J. W. Elliott.
Just
prior to my 18th birthday, 3rd December 1942 I had to decide which of the
services I should volunteer for while I had the chance, and in conversation
with Shirley, the new girl in the office, employed primarily to take over my
role as an insurance clerk, she suggested the RAAF aircrew because her fiancé
was flying in West Africa as a navigator and she liked the blue uniform. As my
father was dead against the infantry being a WW I veteran, I chose to enlist
for aircrew and had a full day at the recruiting office going through all the
tests. There would have been well over fifty going through that day and as we
passed from floor to floor the numbers went down to fifteen at 1700 hrs when
assembled at a long bench loaded with stacks of text books on maths,
navigation, theory of flight, etc. It
was only when we were asked to raise our right hands to take the oath that we
were suddenly recruits ranked as ACII’s. I had some misgivings about the
question from time to time relating to my nationality where I was compelled to
be British. I was Australian born and bred.
Shirley invited me to meet her family one
Sunday before my enlistment, in reality it was really a matching exercise to
meet her sister, 15 year old Laurel. That was to last another 73 years. I was conned, but never had one regret. Laurel was a great letter writer and during
my absence in the RAF over a period of two years wrote 365 letters each
numbered, and all but three arrived in sequence. I was “court” by correspondence. The oddity was three hours after I
disembarked she told me on Flinders Street Station, “I don’t like you”. I failed to meet her expectations after the
two years’ separation. She 18.5, me 21.2 years, married two years later.
Shortly
after my birthday, a formal call up sent me to No 1 ITS ( Initial Training School for aircrew) at
Somers Vic which was a three month crash course with lectures and many
tests. At two months, classified
mustering of each member was made for wireless/air gunners, gunners, navigators
and pilots. The latter two did another
month that favoured navigation. On the third month, those to be pilots or
navigators were posted accordingly. All
air crew rookies had to wear a white flash in their caps to indicate their
musterings, (as distinct from ground staff trainees) until they won their wings
or failed to make the grade. Being ”scrubbed” from the course was generally a
fear we all had.
After
Somers ITS, I was posted to 11 EFTS ( Elementary Flying Training School] in
Benalla Vic. for three months to commence flying the Tiger Moth biplane, an
experience I was to have from time to time later in the UK. That is a story in itself which is expanded
later in this memoir.
Going
solo after five or six hours of tuition is a never to be forgotten lifetime
experience especially for those in our
flight formation on the great day. About
a dozen Moths were lined up on the grass field each taking off from the left at
suitable intervals. I was about fifth
waiting to take off when there was a loud explosion mid field as the third and
fourth planes collided at about seventy feet or so. One went into a loop,
crashed and burned, killing the trainee.
The other came down as a ”falling leaf” then crunched flat on the
ground. The pilot was lucky with a compound fractured leg and was flying again
four months or so later. The remainder just waited until the site was cleared,
and as I was next, took off over the steaming burnt area, did a circuit,
landing well aware of the patch. We were
mainly eighteen year olds and life was forever with such events just considered
incidental. The days that followed were full of activity, little was said, the
silence of the pall bearers and burial party was respectful at the Benalla
Cemetery, and life continues.
The
next classification for posting was selection for single or twin engine
fighters or bombers, that resulted in twins to fly Avro Ansons at NO 6
SFTS ( Service Flying Training School)
located at Mallala SA about 40 miles north of Adelaide. Unlike the Canadian model with hydraulic
under carriage, ours was manual requiring well over a hundred turns of the
handle, but in all other respects it was a docile vice free and dependable
aircraft. It was an interesting but uneventful three months except for one thing,
I completed my wings test mid-October just before my 19th birthday.
I
was unaware that to go overseas you had to be 19 or older, so I was posted to
NO 1 ED (Embarkation Depot) at the
Melbourne Cricket Ground, and spent a week at NO 1 SFTS POINT COOK doing a SBA
(Standard Beam Approach), apparently a requirement when being seconded to the
RAF. This was the first time I had the use of a radio in Australia. Soon after
I was scheduled to fly, but for some unknown reason my name was substituted for
another pilot and I was deferred for three days. On due arrival there was some
disarray as an Oxford had crashed with three pilots, no survivors, when the
instructor was boasting about being able to loop the loop. One of the dead was the pilot who had my
allocation. The Airspeed Oxford was a neat twin engine craft used mainly for
training groups of navigators or wireless operators, including pilots for SBA
training and for AFU’s (Advanced Flying Training). I was to fly many solo night
and day flights while in UK.
During this time Laurel contracted scarlet
fever and was in isolation at the infectious diseases hospital Fairfield, for
six weeks. It seemed I’d be gone before
she was discharged, however we had two or three days before the train
left for Brisbane, two nights in an army camp, and embarkation on a Liberty
cargo ship for twenty odd days across the Pacific. We spent most of the time on deck to get away
from the tiered bunks five high, had US army food and a frozen orange each day.
About midway, we saw a periscope some fifty yards on the port side, and a
submarine emerged that started signalling by aldis lamp for a few minutes
before quietly submerging, very thankfully.
There was a deadly silence until the lamp started flashing morse code.
Arriving
in San Francisco Harbour we were moved to a very large US army island camp,
allocated quarters and immediately ordered to attend a large hall where we were
part of 500 naked servicemen in four lines for a medical inspection (known as a
short arm inspection). After 3 days
leave in the city, we were entrained in sleeper carriages a for 5 day journey
to New York via Colorado and snow covered leafless forests and bleak
countryside. After a week there we earned a further 3 days sleepless leave
before boarding the Queen Elizabeth for a 5 day crossing to Greenock Scotland.
Apparently, the ship had thousands of Afro-Americans on board and the only one
sighted was Joe Louis the heavyweight world boxing champion giving an hour’s
chat in one of the many theatres. They all disembarked while we slept.
Without any delay, a train took us straight to
the Grand Hotel in Brighton, that along with the Metropole was the Australian
personnel depot. The train journey was interrupted at various times by search
lights, air raids and ack-ack fire.
Brighton
was a delay of about 8 weeks before the first posting to Fairoaks, where we had
Tiger Moths to fly cross countries in order to relearn map reading in the UK
being a mass of railways, roads, rivers, lakes etc when compared to the Australian
landscape. I found the shapes of the forests a great help to at least find the
zone. Of interest was the first experience with severe unheralded weather
changes - when returning to base a strong head wind far above the Moth’s
cruising speed struck and, without losing control, the craft flew backwards. We
were never advised of this possibility so the only remedy was nose down more
throttle and tacking like a yacht, first port then starboard, to make good the
track home. Now and then a navigator would join a flight to become familiar
with map reading.
This
continued during the summer until a posting during the winter to 3 Pilot
Advanced Training Unit (P)AFU at Charmy
Down, when in a field overlooking Bath, the altimeter reading on take- off was
about 40 feet, and once over the fence it was more like 500 feet above the
city. It was most unfortunate that four miles to the East there was another
larger airfield used for the development of jet aircraft at Colerne, Wiltshire,
with the same prevailing wind speed and
direction in line for take offs and landings. One evening I was nearly wiped out during a
landing when a jet took off coming up underneath my nose at a very high speed,
missing me by feet. An associate,
6(P)AFU at Windrush was used also at this time.
I
gained much experience at Charmy Down when halfway round a midnight flight I
noticed the instrument panel lighting getting dimmer without too much concern,
until further, my port and starboard nav. lights were out and the radio was
caput. In the blacked out sky there were red pundits flashing a code for
various airfields that gave you a fix of sorts, enough to find my base. The
major risk was flying into a circuit area active with night air traffic without
being able to identify my presence, not having radio or navigation lights. The
safest approach seemed to be a low circuit about 100 feet and tracking parallel
to runway over the grassed area to avoid a possible collision. When nearing the
control tower revving the engines should be enough to alert control, and on
this assumption completed the circuit landing on grass without landing lights
in complete darkness, apart from a very oblique view of hooded runway lighting.
The
debriefing was so offhand you would have thought this was a regular feature,
and without any advice at all I assumed it was faulty maintenance of the
electrical system and the generator. It was never mentioned again, probably “on
the basis of the need to know”.
The
next posting was a shocker when with two other Australians we arrived at an air
field that was an EFTS with Tiger Moths, and whatever my dreams of getting to
Bomber Command ended. We had
arrived in the morning, being shown our hut, and after lunch boarded our crafts
for an hour of circuits and bumps. We decided to do formation low level take
offs and, staying down, hopping over the hangars at the end, completing the
circuit as a “touch and go,” rather than a landing for continuity. We agreed another circuit or two before finishing
the exercise as in the meantime a small Proctor had landed. It was to be our
last circuit so we hopped over it, and over the hangar to complete the
circuit. We were then ordered to
report to the CO who greeted us cordially with “well boys you have had a great
time but unfortunately the pilot, who thought “he’d had it” in the Proctor
happens to be an Air Vice Marshall in charge of Airmanship South England and he
has ordered you to be sent to Sheffield immediately.” It was an aircrew
disciplinary enforcement every one feared.
We
left on a bus to rail thence to “Norton”, as I learnt it to be 50 years later
when I requested my postings. I have no record of the airfield, because I
wasn’t there even a day before being shipped out, except of course Norton was
and is a fact of life. The “inmates” for each course averaged 130, roughly 40
officers ranked up to F/L and 90 NCO’s and Corporal drill instructors had
absolute control over all ranks for three weeks.
Any
disputes or failure at the examinations and tests for airmanship and law will
earn another three weeks, something that had never happened, but beware. Discipline was rigid 24 x 7 in all
activities, whether drilling, cross
country runs, gymnasium or lectures. The only concession in the evening prior
2100 hrs was an hour of actual aerial combat and strafing film of the actions
in France and Germany. Of interest was the RAF F/L who did a low level victory
roll over his airfield to be a current inmate. Too many aircraft and pilot
accidents caused a ban on these stunts. I left on time, the fittest I’ve ever
been, without regrets.
Immediately
after this event the next posting was No
1534 B.A.T. Flight RAF, Shawbury
Shropshire, where as the only Australian alone with 10 Polish pilots were to do
a course of Beam Approach Training ( the RAAF’s SBA). The Poles were great airmen, mostly ex
civilian flying, very hospitable, and invited me to join the card games at
night. That was too difficult. They naturally used Polish enough for me to
back off. They were particularly heavy
drinkers in the mess with their whisky and pint chasers, but great company.
This was only a five day event.
It
happened - a posting to 21 OTU (Operation Training Unit) Bomber Command, after over a one year delay.
Perhaps the Sheffield/Norton incident was an immediate trigger, who knows. But
on arrival at Morton-in-Marsh I was allocated a bunk followed next day by the
remarkable RAF crewing up procedure.
About 100 aircrew, all strangers, were gathered to form 20 crews of
pilot, navigator, wireless/air gunner, bomb aimer and straight gunner. I
believe a conservative average age would be 20 years, and nationals, mainly Brits and Australians in this
particular instance. My crew being 2 Brits Nav, and Bomb-aimer and 3 Aussies,
pilot, wireless air gunner and rear gunner. Our first night as a crew we were
wakened by an explosion nearby, early morning, to be wakened a few hours later
by “quiet” MP’s who were gathering all the gear in and around five vacant beds
and lockers of the Wellington’s crew killed in the crash, without a word
spoken. Typically there were no explanations at all, an inevitable reaction,
but rumours were sometimes accurate.
In
this instance the ‘craft was in the circuit area, wheels and flaps down, when
both engines cut out . There would be no
hope of survival at such a low altitude because I learnt pretty clearly a short
time later the Wellington glided like a brick.
The story goes that the landing tanks had not been filled ( these were a
safe guard against petrol failure and selected as a vital part of landing
drill). Part of the training included “a
baulked approach” where a sudden hazard appeared on the runway or similar risk,
and the control tower ordered the’ craft to go around again. This demanded full
power to gain height and quite a physical effort to keep the nose from rising
too quickly to a state of stalling. Not
popular, but essential practice. The US used the term ‘abort’. Not long after I had two such orders in
succession, and informed control that a third one would not be obeyed, because
the petrol usage was extreme in these circumstances. I was very aware of the unknown cause of the
crash in question. I landed, third time ”lucky”!!
Most
of the major airfields had satellites to cope with the volume of traffic, and
we were transferred to Enstone, some 10 miles from Morton in clearly rural
climes, where our Nissen hut was right on the fence of an adjoining farm in one
of many dispersal areas. Each morning,
if we flew late at night, we would sleep in, only to be wakened by tenors and
baritones working the farm in great voice, as only Italian prisoners of war
can. Because Italy surrendered earlier
some of the rural pubs opened their doors to them in the evenings. There was
little national protest.
The
first flights comprised of the instructor, the converting pilot, myself; and
shock of shocks, my Nav and Wag., as
complete strangers the day before, would witness my lack of skills that would
be certain with this type of ‘craft. I
was being assessed by three at once, two being the new crew. The only embarrassment I suffered was the
exercise coming downwind in the circuit when both engines were throttled right
back to simulate a no power landing. The trick was calculating when to cross
wind prior to turning into wind, and landing. After one demonstration it was my
turn and what a mess, my cross wind turn was far too late mainly because the
‘craft glided like a brick, or perhaps the attitude was that of a dive bomber.
The second correction was better but unsatisfactory. It took three attempts to
succeed. Realistically you only had one chance without power. The part crew
seemed relaxed but certainly not serene.
With
the late night flights we landed usually for early breakfast before bedding
down, and we each had one poached egg on our plates, the first seen for a year
or two, and a small bar of chocolate for the flight. Otherwise it was powdered
egg for the other meals, healthy but unexciting to say the least. During the
flights involving bombing, gunnery and navigation we had affiliations with the
day and night fighters to learn the tactics to be as effective as possible in
action and defence. When under attack
the manoeuvre “corkscrew” involved a sudden climb or dive to port or starboard
depending on the circumstances, and possibly give the gunner a chance for a
point blank shot.
One
night over the North Sea at 20,000 ft. we were detected by a Mosquito that
flashed under and up in front, a gesture indicating we were “dead”,
not-withstanding our “alertness” during the exercise. Because of the closeness, I had the navigator
record on his log the time, height and position just as a matter of course.
When we approached our circuit area I asked the rear gunner to wind in the
trailing aerial (part of landing procedures),
and very shortly he came back to say we only had about 20ft left. The Mosquito had ripped it off. Come debriefing I mentioned the aerial and
was immediately given a burst by the officer for landing with it down because
he had so many hanging on the fence already, and it would cost me five pounds.
I refused and referred him to the navigation log entry as yet unseen. Never heard another word.
Every
day you learned something, but sometimes it can be unpleasant as well. The rear
gunner was always last out of bed, a habit I tried to correct. One morning we
had a mass briefing for an exercise by the twenty crews that always started right on time. During the
session the briefing was stopped suddenly when the officer in charge roared
”Who is that man at the door”. We all turned and yes it was our gunner. ”Who is your skipper”? I stood up. Well did I
get a tongue lashing of two minutes or so on a skipper’s responsibility or lack
of. You could hear a pin drop and I felt I was used to promote crew solidarity
to the whole gathering. Every briefing after was fully attended, and our
gunner, who wasn’t chastised, but humbled during the proceedings was never late
rising again.
The
last experience, never to be forgotten due to the vagaries and difficulties of
predicting weather patterns, was a 4.5 hour exercise over the North Sea when we
struck 10/10ths cloud conditions at 10,000 ft
while climbing on course to our cruising altitude of 20,000 ft. Heavy rain conditions at -2 degrees C was
tantamount to icing conditions, and
while de-icing protected the control surfaces of the ’craft it was advisable to
take an evasive action option of turning back, descending or climbing above the
weather. The latter was my selection.
Remaining on course we reached 25,000 ft, still in 10/10th
cloud, when the control systems were getting sloppy, a warning of stalling, and
we had to start descending. The
navigator had problems getting a fix, because we were in a “G” zone down for
maintenance - no visibility for an astro
shot, and radio silence. Dead reckoning
in such variable weather conditions was almost impossible. The only chance was breaking cloud during the
descent which was worrying, because at
1000 ft we were still in cloud and ‘creeping’ down. The tension certainly eased when we hit the
cloud base at 500ft above the sea, and by taking a westerly course we would
reach land. The weather pattern was the
same so low flying continued until we reached Enstone much to joy of the crew,
some of whom were map reading for the navigator.
We duly
landed unaware that we were the only crew to complete the exercise, and control
had alerted Air Sea Rescue about our absence for so long, about 4.5 hours, of
which three hours was of unbroken manual instrument flying. Our craft was not fitted with an automatic
pilot system. Pat, our WAF driver from
the dispersal pad was in tears and could barely drive. The engineers were quite amazed that we had
reached 25,000 ft in an aged Wellington, and the navigator was accorded due
regard for his log.
Other
activities that occurred included the decompression chamber in which the crew
entered to understand the importance of oxygen at high altitudes ’and due to a
lack of a volunteer I agreed to be the “exhibit”. Thus I was the only one
without an oxygen mask. ’As the altitude increased the level of oxygen
decreased I was required to sketch the various diameters of the coinage on a
pad, print, my name and provide my signature that was repeated at 2,000 ft
intervals up to 20,000 ft. I was unaware that I had passed out and would not
believe my sketches deteriorated with coins as small as a dot, name and
signatures uneven, misspelt and each twice their length. My awareness occurred
instantly the instructor put my mask .on and the whole crew now knew the
meaning of anoxia.,(lack of oxygen) It was the practice when night flying to
fit the mask from the ground up to help night vision but daytime at10.000ft
Little did we realise one night our navigator was giving me navigational dog
legs to increase our time to target, beyond reason ,so I asked the gunner to
check him out .and there he was laughing with his mask dangling disconnected
.He almost cried when masked because it was impossible for him to fake his log
that was assessed after each flight. The value of the chamber was self-evident
and a most important experience.
When
the war ended in Europe our posting home was delayed, as the war in the Pacific
was most active. There were rumours of converting to Very Long Range aircraft,
but the unexpected end came with the atomic bomb, and repatriation was a
certainty. October/ November were idle with non-ending leave and many RAAF were
attracted by the jobs available, such as breweries or being cast as extras in
the Denham film studios. The latter was my choice as a Roman soldier in the
film “Caesar and Cleopatra”. It was interesting, but when the hero’s horse
stood on my foot after bursting through the cordon of troops around a village,
my film career ended. A little later, homeward bound, I enjoyed a warm bottle
of McEwans Indian Pale Ale, passing through the Suez Canal on my 21st
birthday, then to be greeted by Mum, Dad, Bev, and Laurel on Station Pier.
Discharged 12th March 1946.
I had a great respect for the RAF training
program, resented the delays, but thankful to achieve first pilot status in Bomber Command. When
the war started I was 14 without any prospects of a service career. How lucky
was I when so many didn’t survive, particularly in the early forties before my
time.
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