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I have to confess to pacifist sympathies, but am the first to admit my ambitions for ending World War Two was a failure. It was based on World War One when on Christmas Eve 1914, late afternoon, silence began to emerge all along the front. The sound of battle was replaced by carols, first heard from the German lines. Troops of both sides then joined in, hoisted white flags, shook hands in no-mans land, exchanged family photographs. Al church service was planned, followed by a party on Christmas Day and a football match on Boxing Day. Sadly the generals objected. Not surprisingly.
I would not wish in any way to detract from the outstanding courage and gallantry of those who took part and which, on occasions, during the Second World War, I was there to witness. I have to admit however, I resisted the temptation of heroism myself. Although having always lived within a few miles of Stratford-on-Avon and William Shakespeare, I must say that had Henry V speech at Agincourt applied to World War II, the beginning which went 鈥淭hat he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart, his passport shall be made鈥�, would have applied in my case, rather than the bit at the end which says 鈥淔or he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother, and gentlemen in England now abed shall think themselves accursed they were not here鈥�. With a marked aversion to the sight of blood, as far as I am concerned, when it鈥檚 mine, a little of it goes a long way, reluctantly I would have refused Henry鈥檚 entreaties even if told with perhaps considerable justification, it鈥檚 all in a good cause.
I feel that what should be emphasised is a sense of reality that wars can come about very rapidly, and normally nice people, who fortunately make up the majority, have to think about killing equally nice people for reasons frequently unclear to them.
Many of us in 1939 who were of military age, had not taken the possibility of war seriously, there was the likelihood of conscription for compulsory military service which would have meant six months temporary inconvenience, not viewed as particularly calamitous. After all, what on earth was there to be concerned about with the British Navy, the largest and most powerful in the world. In addition, the French, it was said, were capable of mobilising an army of 5,000,000 behind the Maginot Line without their own very substantial Navy, second only to ours. There were also considerable efforts made to stress the entente-cordial with France. The cast array of raw materials and manpower available in the British and French empires, material unavailable to Germany, should Adolf Hitler be foolish enough to provoke a large scale military adventure. Also, didn鈥檛 we have the League of Nations and Anthony Eden, who was our MP, to sort problems out, and even students at university were said to approve a resolution that under no circumstances would they fight for King and country.
There were the conflicting and confusing views of political figures at the time, those who insisted a bayonet is a weapon with a worker each end, others that re-armament should take second place to resolving social problems, opinions ranging from left to right, also those who say Hitler and Mussolini as preferable to Stalin. No dictator in history had made his intentions clearer than Adolf Hitler, but he was either ignored, disbelieved or laughed at as a Chaplinesque character. The fact that he appeared to be doing quite well in achieving his aims without a war, prior to the attack on Poland, was not considered of major concern. Czechoslovakia was after all a far off country of which we knew little or nothing. The outbreak of war on September 3rd 1939 did come as something of a shock, as many believed, wit the carnage of the First World War, still of fairly recent memory, not even Hitler would be crazy enough to risk a war in which millions might be killed and could end in his own destruction.
With the long period of uncertainty ended in September 1939 decisions had to be taken by those likely to be involved. Young men over the age of eighteen were called upon to register for what was quaintly known as 鈥榮ervice during the present emergency鈥�. This could mean the army, navy or air force, or, if in civilian life you were engaged in something where you were more likely to be useful as a skilled engineer in a factory rather than in the cookhouse at Catterick, your occupation could be reserved.
One notable thing about the Second World War was that the jingoism which played a major part in the First World War, had very largely evaporated by the Second. An example of this (October 1914) was a headline at the time, in a local paper, entitled 鈥楶oet at the Front鈥� - the verses of a Private Ward (no relation). It read:
鈥淗ere鈥檚 to the Leamington volunteers
That go and enlist today
There鈥檚 plenty joining Kitchener鈥檚
To help us in the fray
So buck up dear old Leamington
If you want to see the fun
For you think the war IS OVER
When it鈥檚 only just begun鈥�
It was thought, in 1914, that the war could be over by Christmas and would be an exciting adventure, not to be missed. Sadly this proved not to be the case. In September 1939 the atmosphere was much more realistic.
Talk of how long before the first air raid would come. Everyone was convinced bombs would be raining down almost immediately, fortunately this did not happen until several months later.
One of the first things to be decided was which branch of the armed forces would we be joining in the event it became necessary to do so. This was largely beyond most peoples鈥� control as a substantial number, when registering for National Service, could express a personal preference, but this was overall decided by the authorities who had their own priorities.
By the outbreak of war in September 1939 several of my friends had already been conscripted and ended up in the army, much to their annoyance as they would have preferred the collar and tie option which the RAF provided, as well as the more glamorous appeal of the air force. The only way one could be sure of being accepted in the service of your choice was to volunteer, this meant getting approval to be released from your employment, no big problem in the case of a 20 year old electrical engineering apprentice. Also one had to take into account the fact that you may have jumped the gun and become involved in risky activities a year or more before it became compulsory. Bearing these options in mind I duly presented myself at Coventry鈥檚 combined services recruiting centre located in the old 鈥楽wift鈥� roller skating rink, a place where I had spent many happy hours. The war had been in progress only a few days and I sought out the RAF recruiting officer and explained my predicament. To say he was unimpressed would be putting things mildly. He explained the RAF was not for people to join to escape the army, because they didn鈥檛 like the uniform, or the navy because they couldn鈥檛 swim, but was really an exclusive club for those of higher intelligence and above average physical fitness who were, in addition, dedicated to the service of their country. This was a shattering blow as I had been accompanied by a friend and we had already, it seemed, spent almost an entire day fruitlessly, starting out early from Leamington Spa, fortunately arriving in Coventry just at opening time. As we believed our services would be very much in demand we thought we would have a drink to celebrate, which led to several more and perhaps justified our somewhat frosty reception by the RAF recruitment officer, when we finally arrived.
In spite of intimating to us that the prospect of us ever becoming members of the RAF being extremely remote unless the situation became so desperate they would be literally scraping the barrel, he reluctantly took my name and address and referred me to the medical inspection section with the familiar advice about don鈥檛 call us, we鈥檒l call you routine. They say lightening never strikes twice, but on that day it did, the doctor seemed reasonably happy but the optician informed me my right eye was way below the acceptable level for initial entrants, even for non-technical ground staff. I was told the comforting news that if I lost the sight of my good eye, the poor one might improve, or I could wear a patch over the good eye to see if that happened. I wouldn鈥檛 be able to find my way about but beggars鈥� can鈥檛 be choosers. This meant a complete change of plan. First I discreetly copied the eye sight chart and learnt if off by heart, especially the line I was informed was the minimum acceptance level.
This was a provisional measure as I thought I might apply to join the RAF in another area, at least it would mean as far as the eyesight was concern, although never a boy scout, I would be prepared. Deciding to gamble on trying again in Coventry, using marginally questionable methods, I passed the medical and eyesight test, albeit being traded as permanently unfit for operational aircrew, but acceptable for ground staff. The only remaining problem was to convince the RAF recruiting officer. I had hoped there might be a different one on duty who would recognise my true potential; not so, however, he did seem more agreeably inclined, perhaps because I did not have the over-confidence brought about by several pints of Flowers best bitter, the local brew. I was assured there were still no vacancies and it would be months, even years, to training the people they already had. However, he did have an afterthought and said that very day he had received notification that if anyone came in who understood wirelesses, we had not at that time generally accepted it is more Americanised version of 鈥榬adio鈥�, they could go forward for an interview at the trade test centre at Cardington, which I was wanted would probably be beyond my meagre capabilities.
By October 19, 1939 I had won the first round in my battle for admission into the RAF and been accepted in the rank of aircraftsman of the second class, the lowest form of animal life, to work in the new science of radar in an organisation called 鈥榊鈥� force. This term was derived from radio and detection and ranging, primarily a means of detecting the presence of aircraft by sending out frequencies which are reflected back when they encounter a solid object. This was, of course, a great secret at the time and did give us a decided advantage in 1940 in the field of aircraft identification and detection. A rather pathetic attempt was made by the wartime Ministry of Information, telling the public that our night fighter pilots superior night vision came about because of their diet of carrots. In point of fact, the Germans did make excellent use of the wireless (radio) guidance and navigation apparatus. Their Lorenze instrument landing system had been commercially available for years and used by the RAF and many other air forces before the war. This particular equipment became my principle interest in five of my six and a half years鈥� war service and, although originally operating for only a few miles around an airfield, by 1940 had been modified and extended to cover hundreds of miles. The system consisting of a twin radio beam which could be focussed on a distant target, giving an audible and useful indication if you strayed from the direct line of the beam. In addition to the main beam, which after the collapse of France was identified to be in the Le Havre region, after landfall in the Southampton area stretched the length of the country. A look at the map tells us by a slight variation of the angle of the beam, it could pass over all major and minor towns and cities, including Manchester, Coventry, Birmingham, wherever - a veritable invisible motorway in the sky.
There was another radio beam emanating from Germany which intersected with the main beam over the chosen target, when bombs could be released either mechanically or automatically with a high degree of accuracy, regardless of visibility. The pilot could then return to his base following the return beam. This system was known as 鈥楰nicke bein鈥� . . nothing to do with ladies under-garments, but I understand is German for 鈥榗rooked leg鈥�.
The transformation from civilian to serviceman had, for me, up to July 1940, been a not unpleasant experience. I was doing a job I liked, installing and maintaining a range of radio equipment, including IFF (identification friend or foe) and a mixture of other devices, among a very agreeable bunch of colleagues. Our only problem was, which of the various dance halls in Cardiff or Barry, near to where we were stationed, would we be gracing with our presence that evening.
An interesting aspect of social values and conscience was that married young men, who made up about half the establishment, were, if anything, more keen to establish a relationship with a girl than we single chaps. This, in spite of the fact that most had photographs of wives and children prominently displaced on bedside cabinets and inside the metal lockers used in the services. In my innocence and naivety I had assumed extra-marital sexual activity would decline to extinction with marriage vows and responsibility. Their excuse appeared to be on the lines that sex was like a drug addition and needed a regular fix.
In August 1940 one of those milestone experiences which happened, I am sure, to thousands of people, what with Dunkirk and bombing having started in earnest, I was reported in error, to be missing. It was NOT NECESSARY, OR PART of the job for technicians to make adjustments or operate equipment in the air, but sometimes this came about. On one such occasion an aircraft was detailed to track the enemy target beam to identify the target for that night, another one was to follow in a practice enemy location exercise. Sadly, in about the only day in 1940, it was raining and cloudy. It was not realised, until too late, that the two aircraft were not following each other but were fast approaching head on, on a collision course crashing into each other and falling into the Bristol Channel. All six crew members had perished, which was very sad, but unfortunately things of that nature had to be accepted in those days.
As I had been detailed by the officer-in-charge for other duties that day, I did not think it necessary to attend the 100% identity parade ordered to establish the victims鈥� identity. This led to a chain of events which had there not been fatalities, would have been real pantomime. This started a few days after the accident when we were all lined up to receive the day鈥檚 orders. The procedure was, when your name was called you cried out 鈥榮ir鈥� and your last three numbers. You then sprang to attention, marched to the table, gave your smartest salute, held our your hand for the sealed orders. This I dutifully did on the day in question only to be met by a strange silence on being told that as I was no longer in the land of the living, I would not need sealed orders. After a bout of pantomime 鈥淥h yes you are, Oh no I鈥檓 not鈥� exchanges ,the officer accepted I was indeed in the land of the living, which meant that parents of my namesake had to be informed several days late and my own parents advised that I was alive and well.
As a result of this I was required to have another medical with an eye test, where my one eyed affliction was discovered, together with the fact that, by fair means or foul, several airmen, after a series of crashes, due to errors of judgement, had acquired eyesight on their medical documents way above their true level. All things considered I escaped lightly and it was thought, I believe, in my own interest and the successful prosecution of the war, that I should be banished as far away from aircraft as possible.
So it came to pass, I arrived at the village of Elstree on the outskirts of London, to take up duties with the Central Ink Trainer School. My first task was to obtain board and lodgings and by great good fortune was able to secure accommodation in a house with four attractive daughters, ranging from 14-19 years old. This proved to be an additional bonus to the fact that the job I had been sent to do had certain similarities to the one I had just left, without the possibility of doing serious damage to oneself. Air raids on London had not yet begun. Once again, it was of the 9-5 variety and did not involve normal military activities, such as guard duties, parade grounds and the like. Perhaps a brief explanation dealing with the functions of Link Trainers would not come amiss for those unfamiliar with flying 1939-45 style.
They were an early version of today鈥檚 highly complex flight simulators. There were two distinct types. An elementary one, where one sat in an open cockpit with instruments and controls similar to those of a Tiger Moth bi-plane, the more or less standard initial trainer used in the RAF. The machine was surrounded by a circular panoramic screen depicting a combination urban and rural landscape. After half an hour instruction one could be modestly confident of handling the controls of an aircraft in the air, by virtue of the fact that rough air and similar stall and spin situations had been simulated and controlled. With the more sophisticated version one climbed into the cockpit, closed the lid down, cutting off all visual contact, having to rely solely on your instruments and wireless controls and radio beams and indicator beacons to guide you on your way.
The advantages of either type were considerable. Most importantly the safety angle where one could become familiar with the sights and sounds of aircraft without being in any way in physical danger. Much like learning to ride a bicycle, without the threat of falling off. In addition, the cost and scarcity of petrol was a major consideration.
The Elstree School was primarily intended for the training of instructors, forty students at a time attending a four week course. It was necessary to have received some flying experience to quality for this course and the minimum rank on successful completion was Sergeant status. My contribution to their training was to ensure the machines performed satisfactorily and give lectures in elementary maintenance, as many would be destined for flying training schools abroad such as Rhodesia and other Commonwealth locations where skilled maintenance personnel might not readily be available, and a simple problem unresolved could hold up training. We found it to be more effective, rather than having forty pupils altogether each session, to take eight pupils at each group having several hours instruction, spread over the four weeks. That was if English was their first language and I did not have to work through an interpreter. If that were the case, usually there were several entrance on the course who were bi-lingual, I had to pause every few minutes for them to explain what I had said in their appropriate language. The difficulty was with the final exam paper, some could ready English well enough to understand the questions but not sufficiently well to compose answers in readable English, so one had to seek the interpreter鈥檚 version of their answer on the exam paper. One of the most difficult courses was when all the pupils who turned up were members of the Turkish Air Force. One of the surprises from time to time, on the course was that we were training pupils from neutral countries.
Added to my duties at Elstree I had something of a roving commission, having responsibility for other link trainers in the Air Ministry building in Central London. They were installed mostly in basements to give the opportunity for those desk bound pilots, working at the Air Ministry, to keep abreast of the latest developments in navigation and target location innovations. The Elstree School was, as were the film studies, really located in the adjoining village of Boreham Wood, where the pupils, and relatively small numbers of permanent staff, were billeted in private houses. This also did lead to difficulties, sometimes hilarious, where the pupils鈥� knowledge of English was minimal and misunderstandings arose. Altogether though it was a satisfactory arrangement.
With ready access to London鈥檚 places of amusement, theatres, dance halls, pubs etc., there was no problem finding things to do for pupils and staff, when off duty. The only predicament for students was how to return to their accommodation from London. The last train, at that time, left Sp Pancras for Elstree at 9.45 p.m., rather too early for most activities. The last Northern line underground left Central London about midnight, ending at Edgeware underground station, being the end of the line. I believe it still is some five miles from Elstree. This meant a long walk, especially after dancing the evening away and possibly escorting a frightened young lady home, as by the end of August 1940, nightly air raids on London had commenced. I was able to resolve this situation myself by having my bicycle sent from Leamington Spa, on which I could cycle to a friendly house near Edgeware underground station, leave the bike there and proceed to the particular dance hall, the 鈥榯arget for tonight鈥�, returning at midnight to cycle back to Elstree.
Disaster struck when the cycle was stolen. My particular problem being involved with several locations, I frequently had to borrow parts from one machine not being used to maintain another which was urgently needed. On one particular occasion I ended up on a collision course with none other than Scotland Yard. Somewhere in their dusty archives my misdemeanours are probably recorded.
It was always my ambition to combine business with pleasure wherever possible, and on this particular day I had difficulties with the radio of a machine located in the basement of the building in London formerly used by the 麻豆官网首页入口鈥檚 overseas service. It had been requisitioned for military intelligence for transmission of strange messages after the 鈥榁鈥� sign each evening, the old Boom Boom Boom Bong. One had to have a special pass to get into the building, and everything nationally was of a most secret nature. My clash with law came about after replacing a radio in a Central London location, returning to Elstree via the London undergrounds station at midnight. Expecting to strap the radio to my bicycle and ride back to Elstree. Alas no cycle. So my only course of action was to walk, carrying what became heavier with every yard. About half way I was challenged by a policeman, and soldier, complete with rifle, in the loneliest part of the journey, much to my surprise, as it was 2 o鈥檆lock in the morning on a cold and miserable pitch dark November night. I explained in detail the situation, stressing everything had to be kept absolutely secret and that I relied on their complete confidentiality. This proved not to be the case and I was hauled over the coals. My explanation about the secret messages and the aircraft landing function of the radio, apparently was too suspect to pass unchallenged by the police who had been warned to look out for German parachutists dressed as nuns on bicycles, and I was reported to higher authority for disclosing secret information.
My excuse was that I thought the police and army were on our side, which was regarded as impertinent. As soon as I was able, which was some two or three weeks later, because of my roving commission, I marched of to the local police station I suspected having betrayed by confidence, in high dudgeon, not a word used a lot these days. I demanded justice as to why the police get innocent people into trouble, and were not catching burglars or bicycle thieves, and don鈥檛 use the excuse there鈥檚 a war on because I know that. The policeman then asked if I could give a detailed description of the machine, which he laboriously wrote down, three speed gear case, dynamo etc., with a sticker near the saddle from Mr Sleath鈥檚 bicycle shop in Leamington Spa. I had struck my blow in defence of freedom and democracy and moved to go off as the nightly air raid warning sirens started wailing. The policeman said 鈥測ou will have to wait now, or you could be accused of wasting police time鈥�. He then picked up the telephone, obviously an extension, and asked for Scotland Yard, the number being Whitehall 1212, then asked for the missing bicycle department. I remember saying it was quite ridiculous as it was almost dark and searchlights all over London were signalling to each other with their beams in the sky. However, in about fifteen minutes Scotland Yard rang back saying a bicycle answering that description was in a village about fifteen miles from where I had lost it. I was able to convince the police sergeant it was mine, with much moaning from him that it had been almost a month in his front room behind his desk. All went well with the bicycle for about a week, when returning to work at my secret headquarters, the armed service police on the door said 鈥測ou鈥檙e in trouble again with the bike鈥�. A young lad was here yesterday demanding five shillings reward for finding it. I said 鈥渉ow on earth did he find out my whereabouts鈥�. The service police said 鈥渨e asked him that鈥� and he said Scotland Yard.
This was only a minor brush with authority yet it did give me an insight into British relative values and priorities in wartime. We were engaged in a life and death struggle at the height of the war to save civilisation, yet Scotland Yard still had time to find my bike, although dropping me in the mire in the process, they did it with the best intentions at the time.
Altogether my two years in London were a most enjoyable experience. The air raids went on almost nightly. On one occasion I recall, 89 nights in succession, by surprisingly one soon came to accept this as with all such situations, the impression you are immortal. One of the most disturbing features was the nightly trek of entire families to take up their sleeping positions in the London underground. Young children were running about on the platforms, oblivious of the dangers of passing trains. A game which seemed to be the favourite was to jump on a train for a few stops and return by another route. This today would be a frightening experience, but in those days was accepted as normal, as the likelihood was that they were safer doing that down there than above ground, with the principal danger being from anti-aircraft shrapnel. This was largely ineffectual and mostly psychological to give Londoners some comfort that there was a degree of retaliation. Very rarely did one see an enemy aircraft caught in a searchlight beam. When this happened, all the other searchlights would come in on it. One benefit of the shrapnel was when walking with a lady friend it was always an excuse to lie on the grass, if available, until the danger, from that anyway, had passed.
I was certainly not alone in being able to roam freely around London in wartime, having sight-seeing tours courtesy of London Transport. There was usually a queue of servicemen and women waiting at the tourist offices for the one shilling (5p) tickets, entitling you to travel on every form of London transport for a day. I knew quite a few air force colleagues who were permanently stationed in London, who availed themselves of this facility. I also had a brother who was, for a considerable time, stationed in the city and dealing with army and war office clerical matters. We were often able to meet. The libraries and museums in London, those that had their collections intact, were also a source of pleasure. An interest remaining from my Infant School days when we were marched, in a crocodile fashion, to Leamington library, by the headmistress. A visit to Aladdin鈥檚 cave, she said we were heading for. It was years before I realised the truth in what she had said. All in all, there must have been tens of thousands of service people stationed in London for most of the war. This came about because most of the establishments consisted of less that fifty people, and the officers鈥� in charge did not approve of constantly changing personnel because of the security requirements. There was a small price to pay because promotion prospects were reduced, but most people regarded this as minimal in the circumstances.

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