots. When we got back to camp we were allowed one hour off duty to dry out and change.

There was very little entertainment on camp, so we made our own. One idea was burial at sea. We persuaded one lad to take the star part, so he lay down on a wooden form, we covered him with a sheet and carried him shoulder high with great solemnity down the billet. Then, unrehearsed and unknown to him, we opened a window, rested the end of the form of the window sill and, yes we did, we tipped the form up and he slid silently out into the
cold dark wet night, in his pyjamas. We quickly closed the window and tried something else. A few minutes later he came in the door, soaking wet and not too pleased with us, and we found that he had learnt a few of the Corporals naughty words.

Another home made entertainment, for dry week-ends, was the assault course. This had long been abandoned, and was overgrown with grass and weeds. There was a tree stretched across a small ravine, and we crossed it, sitting astride and clinging tightly. But one lad in civvy street was a Ballet Dancer, yes a genuine ballet dancer. He was a nervous lad, somewhat effeminate, but very fit, and he just walked across, perfectly balanced. You
should have seen him trying to make ballerinas out of us. Of course we were heavier than most ballerinas, and he had some difficulty lifting us over his head, so we used the bed springs to help us get there. After his national service he returned to his ballet dancing and had a successful career in Edinburgh.

This was the lad who, early in the course while listening to morse code through earphones (at only about 4 words per minute) suddenly threw his head-set on the desk and burst into tears. We thought that this was not the done thing, but the instructor was not at all surprised, and just told him to go for a walk and come back when he felt better. This instructor came to me and said "where did you learn morse code"? I was very surprised, and he would not tell me how he knew, but he was right, I had learned in the C.L.B.

It was here in Compton Bassett that I had my "moments of glory", and discovered how frightening they could be. There was a large NAAFI building, complete with delicious goodies on which we spent most of our pay, and a stage. This had curtains, usually closed, and behind them was a piano. I discovered that I could sneak behind the curtains and play away on the piano and nobody would take any notice. Or so I thought. One evening I was
playing away, quite alone, when a voice above me said "Ah, you can play in the concert." I was shocked, was this God speaking directly to Me?. No, it was just a corporal fixing the stage lights. I grabbed my music and was off like a shot, I wasn't going to play in public! But my friend Ken, bless his cotton socks, told the corporal who I was, and I was "persuaded" to play. One other chap would play, but he was quite keen. Fortunately he was the same size as I was. Fortunately because there was only one evening suit, so we both wore it (at different times of course). I was first on, and when I walked on in full evening dress, bow tie, white shirt, claw hammer coat, there were cries of " what's this the Ritz" and so on.

All I could see was a huge rectangle of dazzling lights, and when I sat down to play I was shaking. I played
three short pieces that I could play from memory; Poem by Fibich; Etude by Chopin; A sprig of Lilac by A.N.Other; and when I stopped between each piece my hands were shaking. When I had finished there was a ghastly silence, and I thought "how am I going to get off this stage with some dignity?". But it was only a few seconds and the applause rang out (thunderous? Not quite). I bowed quickly and left the stage. The corporal was very
pleased "they liked it , play some more". But I was already taking off that suit, ready for the other chap to wear. That was my second public performance, the first had been at school. I still don't like playing in public.

At the end of this fascinating period of training I duly "passed out" as Aircraftsman 1st class (much superior to AC2) and my pay went up from 7 shillings per day to 14. (that's about 70 pence in new money).

That magnificent sum was paid 7 days per week, out of which I had to send 7 shillings home to Mam, and pay for "barrack damages". Damage the barracks? ME? of course not.

Then I was posted to Bushy Park, the grounds of Hampton Court Palace, and the Headquarters of Transport Command. We had little cards like library tickets which, if they were in the box in the Guard room meant we were in camp. If they were not in the box we were out. As signals bods worked twenty four hours each day we had two cards, one for normal hours and one for other times. But, silly me had both cards out at the same time, so I was
AWOL. When my sin was discovered I was made to clean out the store room where all the paper from the signals was kept, and of course, get a haircut. At Bushy I worked on the telly/op part of my training, that is on teleprinters (they were later called telex machines). The Russians kept me busy by blockading Berlin. The airlift started, and for every aircraft that flew into Berlin a signal was sent, in code, detailing it's cargo, so we had lots and lots of signals.

There were American airmen at Bushy, and when they came on watch they arrived in great big cars. But when those tough, not so well paid, British airmen came on watch we arrived either on foot or by bicycle (we did not need cars !!! ). There was not such signals traffic between us and the Yanks, but one day they sent a particularly long signal, and not having the same confidence that we had then sent s little signal saying "did you get that long signal OK?. Of course our reply was---"what signal"?

I remember with some satisfaction, a morning when we were all sleeping soundly ,the door burst open, and an over-zealous corporal gave that awful war-cry "wakey wakey". He was quietly told that this was a signals billet and he apologised and withdrew. I can't remember any other perks we had.

By this time we had become quite domesticated, you might even say house-proud, because we had learned to polish everything; our buttons (not like these modern softies who have lacquered buttons); the floor of our billet. Yes we did, we polished the lino on the floor. We had pieces of felt, about a foot square, and we walked around the billet on these, developing a shuffling sort of walking. And woe betide anybody who forgot;- "don't forget the polisher" was the agitated cry. We had even learned to iron our shirts and press our uniforms, though probably not
in a method approved by Mams. And, I could even darn socks, and oh boy did they need it. The shirts had separate collars, which came back from the laundry starched and curled up in a tight circle about three inches in diameter, so they had to be opened up before we could put them on.

While at Bushy it became clear that my expert services were needed elsewhere. We were asked were we willing to serve overseas. Willing, I could hardly wait to get there, anywhere. So I said yes, my pal Ken , who was then at Abingdon, said no. So, he went to Fontainebleu in France and spent most of his time there arranging entertainment for the troops(he was a great amateur actor), while I went to Changi in Singapore.

When you leave one RAF station for another you have to get your clearance chit (I did tell you that they had chits for everything ?) signed by every section, just to make sure you don't owe anything. On presenting ourselves at Sick quarters the clerk there led us to a table covered with forms, and began picking up quite a few. Naturally we asked why, and he just grinned and said that each form represented a jab that we were about to get. So we were inoculated against practically everything, except those nasty social diseases we had had warning, frightening films about. I was well protected against small pox, cholera, typhoid, yellow fever to name but a few. The yellow fever was the worst- a syringe like a stirrup pump, the vaccine put in frozen; it hurt, and I had to go up to London
to get it!

On embarkation leave I visited my former office and the girls knew that NYLONS could be bought out there, so I sent a few pairs of 15 denier nylon stockings home (and they paid me when I returned).

So I arrived at Southampton, to board a troopship. Yes, a troopship, I thought the RAF flew everywhere, the indignity of it all. There were only 50 or so Airmen, all the rest were the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders on their way to Korea. The ship was called the Empire Trooper, and had been a German Liner, captured early in the war by the cruiser H.M.S.Belfast (now a museum on the Thames). It had been refitted as a troopship on the Tyne, used during the war and had been shelled by a German warship. As troopships went she was fairly comfortable,
three tier bunks to sleep in, and a dining room. The air conditioning had outlets everywhere and you could smell when the bread was being made.

The first time we went for a meal we were given a disc, say round and green. Next meal time we exchanged that disc for one of a different shape and colour, to prevent us having two meals. After a while, when delicate stomachs had asserted themselves, the colours of the discs became very mixed, as meals were missed. My brother, who had been in the Royal Navy had warned me that I must eat even if I did not feel like it. It was difficult to remember his words while sitting in the dining room, unable to bear the sight of food, and looking through the
porthole, seeing first sea, then sky, then sea, endlessly. But we survived. There was a sort of café on the ship where we bought a mug of tea for a penny,(real pennies, not this metric stuff) and a packet of biscuits by Carr's of Carlisle for another penny. As soon as you picked up your mug a voice would say "will you get one for me?" and you ended up carrying four mugs. It was okay going up with empty mugs but tricky coming down when each hand held two mugs of steaming hot tea..

Fresh water was only available twice per day, one hour in the morning and one hour in the evening. There was endless supplies of salt water, and we were issued with salt water soap! This did not work very well in salt water, but it was very good in fresh water. I'm not sure whether it was this soap or the salt water, but it narf made your hair curl.

So off across the Bay of Biscay, smooth as a mill pond, those tales of rough seas were exaggerated.

Past Gibraltar through the Med to Port Said, where we changed our blue uniforms for tropical kit, a light sandy colour. The ship had run out of Carr's biscuits and bought Egyptian ones, which were awful, made out of sand , and they have plenty of that out there. We were allowed ashore for a few hours, where we could buy anything. Every street urchin seemed to have a sister for sale, temporarily of course. We had been warned never to buy water melons anywhere but in the NAAFI, because they said, once cut off it's stalk a water melon when placed in water would absorb that water, whatever state it was in.

The ship gave a lift to two Arabs by hoisting their little boat on to the Davits. We all watched fascinated while they
smoked their hubble bubble pipe (tchibouk I think it was called). Down the Suez canal and out into the Red Sea. It was so hot there that we were allowed to sleep on the open deck. I woke up one morning to find that I was covered in spots, there wasn't room for even one more spot. In no time I was surrounded by a group of lads(at a respectful distance) who were all afraid that I had some dreadful tropical disease (the same thoughts were in my mind). But I was relieved to here them saying, oh so have I, and it soon became apparent that nearly everybody was affected. The MO said, if that's all that is wrong don't bother me, I can't do anything about it. It was just the heat which caused it, and the spots disappeared quite quickly, to every one's relief.

The distant land looked barren, uninhabited and faintly pink, which could explain why they called it the Red Sea. Next stop was Aden at the bottom of the Red Sea, but we did not get ashore here, not that there was anything to go ashore for, why anyone would fight over that desolate place, as the Yemeni tribesmen did, I do not know, though I suppose it was Home to somebody.

Then on into the Indian Ocean, where the fun started. The waves do not break in this Ocean, but that did not stop them coming right over the top deck of the ship. I sat near the bows and watched the moon sliding up and down the mast, no stabilisers on that old ship.

We called at Trincomalee in Ceylon (now called Sri Lanka ), and were allowed ashore for a few hours in the evening. This caused some fun, the soldiers had to have their sleeves rolled up, but the Airmen
had to have theirs rolled down (must stick to regulations no matter how hot it was.). We dashed up to the NAAFI, and spent all our money on cold drinks (there were no cold drinks on board).

In a brightly lit street, with all the shops open, there was a man sleeping rough in a doorway, and the biggest spider I have ever seen just walking about the street. It had a body as big as my fist, and legs at every corner. We granted it the respect it deserved. And so on to Singapore. While the ship was moving at sea there was a slight breeze, but as soon as it stopped in the harbour at Singapore the heat bore down on us very oppressively. They told us that in this heat our blood would thin down in three weeks, and take three months at home to get back to
normal. There was a band there to greet us, and we could see the sweat running down the base drummers face. He was wearing uniform, a tiger skin, and carrying a huge drum.

A lovely coach was there to take us to Changi, about 14 miles away, and en route we had to cross the runway, and all ducked as we saw a Dakota thundering down the runway at us.

And so began my short stay in Changi. There was a shortage of Wireless operators, so we worked 7 days per week, a different shift each day. I enjoyed the work very much, communicating with other operators all over the place;- Butterworth up in Malaya, Kuala Lumpur (KL), Iwakuni in Japan, Ceylon (well we had to get the football results somehow), and even once to Australia. We worked in morse code, in code and plain language, but morse is a little out of date now, it is so out of date that my computer's spell checker does not recognise the word. At Butterworth they had dodgy electricity, and often had to use a little generator for their transmitter. This was low powered so we had to turn the volume on our receiver up. Then without warning they would revert to mains electricity, the power was suddenly much greater and nearly blew our heads off.

We sent signals in code and plain language. When we were on night duty we would start at midnight with perhaps a pile of signals to send, but there would be quiet spells and these were hard to bear. But just to make sure we did not fall asleep we had to communicate with the distant stations every 15 minutes. This made sure that the channels were always open, and the operators had not gone to sleep.

I sent a plain language message one day saying that a Sunderland flying boat had crashed while taking off from
Seletar. The next day I sent a signal saying that the pilot had had both his legs amputated. This was quite upsetting.

Another time I was put on the distress frequency. A squadron of Spitfires had set off for Hong Kong and they had lost their skipper on the way. I had to listen, turning the receiver dials this way and that, hoping to catch his Mayday call. Aircraft radios were not so reliable in those days and it was quite stressful, knowing that if I missed his call it could lead to his death. He was never found.

When we were on night shift, midnight till eight am, we had a break at three, and enjoyed a trip upstairs to the canteen where a very sleepy Chinaman sold us a fried egg sandwich and a pint of orange juice.

There was a lad there with us, we called him Yank, because he talked and walked like a Yank. He was English but had been evacuated to America at the beginning of the war. He was a trained wop/telly/op, but one day when there was little work to do, the Corporal in charge saw that he was bashing away on his morse key. On enquiring, what are you doing (or words to that effect) Yank said "I'm just practising, but it's ok I've turned the dial". The dial was on his Receiver, and he had not affected the transmitter at all. So he was transmitting his practice to the whole of the far east. His practice was extracts from the book For ever Amber, the spiciest book around at that time.

Another little incident I quite enjoyed concerned a flight sergeant. He had recently come from England where he had not done any operating for some time, he said he had been keeping pigs for his C.O.
He wanted to try his hand again, so I signed off in the log (I was not going to take the blame for any of his possible mistakes). After a while a Q signal came through. Q signals were for operators only, groups of 3 letters meaning operating messages. QRS meant send slower, QRQ meant send faster. But the Q signal which arrived while this flight sergeant was operating meant "put a competent operator on". He did not know what this meant, so I had to tell him as tactfully as I could. Thankfully he accepted that he was no longer competent, and signed off.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five

Posted on February 5, 2007

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