FORWARD AREA BURMA TRAINING

     In the meantime my buddies Len Brown and Alec Cox had gone to A & B flights to work on the tarmac and service the aircraft as they came in.  Later during my stay at Risalpur I did the same thing, servicing the radio on Hurricanes.  It was sure hot work and sometimes we tied cloth around our knees so as not to burn them when kneeling on the wing of the aircraft.

Late in October I had my first mail from home, since June 8th before I had left the UK, and boy was it ever good to sit in a quiet place and open it up.  It was fun to go through the letters over and over again.  Like reading a book and bringing Victoria back to me as mom told me so much about everything that was happening at home. It was at this time that I learned that my brother Eric who had joined the RCAF after training as a fitter, had now gone on to aircrew as a Flight Engineer and was  flying with 429 Squadron, first on Halifax bombers and later the Lancaster.  He completed 30 trips over enemy territory and survived the war.

I had a change from the flights when I was moved to the acc. room, this is where all of the batteries are charged for the aircraft, hundreds of them.  It was quite a job checking them, topping them up with distilled water etc.  Very boring though.  From there I went back to the Operations

Room, far more interesting, and then one day out of the blue I was put on a course in preparation for Forward Area deployment (Burma).  I was assigned to take a ground defence course. 

  It was quite an eye-opener for me.  We were taught bayonet fighting, unarmed combat, firing Lewis and Sten guns and grenade throwing.  From my teenage years of being a fairly accurate baseball pitcher I found it difficult to lob the grenade.  I wanted to hold it a little longer and throw it directly at the target area.  My instructor said he didn't care how accurate I was, he wanted it done "by the book."  My lobbing wasn't all that accurate and secretly I thought to myself, if I ever have to use one of these bloody things, I am going to throw it like I would a baseball. 

The course was a nice break from our routine.  The most interesting and scary part was the hazard course.  Here we had to crawl on our stomachs under wire 18" above the ground, while carrying our Sten gun.  While we were doing this there were Army chaps on either side of us with machine guns FIRING BLANKS.  A cross-fire over the top of us.  As noisy and scary as it was, it was actually quite easy to do once it was set in your mind the ammo wasn't real.  We were in tropical kit, but with slacks instead of shorts.  The neat trick was not to get your shirt caught in the barbed wire above.  This made one really hug the ground.  We wore steel helmets of course and a sure sign you were too high was when you heard the scrape of your helmet on the wire.  This too could be a bit of a bind because some of us had a sort of camouflage netting over the top of our helmets.  Boy, you sure pulled your head in quickly, like a frightened turtle, and dropped your arse which you felt was stuck up as high as Mt. Everest, and a neat target.   We crawled across this course in columns of from four to six and each column consisted of five or six guys.  Leading a column had an advantage. Anywhere behind the leader you had the fear of being kicked in the face.  Anywhere in the middle of the column you had the guy behind constantly urging you on while you hoped the guy in front didn't kick you in the face.

Then one day on the course, we received a rude awakening.  We were to do it again.  We at first thought why?  We have already done it a few times.  Then the 14th Army sergeant spoke very seriously to us.  "Lads," he said,  "I want you to pay attention to me. LISTEN! When you crawl through this time, that will be LIVE AMMO, flying over your heads.  UNDERSTAND!  LIVE AMMO!"

I can tell you, this quickly changed the mood of our group.  Taken out of 10 as tops, our bravado plunged to about minus 3.  

Our crawl commenced.  The machine-guns opened up immediately. There seemed to be a very distinctive and different sound to the firing this time which was mingled with tracer bullets which we could easily see in front of us.  We were very, very careful how we proceeded.  We just hoped the machine-gunners were cracker-jacks at their job.  No one got hurt and soon our course was finished. TO BE CONTINUED

AIR TO AIR FIRING EXPERIENCE

My first few days at Risalpur were in the Operations Room a sort of Control Tower for the station.  It was here where I first met John MacTaggart [of Mac & Betty fame],  Here I did some R/T work with the aircraft, but mostly recorded all conversations between air crew and the tower.  It kept me hopping.  By recorded I mean I wrote down everything they said.  Of course we had a kind of shorthand for this, so it wasn't all that difficult, other than understanding the accents of some of the Indian pilots.

One of my jobs was putting up telephone lines with a W/O Johnson.  That was hot work.  We worked only in the very early morning, as it was so hot.  

      I met a Canadian pilot instructor by name of Courtenay, who had the nickname of "Waltzing" Courtenay, because of the way he landed his Hurricane, slipping from side to side to lose height quickly as he descended to the runway.  I was constantly on to him about learning to fly.   One day he asked if I would like to go up in a Westland Lysander doing some drogue towing, while his trainee pilots tried their skill at air to air firing.  He said he would be the pilot and I could handle the target drogue.  He said there was also a certain amount of radio air to ground and air to fighter dialogue required, which I could handle. He genned me up, [briefed me]  on the procedure regarding the drogue, which was quite straightforward, got me settled down in the Lysander and then said he'd be back in a few minutes for take-off.  While he was gone I called (a buddy) in the ops room and practised  my R/T procedure.  After a few minutes, from my "aft" position, I heard someone climbing into the aircraft,  assumed it was Courtenay and waited for his "permission to become airborne."  Then I heard "my pilot" call the tower.  He had a decided accent.  It wasn't Courtenay.  

After reaching our designated height, I let the drogue out by winch.  I forget the prescribed distance it had to be from our plane, but I would have liked it to be more.  It seemed too close for comfort, especially with keen young Indian pilots diving away at us and a rat-a-tatt-tatting with their machine-guns.  The flight itself was harrowing enough.  Some were way off the mark and I thought much too close to us.  Eventually it was time to fly low over the field and drop the drogue so they could check the scores the pilots had made.  [this was done with different colour paint on the rounds of ammunition which would leave their mark on the cloth of the drogue] On our first attempt to land, the ops room warned us off as we were about to overshoot the field.  With a great roar of engine the Lysander gained altitude and came around again.  Talk about over-correction.  On our second attempt we touched down on the very outer scrubby edge of the airfield, just missing a wire fence and I'm sure hundreds of iguanas popped back into their holes as we bounced, bounced,  finally coming to a full stop.  

      On leaving the aircraft I noticed my pilot was a smiling, very handsome young Indian chap about my own age.  I saw Courtenay later that evening.  "Still wanna fly?" he asked, with a big smile on his face.  He had purposely made the switch.  He made up for it later, giving me an hour or so flip in a Harvard and a few minutes on the controls, which I found to be quite different to the broomstick and two large books for rudder bars,  I had "trained" on three years ago in my bedroom. 

I got along well with Courtenay.  We did a few things together.  Played catch a lot, with a baseball and a mitt he must have taken everywhere with him.  I have often wondered if he survived the war.

We Arrive In Bombay

They sat in comfortable chairs, about four or five to a table.  Eight sisters [nurses] on the boat ate with the officers.

It was strange that on this otherwise bullshitty ship, when pay parade came around we just went up to a table, told them who we were and signed for our pay.  No saluting.  Quite a contrast from the R.A.F- run-ship where we were paraded and upon the calling of your name you,

SHOUTED, SIR! STOFER, 801! SIR!, and did a quick left right, left right, up to the desk, came to attention, saluted, gave your name again, stood to attention - pay counted out, picked up pay, saluted, gave a smart right turn and marched off, heading for the canteen where just about anything could be purchased, such as all of the rationed items on the home front.

Another contrast.  On the other ships I had been on, we all had our muster stations, in other words the life boat we were to go to in case of alarm.  There was a set time for these alarm tests and so we would saunter in that direction and be ready when the alarm and ship's whistle

blew frantically.  It was easy to be in place at the right time.  However on this army run ship there was absolutely no warning and it could even be at night when you were well and truly tuckedaway in your hammock.  It was quite a scamper I can tell you to get there in a prescribed time, or

else get hell for it.  

One day on the ship we had the most efficient F.F.I. [free from infection], that I have ever had since being in the R.A.F.  We were all lined up on the deck and given a real going over.  It wasn't a very pleasant day. The breeze was quite strong and cool whipping across the deck, and

the closer one got to the Medical Examiner the less clothes one had on.  It was a mass production sort of thing and when naked and shivering and finally in front of a doctor - there were several of them of course - the routine went something like this - "Stand straight!"  - some personal handling took place.

  "Cough! - Again!" - "Turn around!" -  "Bend over!" - more personal handling andprodding in private areas. "Cough again!" - "On your way!" It was nice to scamper away and get back into the warmth of one's clothes.

One day about 20 of us were picked to peel spuds in the galley from 6:30 in the morning until about 11:30.  It sure was hot.  We sat in our shorts, stripped to the waist, and bare feet in slippers.  The temperature was up to 110 at times.  We peeled one and a half tons of potatoes a day.  To make the time fly we had contests to see who could peel the most spuds in a minute.  

We could do from 8 to 13 in a minute.  I think some peel must have been left on at times.  Some guys just made four slices of the spud and ended up with a square one.  We would have lunch there, and then more spud peeling from 1:30 until 3:30.  We had breakfast and lunch in the galley and the same food as the officers.  Tender steaks, fried potatoes and lovely puddings - so very much different from what we had at the mess tables.  

INDIA

On Monday, Oct. 12/42 at 10:30 in the morning we crossed the equator for the second time on this trip out from the UK. We had another pay parade and got some shillings which wetook to the exchange office for Rupees.  For 21 shillings or 21 bob as the slang goes we received 14 Rupees or "chips".

On the 17th our ship dropped anchor in Bombay harbour.

 He took us to Smutz's home on a very high point of land, drove us through the grounds and pointed out an area to us where a clearing was being made in the forest on the estate to afford a better view of the nearby mountains.  

About 7 p.m. Mr. Chapman returned us to the docks.  Our automobile was saluted as it passed through the gates, and we were taken right to the bottom of the gangway of our ship.  Such dignitaries we suddenly became.  

Later that same evening we walked out again to a Jewish canteen for yet another free meal.  It was almost impossible to buy a meal in Cape Town, the citizens were so generous.

We met a couple of South African sailors and with them went on to another place named Garlicks where there were more free eats and a dance.  We left the dance about 10:30, bought a sack of oranges [120], f r three shillings, and then took a handsome cab [horse & buggy], back to

our ship for the night.  A perfect day.

I had an unusual experience while in Cape Town.  An airman without a hat in public could in those days be placed on a charge by the Military Police.  I was about to go ashore and could not find my hat.  It had been pinched by someone for whatever reason.  I wasn't going to miss a

day ashore.  Someone said that the main thing was for your head to be covered.  It is all very vague now, but I do recall that a mate fashioned my air force blue scarf into a sort of headgear.  I

left the ship with this on and I was not questioned.  As soon as one was inside any establishment it was okay to remove your hat [in my case a scarf], and tuck it inside the belt of your jacket.  I got away with it.

The day came when we were to be transferred to the Johan van Olden Barneveldt.  It was about 500 yds. away and could be easily seen from the ship we were on.  I will not forget this transfer.  

We were paraded in full kit and expected we would simply march over and on to the Barneveldt.  We were kept waiting and waiting and wondered why the delay.  There was a hugegate, I suppose for security, that was between us and the Barneveldt.  It was locked.  No one seemed to have a key, nor did it appear to us that anyone had been sent to get, or find the required key.  After "falling in" the order to "Forward March" was given and we were marched the LONG way around out of the docks and up the road and in by another entrance.  An hour and one half later we arrived at the Johan van Olden Barneveldt.  Maybe they wanted to give us some exercise. 

JOHAN VAN OLDENBARNEVELDT / LAKONIA 1929

was built by Nederlandsche Scheepsbouw Maatschappij, Amsterdam for the Nederland Line in 1929. She was a 19,787 gross ton ship, length overall 609.2ft x beam 74.8ft, two funnels, two masts, twin screw and a speed of 19 knots. There was accommodation for 338-1st, 281-2nd and

64-3rd class passengers. Launched on 3/8/1929 for Nederland Line, she was chartered to Holland America Line in 1939 and carried out one round voyage from Amsterdam (dep 30/8/1939) to New York, carrying 634-1st class passengers. From 1940 - 1945 she was used as an Allied

troopship and after the war was refitted as a one class vessel.

  One often saw humorous scenes during such movements of troops.  One draft marched past us, led by an Army officer carrying a tennis racquet; another a bag of golf clubs. One of the ships we were passing en route to the Barneveldt had all of the men off of it and standing on the dock.  They were protesting the conditions on the ship.  Looked like another mutiny in the making.  Shades of Durban, and the Empire Woodlark. 

By 5 p.m. our ship cast off,  pulled away from the wharf and we were on our way to India. There were eleven ships in our convoy, but more were to "pick us up" off of Durban. We had an army C.O. for a change on this ship, and things were very, very, bullshitty.  We were put on "E" Deck, well below the waterline.  We slept in hammocks.  We ate at mess tables

below, 20 to a table. Breakfast at 7 a.m. - lunch 12 noon and evening meal 5 p.m.  We took turns at being mess orderlies for our own table;  two chaps for each meal one day at a time.  So one's turn didn't come around that often. The officers mess [naturally, fewer of them], was quite different to ours.  Fancy glass doors and about 150 huge fans at different angles to keep the poor chaps cool.  

THE SURPRISING SISTERS AND GEN. SMUTZ' SECRETARY

We entered a very luxurious apartment with a fantastic view of the

ocean and beach below. "Have a seat and make yourself comfortable," they said, almost in unison, big smiles and flashing white teeth. "We'll just get us something to drink."  They left and went to another part of the large suite.  WELL! Trev and I gave each other knowing looks and nudges, as if to say, 'Mmm, this is going to be great,' with visions of the young ladies returning clad only in kimonos, and bearing martinis.  [not that we'd know what to do]. Then to our surprise, an older women appeared.  Older that is in relation to the young ladies.  All of 40.  She too was very attractive, and one could easily have assumed I suppose, that she was "the Madam".   However, before she had time to speak to us, the two young ladies reappeared, dressed the same as they had left us, but bearing a tray of sandwiches and cakes, and at the same time saying, "Oh mother, these are two of the young airmen who have just come in from England."   While we were gasping, "mother" shook our hands, welcoming us, and saying she would check the tea kettle and then left.  Conversation that followed revealed to us that the young ladies, Yvonne & Margaret Hamilton, in their mid-teens, and looking 20ish, were sisters.   It was a very common practice in South Africa for all the inhabitants to warmly welcome all servicemen to their country and take them home to tea.  Mrs. Hamilton took our home addresses.   It was apparently the practice for South African hosts to notify the serviceman's family that they had seen him and he was well. Trevor and I of course had fallen "madly in love" with both and/or either of them at first sight, and were now rather shattered that we were just part of an Allied effort to make the troops feel at home.  I can't recall how the rest of the day went, except that we obviously left at some point, and also quite obviously did not see them again, or else I am sure I would have more to say on this subject. 

Shortly thereafter, in one of the many servicemen's canteens,  I met a girl about my own age, from Victoria who had lived in South Africa for five years.  She was Diedre Diespecker.  I went out to her home for a meal.  Her uncle was Dick Diespecker a regular news broadcaster,

connected with the media in Vancouver.

Inevitably the order came through one day that we were on the move again.  Once again we were on the train and heading for the docks, where we boarded the 23,000 ton Oronsay.  

That same day we left Durban and were once more on our way,  out into 

1: 

                 

the wide, wide ocean and the return of the terrific sea swells.  On the first day nearly everyone aboard was terribly sick.  Surprisingly we learned our destination was Cape Town.  Seemed like we were going the wrong way.  This was very exciting, as by this time the attempted landing at Dieppe on the French coast had taken place, [not to be confused with THE invasion], and quite naturally we thought of a possible invasion of the continent and the need for us to be back in the UK. 

On a Saturday morning we anchored in the harbour off of Cape Town.  It was not until 4 p.m. on the Saturday that we actually docked.  We were advised that we would live aboard the Oronsay for a few days until another ship was ready for us to board and take us to the Far East.

[So much for our thoughts of the invasion of Europe]. We had three whole days to ourselves.   One of the first things we noticed was just outside the gates of the dock area, generous and patriotic residents of the city had lined up their cars and stood beside them to greet us as we left the ship. The cars would fill up and be off to see the sights.  Many would also be taken home to lunch or dinner. Many a story of such adventures were told from hammock to hammock aboard ship in the evening as everyone related their day out with very sociable South Africans. 

Those servicemen who elected to go somewhere on their own headed for the Salvation Army canteens and one in particular, St. Andrews.  We also went to the bus station and took a trip up to Table Mountain to see the sights.  Once whilst walking along the street a Canadian nurse on spotting the CANADA patch on my shoulder came up to speak to me.  She was very, very home-sick and told me she was from Prince Edward Island.  I wonder where she is today? On another occasion while walking with Eric Coomber and Mike Jacobs, and I think Trevor Clist, a very large luxurious car, similar, but smaller than today's limo, pulled alongside us.  The driver, very dapper-looking asked if we would like to see the sights.  We noticed little flags sticking up from the edge of the front fenders, but soon forgot about them, thinking the dapper driver had tiddlied up his car a bit.  We were taken on a 40-mile drive, while our driver explained various sights to us as we wound up down and around the winding coastal road.  There were lovely views of sea and crashing surf hundreds of feet below. It turned out that our driver's name was Chapman.  Chapman Peak in South Africa is named after him.  He was secretary to the office of General Jan Christiaan Smutz who was Prime Minister of South Africa during World War Two, and until 1948.