NEW EVERY MORNING....
“When thou hast thanked thy God for every blessing sent......”
As midnight approaches I look back, not just upon 2017, but from the beginning. I thank God for my parents and my brothers and sisters who provided the family in which I grew up. All over the world there are children who would not believe such love and security was possible. I give thanks for my school teachers who made the best of me - especially my Headmaster who gave such an exaggerated report of my financial prowess that I have enjoyed a career as a Chartered Accountant beyond all expectations. I give thanks for my time in 1941/43 as a founder-member of 172 (Haywards Heath) Squadron – Air Training Corps, which led to RAF 181 Signals Wing (Air radar) in Burma and Indonesia. I give thanks for those who made it possible for me to have my own accountancy practice after the war - those who worked for me and those who were my clients. I give thanks for those who voted for me in Parish Council and District Council elections and those who forgave or excused my shortcomings. I give thanks for those who encouraged me in voluntary work after retirement, particularly as a Charity Trustee. I give thanks for the Priests and Chaplains who have advised and guided me over the years, especially those who did not hold my back-sliding against me. And I thank my Guardian Angel (I think of her as female) for the innumerable occasions when I must have goaded her almost beyond endurance. Before all these I thank my wife and children who have tolerated my many shortcomings yet still profess to quite like me. On and off. So here’s to 2018 - and my hope for you all is that, whatever the hardships ahead. you will find such love and support as I have enjoyed.
.....what time will then remain for moaning and lament.”
Sunday 31 December 2017
Tuesday 28 November 2017
Mr Tod - as I remember it
Our first dog - but my tale begins long before.
I left school at 15 and started work in an accountants office in Haywards Heath. Our offices fronted on Paddockhall Road with a small garden. One day when I went to work I was surprised to see my Boss in gardening clothes, weeding. I went in and asked his secretary what was going on? She said "!His dog died last night". "Oh, sad" I said "but what's going on?". "I told you," she snapped - "his dog died and he's upset". I couldn't believe my ears - a grown man behaving like that just because a dog had died?
Well, life went on, the war came, I got married, had a family. The children (5) had the usual pets - rabbits, guinea pigs, etc.but Simon longed for a dog. Mother (wisely) said No - she knew she would be left to look after it. Life still went on, we progressed from impoverished to just about managing, and we gradually moved up the property ladder until we moved to a more isolated house on the outskirts of Oxford.Simon seized his chance - "Now you're in a more isolated position you really, REALLY need a guard dog". We gave in and he immediately found an advert for a home wanted for a dog.
The dog belonged to an old man who sold the Evening Standard at London's Green Park underground station. The poor old chap, a churchgoer, was dying of cancer and from time to time had to go into hospital;.. When that happened, the Vicar went round trying to find someone who would look after the dog. Eventually he told the old chap that it was not fair to the dog or the parishioners and it would be a kindness to all if the dog was put down. The poor old chap was distraught - "You cannot kill a healthy dog - can you not find him a home in the country?". (Pause while I wipe my eyes)
So they advertised - in the Oxford paper because the people looking after him at that time lived in the area as well as in London. We fell for him at once, and he for us. I don't remember his name then but we decided to find our name for him and, thanks to Beatrix Potter, we called him Mr Tod (Toddy for short) because he looked a bit foxy.
We had him for 5 or 6 years and we had never been happier. I like to think that these were his happiest times, too. He loved the children as much as they loved him. Alas, he grew old and eventually was diagnosed with liver cancer and had to end his days. The vet asked if we would like to have him back for one last weekend and I was all for it but Mother said No and she was right. I howled - literally. After all those years I understood my Boss being upset "just because a dog had died".
Our first dog - but my tale begins long before.
I left school at 15 and started work in an accountants office in Haywards Heath. Our offices fronted on Paddockhall Road with a small garden. One day when I went to work I was surprised to see my Boss in gardening clothes, weeding. I went in and asked his secretary what was going on? She said "!His dog died last night". "Oh, sad" I said "but what's going on?". "I told you," she snapped - "his dog died and he's upset". I couldn't believe my ears - a grown man behaving like that just because a dog had died?
Well, life went on, the war came, I got married, had a family. The children (5) had the usual pets - rabbits, guinea pigs, etc.but Simon longed for a dog. Mother (wisely) said No - she knew she would be left to look after it. Life still went on, we progressed from impoverished to just about managing, and we gradually moved up the property ladder until we moved to a more isolated house on the outskirts of Oxford.Simon seized his chance - "Now you're in a more isolated position you really, REALLY need a guard dog". We gave in and he immediately found an advert for a home wanted for a dog.
The dog belonged to an old man who sold the Evening Standard at London's Green Park underground station. The poor old chap, a churchgoer, was dying of cancer and from time to time had to go into hospital;.. When that happened, the Vicar went round trying to find someone who would look after the dog. Eventually he told the old chap that it was not fair to the dog or the parishioners and it would be a kindness to all if the dog was put down. The poor old chap was distraught - "You cannot kill a healthy dog - can you not find him a home in the country?". (Pause while I wipe my eyes)
So they advertised - in the Oxford paper because the people looking after him at that time lived in the area as well as in London. We fell for him at once, and he for us. I don't remember his name then but we decided to find our name for him and, thanks to Beatrix Potter, we called him Mr Tod (Toddy for short) because he looked a bit foxy.
We had him for 5 or 6 years and we had never been happier. I like to think that these were his happiest times, too. He loved the children as much as they loved him. Alas, he grew old and eventually was diagnosed with liver cancer and had to end his days. The vet asked if we would like to have him back for one last weekend and I was all for it but Mother said No and she was right. I howled - literally. After all those years I understood my Boss being upset "just because a dog had died".
Tuesday 15 August 2017
VJ Day 1945
Before the war we were all at it - British, American, French Belgium - we all had our Asian colonies. The Dutch had their East Indies, now Indonesia. All fell to the Japanese, all had been promised limited autonomy under the Japs after they had won the war. In July/August 1945 we were part of a vast armada making for Kuala Lumpur for retaking Malaysia, after which we would progress down to take Singapore, but the Nuclear Age intervened. We carried on to Singapore, then began the liberation of the Dutch East Indies. When the Japs came, they rounded up all the men and murdered them on the spot or sent them to work on the railways or in the mines; the women and children were rounded up and Sumatra became a vast Prisoner-of-War camp. No-one was well treated, some suffered more than others. All wanted to get back to Holland as soon as possible, so we established a repatriation service. Small planes were used to ferry the survivors, about 24 at a time, to Singapore where they were transferred either to larger planes or troop ships for the journey "home". The flying conditions at Medan (Sumatra) were primitive, the Japs having destroyed all they could, and I was sent out to install a simple navigation system to help pilots to identify our runway. One night, the pilot was hesitant about taking off because the weather was bad and getting worse. He decided to press on but quickly found conditions impossible so he decided to turn back..But to land safely he had to rely on my untested navigation aid. He made it - all was well. I was in the canteen when the door burst open and the pilot came in demanding "Where is the Radar King?" (my nickname ever after). It could only be me so I stood nervously. He came over, shook me by the hand, and said "I have to thank you for saving my life. And my crew. And my passengers." I could ask for no better reward.
Tuesday 26 July 2016
Brian in Burma
Brian in Burma
Recollections of my wartime service with the Royal Air Force
In the beginning...
I was nearly 14 when World War 2 started on 3rd September 1939 and I immediately joined the ARP Service (Air Raid Precautions) as a Messenger. My job was (or would have been, if there had been an air raid) to cycle from one command post to another, delivering messages. I had no idea how long the war would last - I don’t believe I ever gave it a thought - but I knew that if I became involved I wanted to be in the Royal Air Force and so, as soon as I was 16, I joined the ATC - Air Training Corps - to receive preliminary training for what I hoped would be my future in the RAF.
I had a Grammar-school education - first at Tiffins, Kingston-upon-Thames, then at Hove County School for Boys - and left when I was 15 to start work in a local accountancy practice. Because everyone older than me was being “called up” (for war service) I made rapid progress and was soon, in effect, the Managing Clerk - though far too young for such seniority.
Quite literally on my 18th birthday I received my calling-up papers - “a letter from the King”. It told me that my Country needed me and that I was to report to a depôt at St John’s Wood (London) on 19th December 1943 to be received into the Royal Air Force as an air-crew trainee. Stockleigh Hall, a block of flats in Prince Albert Road, had been requisitioned and my first billet was quite luxurious but there were no communal catering facilities for the large number of inhabitants and so each morning we were marched off to breakfast at...............London Zoo! By 2012 those flats were selling for £7+millions!
Like every young man of my age, my ambition was to become a Spitfire pilot but whilst we were still in the introductory stage it was made clear to us that there was no shortage of pilots and we would be trained for other airborne duties, mainly as Air Gunners. This was not at all to my liking; I sought to re-muster to an alternative ground job and my request was granted. As I was already a trainee accountant it seemed that the pay corps would be most suitable but I wanted to contribute more positively to the war effort and asked if I could be involved in RADAR - the exciting new discovery that was to play such a significant part in our eventual victory. This was agreed, subject to my passing the requisite examinations, in physics and mathematics.
-2-
Here was a problem: at school I had been good at maths - that was why I had gone into the accountancy profession - but I had never done physics and knew little about it. Before the examination I was told that the pass mark was a modest 40% but it must be achieved in both papers. When I was interviewed after the exam, the presiding officer said I had presented them with a difficulty: in physics my score was a miserable 10% but in maths I had achieved 100% - a feat I was told had never been achieved before (recently, one of my now grown up children said “I expect they say that to everyone who scores 100%!”).
Luckily for me, the view taken by the examining board was that, if I was capable of scoring full marks in one paper, I must be of at least average intelligence and they were prepared to take a chance and enter me for training as a Radar Mechanic. So, after a temporary spell at a bomb store at Lords Bridge, Cambridge waiting for a suitable course to be available, off I went to Lincoln where I was to be trained and where I spent many happy hours in the gardens of the Bishop’s Palace, revising and debating .
My first billet there was at the George Hotel for which any of my fellow-trainees would have died but was wasted on me because (at that time) I was not a drinker and never frequented pubs; so the landlord did not take to me and asked if I could be moved. For the rest of my time I lived with a very nice middle-aged couple on a small estate where I was much happier.
Outward bound...
As soon as I “passed out” - no, not fainted: qualified as a Radar Mechanic (Air) - I was told that, as the war in Europe was nearing its climax, I would be of more use in the Far East and I was duly shipped out to India. I had the normal Embarkation Leave and so got to see my first “doodle bug” as it passed over our family home at Burgess Hill, Sussex on its was towards London.
When leave was over I travelled by train to Glasgow, embarked on (I think) the Tierra del Fuego, and set sail a day or two later. The journey was uneventful but as we slept in hammocks below the waterline I was always conscious of the position in which I would find myself if we should happen upon a German U-boat.
Of my arrival in India I wrote home: “The sea was calm all the was except for a couple of days and I very much enjoyed it but was not sorry to land. You can imagine the excitement as we saw Bombay drawing closer and closer. As we approached the docks we all crowded on deck and sang everything we could think of - the natives seemed rather impressed!”
When I left the UK the talk of the war out there was all about the Japanese advance in Burma to the very gateway to India - and of the fierce fighting at Imphal. On arrival in Bombay we were all allocated to various centres and I was horrified to hear that I was being sent to...........Imphal! Of course, the war had moved on in the meantime;
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the Japs had been beaten there and were now on the threshold of being beaten back to Rangoon and beyond. But I thought I was being thrown to the wolves!
Letters home were censored during the war: we had to hand them in unsealed and an officer would read through them to ensure we were not giving away any secrets. It was a requirement that you indicated on the reverse of the envelope - or Air Letter form which was more usual for correspondence (as we had three a week free of charge!) - the language in which they were written. On one occasion, a bored censor had written against my “Written in English” - “That’s what you think!”. I wonder what became of him?
In Burma...
In fact, it was not as bad as I feared. A three-day train journey across India was followed by a day or two in Calcutta where we saw at first-hand the effects of communal strife: bodies floating down the Hooghly river, often with vultures perched on and feeding (they, too, met a grisly end: having gorged themselves they were too heavy to fly and drowned further down river). Then followed the rest of the journey to Assam - across the Brahmaputra River by ferry, then by truck over precipitous mountain roads to Imphal. I will never forget the majesty of the famous memorial at Kohima with its renowned inscription “When you go home, tell them of us and say - For your tomorrow we gave our today’.” We spent several months there, servicing the equipment for which I had been trained.
Rebecca/Eureka...
In a much earlier phase of the war it had been realised that dropping supplies to the French Resistance was somewhat haphazard: if the drop was made in daylight, the Germans were as likely as the French to obtain the goods and in any case would know the location of the Resistance: if it was made in darkness there was a good chance that
no-one would find it. So was developed “my” radar, the Rebecca/Eureka system : a ground transmitter sending signals which could be received on a small tv screen by the supplying aircraft which could then “home in” on the signal and drop the supplies with great accuracy.
Obviously, this was of enormous significance in the Burma campaign: the whole concept there was of infiltrating behind the enemy lines, setting up strong positions which had to be supplied by air, and then launching frontal attacks on the Japanese, at the same time attacking from the rear.
Behind the lines...
On one occasion we were told that the ground equipment (“Eureka”) held by a unit operating behind enemy lines at Meiktila had broken down and needed urgent repairs. It fell to me to service it and I was flown down in a small aircraft to join this unit “deep in the jungle”. On landing we were met by a young officer in a Jeep, my
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luggage and equipment was unloaded in seconds, and the little plane immediately took of again. When I asked where we were in relation to the Japs the officer turned through 360°, indicating that they were all around us, and urging me to get moving FAST! We entered the “box”, as the fortified area was known, and I was taken to a tent which was to be my home for the next few days. It appeared to have four open graves in it and when I expressed my puzzlement it was explained to me that it was necessary to sleep below ground because we would constantly be under attack by Jap snipers and you were only safe if you were below ground level!
The “box” was quite large - perhaps a mile square - and contained trees and other shrubbery as well as open fields. It was quite common for Japanese snipers to infiltrate in the night, hide up in various vantage points, and then pick off a few of our troops the next morning. These Japs must have been the original suicide bombers, for there was no escape for them once they were discovered. I encountered this once when queuing up for breakfast, the sniper was identified as hiding in a tree a few hundred yards away, and a flame thrower made short work of him.
Towards Rangoon...
As the army moved down towards Rangoon we followed on in comparative safety - Monywa...Meiltila...Pegu...though there was always the chance that we would come across a few isolated Japs who had been left behind when their comrades retreated. We made camp at various places on the way; on one occasion there were about six of us in a large, canvas covered lorry and we pulled into a small clearing for the night.
We all wanted to sleep in the back of the lorry but it seemed a bit crowded to me so I said I would sleep in the driver’s cab. During the night something slithered in through the open window and I leapt out in alarm, waking every one up because a huge snake had got into the cab. In the morning we gingerly opened the door - only to find that my snake was just a branch that had fallen from an overhanging tree!
I was with 181 Signals Wing, RAF, SEAAF (South East Asia Air Forces) when the war in Europe ended but it meant nothing much to us, except we realised that thousands of families all over the United Kingdom would no longer spend sleepless nights wondering about their loved ones. Our only celebration was a Victory Parade through Rangoon on15 June 1945.
Rangoon
We arrived in Rangoon in May 1945 and the war in Burma was at an end. When the prisoners-of-war had been released and repatriated we had a few weeks of relaxation before setting off on the next stage of the journey. North of Rangoon is Lake Victoria (now Inya Lake, I believe). It was created by the British towards the end of the nineteenth century to provide a water supply for Rangoon. Wealthy families built luxury holiday homes on the shore of the Lake and all had boats, a yacht club flourished - a typical British expat colony. When the Japanese arrived in 1942 they
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took over the homes and the boats; when we arrived we took over the homes but not the boats - as they had all been destroyed and sunk by the retreating Japs. Nothing daunted, we set about salvaging and repairing the boats and formed our own flourishing yacht club. Our first boat was called “Eureka” and subsequently Eureka I and Eureka II.
We had a thoroughly enjoyable and relaxing time, but my pals were anxious about me because I was the only one who could not swim. So they set about encouraging me - in the nicest possible way - and gradually I lost my fear of getting my face wet and was able to swim half-a-dozen strokes before submerging. The day came when I thought I had mastered it but then I was given the challenge - you must prove yourself by swimming across the lake. I said I would if someone came with me in the boat but they said “No, you’ll only rely on us then” - so one day I set off and ploughed across - I thought it was about half a mile but I expect I overestimated it.
Anyway, with great pride I hauled myself ashore on the other side - then realised to my horror that the only way back was to swim! After resting for quite a while, wondering whether a 20 mile walk was the better alternative, I decided to risk it and with a mighty effort I reached home. Inevitably my pals accused me of making the whole thing up but eventually they were persuaded.
[On a much later visit to Rangoon I looked in on the War Criminals Tribunal. The President of the Court was sitting on a big, gilt ‘throne’ with an assistant at each side and a huge Union flag for background. On the left-hand side were the Japanese accused: about 16 of the most vicious-looking thugs I had ever seen. I did not wait for the verdicts but 1 got death by hanging, 4 by shooting, 8 to life imprisonment, and 3 to 12 years.]
Malaya and Singapore
All to soon our happy days were coming to an end as we prepared for the invasion of Malaya. We sailed towards the end of July 1945 in a huge invasion fleet, collected from Burma, India and Ceylon and progressed south. On August 6 we heard of a mighty explosion at Hiroshima but it didn’t mean much to us. Three days later another huge explosion shook Nagasaki and by now it was obvious that we had a devastating new weapon. Then what really registered with us was the news of the Japanese surrender on 14 August.
There was no point in our turning back and we continued to Singapore which we reached in mid-September. There was much excitement and I made a fool of myself (again?) by diving for cover when the shooting started, not realising it was fireworks to celebrate the Chinese New Year. Most of us imagined that this was the end of the war for us but it was not to be. The Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia) had been promised a degree of self-government by the Japanese for after they won the war, and the native Indonesians were not going to be put off by a little detail like Japan not winning the war. There was a bloody insurrection and British forces were sent to help the Dutch put it down.
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Java and Sumatra
My first posting was to Jakarta where I had two of my more bizarre wartime experiences. One was the free issue of money. As part of the natives rejecting Dutch sovereignty, they refused to use the Dutch currency which was being reintroduced. As we had captured the Japanese printing presses, it was an easy matter for us to churn out millions of notes and flood the market with them, so destroying their value. We were called on parade one day to be told that we were each to have a free issue of money - with just one condition attached: we MUST SPEND IT! It worked like a dream and in no time at all the Dutch had resumed control.
The other oddity was rearming some of our Japanese prisoners. When the situation looked like getting out of hand the Jap POWs were persuaded that it was the wish of their Emperor that they should assist the British forces and this that accepted without hesitation. A small group was temporarily issued with rifles and small arms and assisted our troops and things were under control again. I had several long conversations with Harry, our interpreter, and found him to be (almost) a normal family man, happy to show me photos of his wife and family back home.
After Jakarta I moved to Medan in Sumatra. The “powers-that-be” seemed to have assumed that the Dutch women who had been prisoners-of-war of the Japs would be pleased to see British servicemen, so we were all issued with ............condoms!!
It was in Sumatra that I had two of my most terrifying experiences of the whole war. On one occasion a group of us were travelling in the back of one of the covered lorries we used all the time when we came to a level crossing where the gates were closed. As no trains were running it did not occur to the driver to wonder why the gates were closed but he soon found out - when we came under fire from the signal box. We scrambled out from the back and took shelter as best we could behind/beneath the lorry, until the army arrived and took control. Sadly, our driver was killed - having survived the war proper.
The other incident was even more remarkable. Three of us were in a small car being driven by a young Flying Officer to a radio outpost. As we passed though the market square of a small village we were stopped by a Scottish soldier, obviously lost (and miles away from barracks) who demanded a lift back into town. Our Officer said he was sorry but we couldn’t help as we were on a duty call, whereupon the soldier cocked his Sten gun and said “You’re not leaving without me!”. We made to drive off and I am absolutely certain he would have fired if we had continued: but just at that moment an army truck pulled into the square, excited voices called “Over here, Jock!” and he ran off to join his comrades. We assumed he had been “up to no good” with one of the native women.
My task in Medan had been to install navigation equipment at the airstrip so that some of the Dutch women and children who had been prisoners-of-war could be evacuated
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by air. A most rewarding incident there was when a pilot came into the mess one evening and yelled “Where’s the Radar King?”. Assuming that I had made some terrible mistake I rose nervously to my feet and he came over to me - to punch me on the nose I assumed - and sure enough his hand came out - but only to shake my hand. “Very pleased to know you”, he said “I have to thank you for saving my life and, of course, the lives of the whole crew and passengers of the aircraft.” It transpired that he had run into very bad weather soon after taking off and decided to turn back By that time visibility was down to nil and, without the help of our navigation equipment, he would never have found Medan again.
At this time my Section of 181 Wing was the only one of its kind in SEAC (South East Asia Command) and the three of us were reputed to know more about the equipment than any other mechanics in the area. The result was that we tended to be kept in reserve for the sticky jobs no-one else could (or would) tackle. Hence most of my work was visiting aerodromes were some snag had arisen, putting it right, then moving on to the next problem.
My job done in Medan, I left for Air Headquarters in in Kuala Lumpur early in 1946 and spent the next 18 months travelling between there and Singapore and Rangoon. Best of all, I had “mid-tour leave” in August 1946 and was lucky enough to come back to England for four weeks. Worst of all, I had to return to Burma. We returned on RMS Samaria and the only interest on that voyage was a Revue for which I still have the programme. I said at the time in a letter home that the best act was “No. 11 - Two boys on two guitars - Jock Hamilton and Bill Mays” and I recorded that “Bill Mays was a Merchant Navy chap who could almost ‘make the thing talk’ he was so good.”
Home again
Naturally we were all anxious to get home and be “de-mobbed” and in due course I made my way back to “Blighty”. I recall that the weather got colder and colder as we neared home and made our way - in my case - to Brize Norton in Oxfordshire where I spent several months getting used to (a) English weather and (b) the discipline expected of peace-time RAF personnel - gosh , that was almost the hardest part of the war! Eventually, my turn came and I was transferred to RAF Fairford prior to de-mobilisation. I was kitted out in civilian clothes, given a rail pass, and off I went. And here I am...............
Recollections of my wartime service with the Royal Air Force
In the beginning...
I was nearly 14 when World War 2 started on 3rd September 1939 and I immediately joined the ARP Service (Air Raid Precautions) as a Messenger. My job was (or would have been, if there had been an air raid) to cycle from one command post to another, delivering messages. I had no idea how long the war would last - I don’t believe I ever gave it a thought - but I knew that if I became involved I wanted to be in the Royal Air Force and so, as soon as I was 16, I joined the ATC - Air Training Corps - to receive preliminary training for what I hoped would be my future in the RAF.
I had a Grammar-school education - first at Tiffins, Kingston-upon-Thames, then at Hove County School for Boys - and left when I was 15 to start work in a local accountancy practice. Because everyone older than me was being “called up” (for war service) I made rapid progress and was soon, in effect, the Managing Clerk - though far too young for such seniority.
Quite literally on my 18th birthday I received my calling-up papers - “a letter from the King”. It told me that my Country needed me and that I was to report to a depôt at St John’s Wood (London) on 19th December 1943 to be received into the Royal Air Force as an air-crew trainee. Stockleigh Hall, a block of flats in Prince Albert Road, had been requisitioned and my first billet was quite luxurious but there were no communal catering facilities for the large number of inhabitants and so each morning we were marched off to breakfast at...............London Zoo! By 2012 those flats were selling for £7+millions!
Like every young man of my age, my ambition was to become a Spitfire pilot but whilst we were still in the introductory stage it was made clear to us that there was no shortage of pilots and we would be trained for other airborne duties, mainly as Air Gunners. This was not at all to my liking; I sought to re-muster to an alternative ground job and my request was granted. As I was already a trainee accountant it seemed that the pay corps would be most suitable but I wanted to contribute more positively to the war effort and asked if I could be involved in RADAR - the exciting new discovery that was to play such a significant part in our eventual victory. This was agreed, subject to my passing the requisite examinations, in physics and mathematics.
-2-
Here was a problem: at school I had been good at maths - that was why I had gone into the accountancy profession - but I had never done physics and knew little about it. Before the examination I was told that the pass mark was a modest 40% but it must be achieved in both papers. When I was interviewed after the exam, the presiding officer said I had presented them with a difficulty: in physics my score was a miserable 10% but in maths I had achieved 100% - a feat I was told had never been achieved before (recently, one of my now grown up children said “I expect they say that to everyone who scores 100%!”).
Luckily for me, the view taken by the examining board was that, if I was capable of scoring full marks in one paper, I must be of at least average intelligence and they were prepared to take a chance and enter me for training as a Radar Mechanic. So, after a temporary spell at a bomb store at Lords Bridge, Cambridge waiting for a suitable course to be available, off I went to Lincoln where I was to be trained and where I spent many happy hours in the gardens of the Bishop’s Palace, revising and debating .
My first billet there was at the George Hotel for which any of my fellow-trainees would have died but was wasted on me because (at that time) I was not a drinker and never frequented pubs; so the landlord did not take to me and asked if I could be moved. For the rest of my time I lived with a very nice middle-aged couple on a small estate where I was much happier.
Outward bound...
As soon as I “passed out” - no, not fainted: qualified as a Radar Mechanic (Air) - I was told that, as the war in Europe was nearing its climax, I would be of more use in the Far East and I was duly shipped out to India. I had the normal Embarkation Leave and so got to see my first “doodle bug” as it passed over our family home at Burgess Hill, Sussex on its was towards London.
When leave was over I travelled by train to Glasgow, embarked on (I think) the Tierra del Fuego, and set sail a day or two later. The journey was uneventful but as we slept in hammocks below the waterline I was always conscious of the position in which I would find myself if we should happen upon a German U-boat.
Of my arrival in India I wrote home: “The sea was calm all the was except for a couple of days and I very much enjoyed it but was not sorry to land. You can imagine the excitement as we saw Bombay drawing closer and closer. As we approached the docks we all crowded on deck and sang everything we could think of - the natives seemed rather impressed!”
When I left the UK the talk of the war out there was all about the Japanese advance in Burma to the very gateway to India - and of the fierce fighting at Imphal. On arrival in Bombay we were all allocated to various centres and I was horrified to hear that I was being sent to...........Imphal! Of course, the war had moved on in the meantime;
-3-
the Japs had been beaten there and were now on the threshold of being beaten back to Rangoon and beyond. But I thought I was being thrown to the wolves!
Letters home were censored during the war: we had to hand them in unsealed and an officer would read through them to ensure we were not giving away any secrets. It was a requirement that you indicated on the reverse of the envelope - or Air Letter form which was more usual for correspondence (as we had three a week free of charge!) - the language in which they were written. On one occasion, a bored censor had written against my “Written in English” - “That’s what you think!”. I wonder what became of him?
In Burma...
In fact, it was not as bad as I feared. A three-day train journey across India was followed by a day or two in Calcutta where we saw at first-hand the effects of communal strife: bodies floating down the Hooghly river, often with vultures perched on and feeding (they, too, met a grisly end: having gorged themselves they were too heavy to fly and drowned further down river). Then followed the rest of the journey to Assam - across the Brahmaputra River by ferry, then by truck over precipitous mountain roads to Imphal. I will never forget the majesty of the famous memorial at Kohima with its renowned inscription “When you go home, tell them of us and say - For your tomorrow we gave our today’.” We spent several months there, servicing the equipment for which I had been trained.
Rebecca/Eureka...
In a much earlier phase of the war it had been realised that dropping supplies to the French Resistance was somewhat haphazard: if the drop was made in daylight, the Germans were as likely as the French to obtain the goods and in any case would know the location of the Resistance: if it was made in darkness there was a good chance that
no-one would find it. So was developed “my” radar, the Rebecca/Eureka system : a ground transmitter sending signals which could be received on a small tv screen by the supplying aircraft which could then “home in” on the signal and drop the supplies with great accuracy.
Obviously, this was of enormous significance in the Burma campaign: the whole concept there was of infiltrating behind the enemy lines, setting up strong positions which had to be supplied by air, and then launching frontal attacks on the Japanese, at the same time attacking from the rear.
Behind the lines...
On one occasion we were told that the ground equipment (“Eureka”) held by a unit operating behind enemy lines at Meiktila had broken down and needed urgent repairs. It fell to me to service it and I was flown down in a small aircraft to join this unit “deep in the jungle”. On landing we were met by a young officer in a Jeep, my
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luggage and equipment was unloaded in seconds, and the little plane immediately took of again. When I asked where we were in relation to the Japs the officer turned through 360°, indicating that they were all around us, and urging me to get moving FAST! We entered the “box”, as the fortified area was known, and I was taken to a tent which was to be my home for the next few days. It appeared to have four open graves in it and when I expressed my puzzlement it was explained to me that it was necessary to sleep below ground because we would constantly be under attack by Jap snipers and you were only safe if you were below ground level!
The “box” was quite large - perhaps a mile square - and contained trees and other shrubbery as well as open fields. It was quite common for Japanese snipers to infiltrate in the night, hide up in various vantage points, and then pick off a few of our troops the next morning. These Japs must have been the original suicide bombers, for there was no escape for them once they were discovered. I encountered this once when queuing up for breakfast, the sniper was identified as hiding in a tree a few hundred yards away, and a flame thrower made short work of him.
Towards Rangoon...
As the army moved down towards Rangoon we followed on in comparative safety - Monywa...Meiltila...Pegu...though there was always the chance that we would come across a few isolated Japs who had been left behind when their comrades retreated. We made camp at various places on the way; on one occasion there were about six of us in a large, canvas covered lorry and we pulled into a small clearing for the night.
We all wanted to sleep in the back of the lorry but it seemed a bit crowded to me so I said I would sleep in the driver’s cab. During the night something slithered in through the open window and I leapt out in alarm, waking every one up because a huge snake had got into the cab. In the morning we gingerly opened the door - only to find that my snake was just a branch that had fallen from an overhanging tree!
I was with 181 Signals Wing, RAF, SEAAF (South East Asia Air Forces) when the war in Europe ended but it meant nothing much to us, except we realised that thousands of families all over the United Kingdom would no longer spend sleepless nights wondering about their loved ones. Our only celebration was a Victory Parade through Rangoon on15 June 1945.
Rangoon
We arrived in Rangoon in May 1945 and the war in Burma was at an end. When the prisoners-of-war had been released and repatriated we had a few weeks of relaxation before setting off on the next stage of the journey. North of Rangoon is Lake Victoria (now Inya Lake, I believe). It was created by the British towards the end of the nineteenth century to provide a water supply for Rangoon. Wealthy families built luxury holiday homes on the shore of the Lake and all had boats, a yacht club flourished - a typical British expat colony. When the Japanese arrived in 1942 they
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took over the homes and the boats; when we arrived we took over the homes but not the boats - as they had all been destroyed and sunk by the retreating Japs. Nothing daunted, we set about salvaging and repairing the boats and formed our own flourishing yacht club. Our first boat was called “Eureka” and subsequently Eureka I and Eureka II.
We had a thoroughly enjoyable and relaxing time, but my pals were anxious about me because I was the only one who could not swim. So they set about encouraging me - in the nicest possible way - and gradually I lost my fear of getting my face wet and was able to swim half-a-dozen strokes before submerging. The day came when I thought I had mastered it but then I was given the challenge - you must prove yourself by swimming across the lake. I said I would if someone came with me in the boat but they said “No, you’ll only rely on us then” - so one day I set off and ploughed across - I thought it was about half a mile but I expect I overestimated it.
Anyway, with great pride I hauled myself ashore on the other side - then realised to my horror that the only way back was to swim! After resting for quite a while, wondering whether a 20 mile walk was the better alternative, I decided to risk it and with a mighty effort I reached home. Inevitably my pals accused me of making the whole thing up but eventually they were persuaded.
[On a much later visit to Rangoon I looked in on the War Criminals Tribunal. The President of the Court was sitting on a big, gilt ‘throne’ with an assistant at each side and a huge Union flag for background. On the left-hand side were the Japanese accused: about 16 of the most vicious-looking thugs I had ever seen. I did not wait for the verdicts but 1 got death by hanging, 4 by shooting, 8 to life imprisonment, and 3 to 12 years.]
Malaya and Singapore
All to soon our happy days were coming to an end as we prepared for the invasion of Malaya. We sailed towards the end of July 1945 in a huge invasion fleet, collected from Burma, India and Ceylon and progressed south. On August 6 we heard of a mighty explosion at Hiroshima but it didn’t mean much to us. Three days later another huge explosion shook Nagasaki and by now it was obvious that we had a devastating new weapon. Then what really registered with us was the news of the Japanese surrender on 14 August.
There was no point in our turning back and we continued to Singapore which we reached in mid-September. There was much excitement and I made a fool of myself (again?) by diving for cover when the shooting started, not realising it was fireworks to celebrate the Chinese New Year. Most of us imagined that this was the end of the war for us but it was not to be. The Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia) had been promised a degree of self-government by the Japanese for after they won the war, and the native Indonesians were not going to be put off by a little detail like Japan not winning the war. There was a bloody insurrection and British forces were sent to help the Dutch put it down.
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Java and Sumatra
My first posting was to Jakarta where I had two of my more bizarre wartime experiences. One was the free issue of money. As part of the natives rejecting Dutch sovereignty, they refused to use the Dutch currency which was being reintroduced. As we had captured the Japanese printing presses, it was an easy matter for us to churn out millions of notes and flood the market with them, so destroying their value. We were called on parade one day to be told that we were each to have a free issue of money - with just one condition attached: we MUST SPEND IT! It worked like a dream and in no time at all the Dutch had resumed control.
The other oddity was rearming some of our Japanese prisoners. When the situation looked like getting out of hand the Jap POWs were persuaded that it was the wish of their Emperor that they should assist the British forces and this that accepted without hesitation. A small group was temporarily issued with rifles and small arms and assisted our troops and things were under control again. I had several long conversations with Harry, our interpreter, and found him to be (almost) a normal family man, happy to show me photos of his wife and family back home.
After Jakarta I moved to Medan in Sumatra. The “powers-that-be” seemed to have assumed that the Dutch women who had been prisoners-of-war of the Japs would be pleased to see British servicemen, so we were all issued with ............condoms!!
It was in Sumatra that I had two of my most terrifying experiences of the whole war. On one occasion a group of us were travelling in the back of one of the covered lorries we used all the time when we came to a level crossing where the gates were closed. As no trains were running it did not occur to the driver to wonder why the gates were closed but he soon found out - when we came under fire from the signal box. We scrambled out from the back and took shelter as best we could behind/beneath the lorry, until the army arrived and took control. Sadly, our driver was killed - having survived the war proper.
The other incident was even more remarkable. Three of us were in a small car being driven by a young Flying Officer to a radio outpost. As we passed though the market square of a small village we were stopped by a Scottish soldier, obviously lost (and miles away from barracks) who demanded a lift back into town. Our Officer said he was sorry but we couldn’t help as we were on a duty call, whereupon the soldier cocked his Sten gun and said “You’re not leaving without me!”. We made to drive off and I am absolutely certain he would have fired if we had continued: but just at that moment an army truck pulled into the square, excited voices called “Over here, Jock!” and he ran off to join his comrades. We assumed he had been “up to no good” with one of the native women.
My task in Medan had been to install navigation equipment at the airstrip so that some of the Dutch women and children who had been prisoners-of-war could be evacuated
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by air. A most rewarding incident there was when a pilot came into the mess one evening and yelled “Where’s the Radar King?”. Assuming that I had made some terrible mistake I rose nervously to my feet and he came over to me - to punch me on the nose I assumed - and sure enough his hand came out - but only to shake my hand. “Very pleased to know you”, he said “I have to thank you for saving my life and, of course, the lives of the whole crew and passengers of the aircraft.” It transpired that he had run into very bad weather soon after taking off and decided to turn back By that time visibility was down to nil and, without the help of our navigation equipment, he would never have found Medan again.
At this time my Section of 181 Wing was the only one of its kind in SEAC (South East Asia Command) and the three of us were reputed to know more about the equipment than any other mechanics in the area. The result was that we tended to be kept in reserve for the sticky jobs no-one else could (or would) tackle. Hence most of my work was visiting aerodromes were some snag had arisen, putting it right, then moving on to the next problem.
My job done in Medan, I left for Air Headquarters in in Kuala Lumpur early in 1946 and spent the next 18 months travelling between there and Singapore and Rangoon. Best of all, I had “mid-tour leave” in August 1946 and was lucky enough to come back to England for four weeks. Worst of all, I had to return to Burma. We returned on RMS Samaria and the only interest on that voyage was a Revue for which I still have the programme. I said at the time in a letter home that the best act was “No. 11 - Two boys on two guitars - Jock Hamilton and Bill Mays” and I recorded that “Bill Mays was a Merchant Navy chap who could almost ‘make the thing talk’ he was so good.”
Home again
Naturally we were all anxious to get home and be “de-mobbed” and in due course I made my way back to “Blighty”. I recall that the weather got colder and colder as we neared home and made our way - in my case - to Brize Norton in Oxfordshire where I spent several months getting used to (a) English weather and (b) the discipline expected of peace-time RAF personnel - gosh , that was almost the hardest part of the war! Eventually, my turn came and I was transferred to RAF Fairford prior to de-mobilisation. I was kitted out in civilian clothes, given a rail pass, and off I went. And here I am...............
Thursday 8 October 2015
Prayer
I had an interesting experience a week or two ago. Visiting a church away from home, I was given a questionnaire which invited me to assess the sermon. When the time came, the Vicar wandered off saying “The floor’s yours, Geoff” or words to that effect and the organist came down, perched on the edge of a pew, and preached. I assume it was some sort of training, programme;: I thought he did very well. It set me thinking - how would I manage in that situation? I think I would talk about how I prepare for Holy Communion.
In my mind’s eye I picture the Last Supper; no nonsense about 13 on one side of the table, smiling for the camera - they would be seated six a side with Our Lord at the head. I always picture myself behind Him - it would be disconcerting to have Him looking me in the eyes. I see Him take a loaf, break it in two, give half to the chap on His left and half to the one on his right, and ask them to take a chunk and pass it on. This is My Body. No-one worships it - that would be idolatry as it is bread - but they all do it “in remembrance of Me”. Then they have the meal - shepherds and fishermen, so it might have been lamb stew or fish & chips. I like to think of them chatting as we do at home at family gatherings, with much happiness unless they all realised what lay ahead? Afterwards, Jesus takes the goblet, fills it with wine and it is passed round the table. A problem: did he pass it to the chap on His left so that it went round clockwise, or to the one on His right so it went anti-clockwise? I’m anti anything anti, so in my mind it goes round clockwise.
Now I’m ready to take Communion. The priest, on behalf of Jesus, hands me the Host, saying, “The body of Christ” and I say “Amen” to signify that I really believe that we are replicating what Jesus did at the Last Supper. Like wise the wine - then for a split second I am made whole - until normal thoughts start again.
In my mind’s eye I picture the Last Supper; no nonsense about 13 on one side of the table, smiling for the camera - they would be seated six a side with Our Lord at the head. I always picture myself behind Him - it would be disconcerting to have Him looking me in the eyes. I see Him take a loaf, break it in two, give half to the chap on His left and half to the one on his right, and ask them to take a chunk and pass it on. This is My Body. No-one worships it - that would be idolatry as it is bread - but they all do it “in remembrance of Me”. Then they have the meal - shepherds and fishermen, so it might have been lamb stew or fish & chips. I like to think of them chatting as we do at home at family gatherings, with much happiness unless they all realised what lay ahead? Afterwards, Jesus takes the goblet, fills it with wine and it is passed round the table. A problem: did he pass it to the chap on His left so that it went round clockwise, or to the one on His right so it went anti-clockwise? I’m anti anything anti, so in my mind it goes round clockwise.
Now I’m ready to take Communion. The priest, on behalf of Jesus, hands me the Host, saying, “The body of Christ” and I say “Amen” to signify that I really believe that we are replicating what Jesus did at the Last Supper. Like wise the wine - then for a split second I am made whole - until normal thoughts start again.
Wednesday 1 July 2015
Heatwave
Heatwave
Exchange with my daughter:
Haven't seen this for years - so hot the road tar is melting!
So now you're wondering "What's this all about?".
Well here goes: it's a long story but I won't shorten it as it's about me.
My father's father was a journeyman carpenter but very concerned for the welfare of the "working man" - an Arthur Scargill of his day. Eventually he found work difficult to obtain so he emigrated to the USA in about 1880, taking his wife and child with him. My father grew up as a young american, saluting the flag each day and integrating with the new way of life - went to church regularly, joined the Grace Church choir, and so on. When he reached 21 he decided to come back to his homeland but he continued to visit his parents in the United States every three years; one such was 1912 but, alas, his chosen liner was fully booked. (Geddit? 1912?) - but that's another story.
He didn't go back again because the Great War intervened - that's when he lost his faith, but that's yet another story. He married in 1917 and had 10 children: one died at birth during a zeppelin raid on London but most of the others lived into their 80s or 90s - my sister Margaret will be 96 later this month and another significant member hopes to reach 90 in November. Now where was I? Oh, yes.
In 1930 "Grandpa and Grandma in America" got in touch with Dad to say that as they were now nearing the end of their days they longed to return "home" to die - could Dad put them up? Of course he could! I doubt if he consulted Mother, who already had nine boisterous children to cope with, but home they came. First, though, the Home Office had to approve, so a huge policeman - about 10ft by 5ft - was deputed to inspect our home to see if the accommodation was adequate. NOW WE GET TO IT! At this time, the road outside our house was being resurfaced. First a great tanker went along, spewing out hot tar, followed by a gang with shovels spreading granite chips over it and finally the steam roller came along to flatten it. When the workmen had gone home, my brother Colin and I - we were about 4 and five at the time - went out to inspect the handiwork and discovered little rivers of tar trickling in the gutter. Well, we found little bits of dried grass and played with the tar until we got bored, then put the tarred stalks in the nearby post box and off to bed we went.
Next morning, we were horrified to see a HUGE policeman coming up the drive. Crikey - it didn't take them long to track us down. Colin and I hid under the dining room table until we heard him coming, then threw our weight against the door to stop him. As he thrust open the door, my brother and I slid across the floor and out of sight back under the table. The policeman was not interested though: he was satisfied that Grandpa and Grandma would be well cared for and off he went. Colin and I were spared for further adventures.....
Exchange with my daughter:
So now you're wondering "What's this all about?".
Well here goes: it's a long story but I won't shorten it as it's about me.
My father's father was a journeyman carpenter but very concerned for the welfare of the "working man" - an Arthur Scargill of his day. Eventually he found work difficult to obtain so he emigrated to the USA in about 1880, taking his wife and child with him. My father grew up as a young american, saluting the flag each day and integrating with the new way of life - went to church regularly, joined the Grace Church choir, and so on. When he reached 21 he decided to come back to his homeland but he continued to visit his parents in the United States every three years; one such was 1912 but, alas, his chosen liner was fully booked. (Geddit? 1912?) - but that's another story.
He didn't go back again because the Great War intervened - that's when he lost his faith, but that's yet another story. He married in 1917 and had 10 children: one died at birth during a zeppelin raid on London but most of the others lived into their 80s or 90s - my sister Margaret will be 96 later this month and another significant member hopes to reach 90 in November. Now where was I? Oh, yes.
In 1930 "Grandpa and Grandma in America" got in touch with Dad to say that as they were now nearing the end of their days they longed to return "home" to die - could Dad put them up? Of course he could! I doubt if he consulted Mother, who already had nine boisterous children to cope with, but home they came. First, though, the Home Office had to approve, so a huge policeman - about 10ft by 5ft - was deputed to inspect our home to see if the accommodation was adequate. NOW WE GET TO IT! At this time, the road outside our house was being resurfaced. First a great tanker went along, spewing out hot tar, followed by a gang with shovels spreading granite chips over it and finally the steam roller came along to flatten it. When the workmen had gone home, my brother Colin and I - we were about 4 and five at the time - went out to inspect the handiwork and discovered little rivers of tar trickling in the gutter. Well, we found little bits of dried grass and played with the tar until we got bored, then put the tarred stalks in the nearby post box and off to bed we went.
Next morning, we were horrified to see a HUGE policeman coming up the drive. Crikey - it didn't take them long to track us down. Colin and I hid under the dining room table until we heard him coming, then threw our weight against the door to stop him. As he thrust open the door, my brother and I slid across the floor and out of sight back under the table. The policeman was not interested though: he was satisfied that Grandpa and Grandma would be well cared for and off he went. Colin and I were spared for further adventures.....
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