John Keillor Aitken – Memoirs of my early days

John Keillor Aitken Memoirs Of my early days

1922­- 1969

John Keillor Aitken 31·12·1922­- 24·11·2010

John Keillor Aitken Memoirs Of my early days

1922­- 1969

© 2010 John Keillor Aitken All Rights Reserved

Flight Lieutenant JK Aitken, 1944

Designed by Grace Ellen Aitken Published by Johns Family 2016

Contents Foreword

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Early Days 1922­-1939

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McCulloughs and R.N.Z.A.F. 1939-1943

62

R.C.A.F. 1943

104

R.A.F. 1943­-1944

148

Instructor 1944-1945

262

Post War 1946-50

320

Post War 1951-55

358

Post War 1956-60

390

Post War 1961-69

416

Archive: Service Record

446

Archive: Family Trees

448

Archive: Family Connections

450

Archive: MAps

454

Foreword John Keillor Aitken, born New Year’s Eve 1922, died 24th November 2010. A husband, father of five, grandfather of fourteen and great-grandfather of two, before he left us; A decorated war veteran; An avid outdoorsman. He was my grandfather, or Grandpop as he was known to all his grandchildren. There was so much more to him than just our Grandpop, father or friend. By all accounts he was a man of few words, which makes us all the more fortunate that he took the time to write an account of his life and various interests. He has gifted us with the opportunity to gain a greater insight into who he was; and so those yet to come may grow acquainted with the man we all knew and loved.

It has been a privilege to be so closely involved in the publishing of his memories, life story and photography. I feel as though I have been gifted a greater understanding into the man he was. The process of editing, constructing and laying out page structures became a very personal journey. The more time I spent reading and flicking through photographs hunched over a computer screen or reading in the sun the more I came to cherish the experience. I found myself sharing Grandpop’s stories and experiences with those around me, proud and privileged to have known him.

His life stories, he typed during his last years, have been left largely unedited, except the odd typo. We can read his stories as he would have told them, his sense of humour shines through, his interests as clear as day. Personally I feel as though I can really ‘hear’ him as he tells his stories, right down to the characteristic audible draw of breath at the end of many of his sentences.

Grandpop covered his life from his childhood growing up in Gisborne and the surrounding countryside; his experiences training as a pilot and flying ops for Bomber Command during the Second World War; to life after the War, growing a successful family business, meeting and marrying Alice Elizabeth Williams (my Gran) and starting and raising a young family.

He also describes, in great detail, his numerous excursions as a life long devoted outdoors man, hunting, shooting, camping, boating, and fishing. As you read on it becomes more and more obvious how much he valued the outdoors, and

Foreword

enjoyed sharing it with family and friends. I find it really amusing that although he claimed his memory was fading over the years, he could still recall all the details about fishing trips, where he fished, who was there, how many were caught, and what size and condition the fish were in. It just goes to show what he enjoyed most.

Grandpop was also an avid photographer. A love that he seems to have inherited from his father, who according to Grandpop had built his own dark room. He also gifted him his first camera and taught him how to develop his own film and photographs. This proved to be an invaluable skill he made the most of throughout his life. During the war he risked a “pretty serious offence” when he used a smuggled camera to take photos of life on the airfields and aboard the Lancaster Bombers he piloted. Developing the photographs in his hut at night which was “strictly against orders”.

Unfortunately he didn’t quite finish, his last chapter only dating to c.1969.

On the bright side this is best possible opportunity for the next generation to pick up the pen, so to speak and carry on from where Grandpop left off. I for one am looking forward to the next instalments.

— Grace Aitken, 2016.

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Myself, probably at Len Grey’s on the Hangaroa River

Early Days

1922­-1939

Early Days My father, George William Aitken and my mother, Ellen Foster were married in 1908 at No 2 Wi Pere Street by Dad’s father George Keillor Aitken. On the Foster side, they were silk weavers and fled from France to London at the time of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes about 1685, establishing a colony of weavers at Spitalfields. Then one of the Fosters married the daughter of another weaver, Le Marechal, who probably came to London at the time of the French Revolution. Their son, John James was born at Bethnal Green in 1793 and later lived at 32 Adelphi Terrace, Old Ford Road, London. There is no record of whom he married but his eldest son, James Frederick, 1st married Elizabeth Pitkin, and their eldest son, James Frederick 2nd married Emmeline Matilda Ormes in Brisbane on 21st December 1876. Emmeline was born in London in 1857, but we have no record of when she came to Queensland. The Fosters, however, arrived about 1861. Ellen, their fifth child was born in 1885, almost certainly at Gympie.

On the Aitken side, James Aitken married Elizabeth Watt on 2nd November 1827, and their elder son William, was born at Aberlemno on 18th September 1828. He became a watchmaker and married Juliana Mathews, born in 1829 at Dundee. Their second daughter, Juliana Jane was born at Auchenblae on 24th December 1856. Then Allan Aitken, born in 1811 in Forfarshire, later a Linen Factory Mechanic, married Jane Watt, born in 1819 at Arbroath, I don’t have a date of the wedding. However their eldest son John, was born in 1843, and their fifth child, George Keillor was born at Montrose on 12.11.1858. He married Juliana Jane on 30.12.1879, and they are shown as half cousins, but whether through the Aitken family or the Watt family I don’t know. Their eldest son, George William, my father, was born on 25.11.1880 at Kinning Park in Glasgow, and the family emigrated to Queensland in 1884. George Keillor was a journeyman iron founder so perhaps that is why they went to Mount Morgan. Later he became a minister of the Presbyterian Church.

Kay and I spent some time in the records office in Edinburgh trying to go back further but made no progress. Births and deaths were not compulsorily

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registered in Scotland until about 1820. Douglas Aitken thought he might be able to go through Church Records in the Arbroath, Montrose and Brechin area and possibly come up with something. Keillor is a well known surname in Scotland and often a woman’s maiden name is used as a second Christian name for a son.

That is what I was hoping to find, but no luck.

I am told that I was born in a maternity home, which was on the corner of Ormond Road and Fox Street, which later became Waverly Flats. We lived at 252 Stout Street, which was on the corner of Hall Street, and we were on the river bank. Hall Street ran down to the river and there was a pumping station there, masses of bamboo and huge Toitoi bushes. Today there is a footbridge there leading over to Thompson Street. Our house, which my father built, was a single story but one of my earliest recollections of it is of building material stacked in what we called The Lane at the end of Hall Street. These were for the conversion of the house into what we called a two story, but really I suppose it was a story and a half. There were three bedrooms upstairs but the only plumbing was one hand basin with only cold water. We also owned a Bach at Wainui and we must have been staying there while the alterations were being done. Also at some time before my earliest recollections, I had something wrong with one of my legs and it was in a brace. I was told that it was polio, but it couldn’t have been, because I contracted polio in the 1950s and as far as I know you can’t get it twice. I don’t know which leg it was but was told that if I wanted some attention I used to crawl over and jam that leg under the sideboard and cry until someone took notice of me. Whatever I had, the treatment must have worked because both legs ended up the same length.

In those days the Taruheru River was much wider than it is today. The rowing club used to have races from The Roebuck Road Bridge to the rowing club by the Peel Street Bridge and there was plenty of room for two or three rowing shells side by side. The Botanical Gardens Bridge was a bit of an obstacle though as only the centre arch was wide enough to row through and the outside boats had to trail oars to get through the narrower side arches.

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Grandmother and Grandfather Foster on Golden Wedding aniversary Grandmother Foster and Aunty Clare

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Mother and her sisters

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Mother, Grandfather and Grandmother Aitken, and Father at Morere Grandfather and Grandmother Aitken

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Father and Mother possibly in Queensland, Australia

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Mother picking daffodils Mother and Julie Dad and Mother about 1950

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All the Aitkens about 1930.

Back: Aunty May, Aunty Beth, Mum, Dad Middle: Uncle Allan, Grandpa Aitken, Mollie, Grandma Aitken Front: Myself, Jean, Aussie, Helen, Elva, and Lindsay

Some of the Fosters and Inlaws, late 1930’s

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Our house at 252 Stout St. as a single story The House viewed from across the river Later the second story added

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On the back steps at 252 Stout St.

Early Days

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From Wi Pere Hill, note three Pines in centre, are the three pines at the bottom of the 124 Stout St. property Construction of the Harbour Basin Taken from the hill above Sponge Bay

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Crowds watch at the Southern Cross at Waikanae She takes off out of the picture

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River end of Hall St. Pump Station.

1922 Velie The Gardens Bridge, Ballance St. Damaged in the 1906 flood Rowing shells on the Taraheru River

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I have always been interested in fishing and one of the earliest photos shows me with a stick and a bit of string, fishing on the lawn. And I can just remember at Wainui only being able to have a bent pin for a fish hook, but I did manage to catch a paddle crab with it. We used to spend quite a bit of the summer holidays there.

One day Helen and I had walked along the beach towards the Tuahine end and saw some people fishing at the start of the rocks. They had caught a couple of nice snapper so we ran back to tell Dad. He got his rod and the three of us went along to what we called shark bay. The tide was fairly well in and in quite a short time he caught three snapper, one of which was nearly 20 pounds. It must have been all we could carry to get them back to our Bach. Often we would go crayfishing out on the rocks at night with a hurricane lamp for illumination and we kids were allowed to do what was called bobbing. We had a stick and a line with a bait tied on the end, which we would let sink to the bottom and when we felt a crayfish grabbing it we would raise it gently to the surface. Dad would slip a long handled landing net under the crayfish and bring it on to the rocks and into the sugar bag it went.

Crayfish were quite plentiful and of a decent size too. You could only get 6 or 7 into a sugar bag and that was plenty to carry back. In those days we were able to stay out on the rocks for a couple of hours before the tide drove us off but an earthquake in the 50s or 60s dropped the coastline there quite a bit and now most of those rocks hardly show above water. The Bach had no power, we had a Miller kerosene lamp in the lounge and just candles in the bedrooms. Some cooking was done on a kerosene stove but the crayfish were cooked in a big pot over the open fire. I think there was a sink with a cold tap and for baths we used a galvanised hip bath in which you could just sit down. There was a copper out in the laundry, which was in the garage, and I guess we heated the bath water in this, and carried it into the kitchen in jugs. Mum and Dad had a wash stand in their bedroom and I seem to remember a large ornate china jug for taking the water in to it.

The Fisherman. First lesson in fishing with string and bent pin

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Our Bach at Pare St. Wainui, Omera’s to left Two of Dad’s snapper at the Wainui Bach

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When I was five I went to the Central School in Derby Street and for a start Mollie would take me on the carrier of her bike. But mostly I would have walked to school along Stout St, over the Derby St. Bridge and up to the school. First I went into Primer One then Two and then Primer Five; from there I went into Standard Two where the teacher was a very popular Miss Kenney. I can’t remember much about Standards Three and Four except that a new Headmaster Mr. Shimman arrived. He turned out to be a very unusual character and if a class misbehaved would delight in telling us that at his previous school naughty children were buried in a row of graves outside the classroom window. In Standard Five we were taught by Mr. Lancaster who was a real gentleman and in Standard six by Mr. Rigby who was very strict and prone to use his strap frequently. During a lesson on mental arithmetic he would write a question on the blackboard then swing around and call out a pupil’s name.

The poor victim had about 30 seconds to give the correct answer and if wrong would have to go up and get the strap. I can tell you it hurt and I don’t think it was a very good way to teach. At the end of the Standard six year some of us went on to High School, but quite a number started work either as an apprentice or as a labourer and we envied them because they had money in their pockets (not much) and we didn’t.

Looking at some very tattered school reports I see that in Standard two, I came top of the six pupils who, like me, had bypassed Standard one and I was also seventh in the whole class but my spelling and writing were only very fair, Although composition was 100% and arithmetic very good. That is my excuse for my poor writing and spelling right up to this day. In Standard three my arithmetic was still my best subject and I came fifth in class. Standard four was much the same; very good for arithmetic and grammar, only v fair for writing and spelling but an excellent for science. Perhaps I should have been a scientist. Standard five report was rather non committal and I can’t find any for Standard six, so maybe it wasn’t worth keeping.

My father used to do quite a bit of country building and some of his work from time to time took him up the coast to Huanui and Kiori Stations which, if I remember correctly, were owned by the manufacturers of Bournville Chocolate. Quite often the station staff would take the carpenters out pig hunting and sometimes Dad would

Early Days

come home with some wild pork. The roads to that area at that time were only clay roads and now and then Dad would get caught up there and have to stay, or else they would ride horses through to Whatatutu and get a taxi or a bus back to town.

On one occasion he came back with a baby opossum, which had been rescued from its dead mother’s pouch and we raised it as a pet. He made a cage for it with a little sleeping box and we started it off on bread soaked in milk but it soon graduated to willow leaves, bread porridge etc. and became positively addicted to golden syrup. It soon became tame enough to sit on your shoulder or head as you walked around and we would let it loose on the trees on the front lawn in the evenings, and then return it to its cage for the night. It did not always appreciate going back in its cage and often it would take half an hour or more to catch and put away.

We used to go away somewhere for the Christmas Holidays, nearly always camping but my earliest memory is of one occasion when we stayed at the Waipiro Bay Hotel and Dad did some fishing off the beach. The reason I can remember is because at one dinner time we had some roast chicken and as I was trying to cut up my portion, it shot off the plate and across the hotel dining room floor past the other guests. I think it was the next year that we camped at Hick’s Bay, just where the road to Horseshoe Bay runs alongside the little creek. The Kirks were camped alongside, Rodney Kirk was about my age. It was a great place for us kids as the creek was just right for us to swim in and there were rocks to explore etc. One of the photos shows a Maori gentleman with his crayfish pot on the rocks just where you go round to Onepoto Bay, and it looks as if there are 20 or 30 large crayfish in the pot. Another photo shows a group of us on a sandhill. This is where I now have a section, but most of the sandhill has been taken away. I don’t know if the photos can be reproduced, as they are very faded and blotchy. As far as I can remember there was only a track leading around to Horseshoe Bay or Onepoto, as it should be called. I sold that Section in 2003.

Helen, sharp claws

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Pig Hunting at Huanui Station Dad with his MLE Gun (Long Tom)

Early Days

Myself with the Pet Opossum

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Hicks Bay and Horseshoe Bay

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Crayfish off the rocks Our Camp at Hicks bay alongside that river. The velie and Aitkens old chev truck, 1928 Another view of the camp

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Footbridge over the little stream The road around to Horseshoe Bay or Onepoto Bay

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On a sand hill, Horseshoe Bay Lunchtime in the tent

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Another early memory is of my first visit to Waikaremoana, I think in 1928. We had left Gisborne with a load of building materials in our little Chev.

Truck and trailer had broken down on the Whareratas so when we finally got to Tuai it was nearly dark.

However, we were able to get accommodation in some single men’s huts and the next day we went up to the Lake. There are some photos of the bridge over the stream at the outlet a I can clearly remember seeing some trout fry in a little pool just downstream from the bridge, so some fish must have gone down from the Lake to spawn. The Power Station at Tuai was still being built at the time and for a long time was the only generator there. Of course, it only got the water from the outlet and I suppose the leakage, which now comes out near the Kaitawa Power House, so the Lake was always full or very near full. One photo shows the foundations of what I think is the Tuai Power Station. As I am up at the Bach writing this I should go down and check out the hillside in the background with what shows in the photo.

I only hope I can get some of these photos to reproduce as they have deteriorated a lot over the years. On the Lake House side of the bridge there are some huts and I would guess that they would be roadman’s huts. I don’t know if the road went right through to Rotorua in those days but it did when I came up again in about 1934 but was only wide enough for one car.

Foundations of the Tuai Power Station 1927 Jetty Camp about 1930

Early Days

Waikaremoana 1927, The Outlet and bridge Velie on Outlet Bridge

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Waikaremoana 1927, view from the Outlet

Early Days

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My first visit to The Lake 1927 Myself and some of Dads workers at the Outlet Stream

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Our Chev truck at the Jetty Camp.

Now called Home Bay Chimney for camping alongside

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In the very early 1930s we first went to Whitianga Bay near Omaio and camped by the Waihapokopoko Stream. At that time the road did not go right around the East Coast so we went through Opotiki, sometimes over the Motu Road and later through the Waioeka Gorge when that road became open. It was almost certainly on our first trip there that our Chev truck broke a front axle just after we had come down the Maraenui Hill and were on the flat near the Motu River. It was late afternoon and we could not move until we got some spare parts out from Opotiki, but luckily there were some Maori Affairs houses under construction nearby. Although the builders had locked them up for the holidays, we managed to get into one through the woodbox and spent the night there. Dad fixed it up with some of the locals the next day and when our spares arrived by Drakes Service Car the next day, we were able to carry on to Waihapokopoko and set up camp. Dad had been told about this spot by Ted Wallen and on this first trip up there we were accompanied by the Forge family. We kids used to go down to Mrs. Delamere’s house to get milk in a billy, and we also would get vegetables. She was a wonderful old lady and would show us in the Kumara Pit and let us pick out our Kumara to take back, give us strawberries and all sorts of greens. Looking back through the old photos, I see one of Laurie Forge holding up a big skate with Fred Forge and myself holding the wings. The elders seemed to catch a few snapper and we kids would always be fishing for Maomao off the rocks. Although these were pretty small we would insist on having them cooked, and would try and avoid the bones when we ate them. There were always crayfish available and in those days the rocks were covered in rock oysters, which we flipped open with a screwdriver. Down in the bay where we could swim, there were several mussel rocks and the Waihapokopoko stream provided fresh water. It was so cold that Mum used to set jellies in the shallow water. All in all I am sure we used to live a lot cheaper while on holiday, transport costs included, and that was a very important consideration in those days of the great depression.

Looking across the island towards the Motu River

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Our Aitkens Concrete Works truck nearly didn’t make it, 1930 Our camp at Waihapokopoko

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Waihapokopoko Bridge and Mr Priday Myself with Laurie and Fred Forge

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Leaving for home, Forge’s car on right

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We set up a pretty comfortable camp with tents for the stretchers and a large tent fly with a table and forms for meals and to read or play games if it rained. We went to the same spot for, I think, seven years in a row and never tired of it. When we used to go up in the Velie we towed a trailer, which was then upended at one end of the tent fly and became a cupboard with shelves and hinged doors. In later years we sometimes went out fishing in a clinker boat with a commercial fisherman called Jack Kite and would come back with loads of fish. He would dive for crayfish for bait and I can remember one time when he rowed us around the point towards the Motu River mouth and we caught snapper two at a time. They were not small ones either and as we pulled them up we could see other snapper following them up towards the boat. But the trawlers dragging the snapper spawning grounds near the Motu River ruined all that. Other times we would drive around to the river mouth where the Kahawai would be schooling. There would be acres of them with kingfish slashing into them every now and then. It was a wonderful place to camp under the Pohutukawas. The locals were lovely friendly people, but that too, seems to have changed. All the roadside spots where we camped are now fenced off with No Trespassing signs everywhere. The little stream had native trout or Galaxia but try as we might we couldn’t catch them. We used to go for walks up the stream into the bush and sometimes climb the hill above the bay. On several occasions Dad went pig hunting up the Motu River with some of the locals. Drakes Service Car used to go past every day on its way from Te Kaha to Opotiki and would take orders for supplies and drop them off on its way back in the afternoon. During the late 1930s the road was opened around the coast and it was possible to go back through Te Araroa, but all the streams had to be forded, so it was only a fine weather road.

Quite often when we were fishing off the rocks, we would see snapper or stingrays swimming past and I can remember once, when several of us were wading back from the Island we saw a stingray swimming towards us and didn’t know what to do. If the truth was known it was probably more scared of us than

Early Days

we were of it. On one occasion we must have had plenty of fish and Dad was smoking some in a smoker he had made out of scrim, when after dark, the whole thing caught fire and there was great excitement. There would be lots of camps in the grassy spots along the road and the same people seemed to be there many years in a row. There were little tracks down to the various good fishing spots and quite a good track down to the little bay where we used to swim and play on the sand. For several years too, there were a couple of little roadman’s huts there, one down by the cliff edge. I have always been grateful to my parents for instilling in me a love of camping and learning how to make do with what you have on hand, like trying to make a crayfish pot out of supple jack and suchlike.

Even though times were very hard in the early 1930s and my father very nearly went broke we kids always had a wonderful Christmas, not with presents but with the holidays we were taken on.

My father had always been interested in photography and had made a little darkroom under the tank stand at Stout St. where he had some developing trays and other gear. I was given a tiny camera from Woolworths, I think, for Christmas about the time we started going to Waihapokopoko and still have some of the photos but of course they are only little contact prints. He showed me how to develop and fix the film and then the prints were made with daylight paper in a printing frame, which was placed out in the sun. You could check on how the print was coming along by having a peep now and then and when it was dark enough, take it inside and fix it with hypo. The result was a nice rich sepia print and I think they could also be made blue-black with some chemical bath before fixing. Later on I graduated to a Baby Brownie, which was a real camera, made of Bakelite. It took much larger prints and, from the date in a little album, that was in 1936.

From then on I was hooked and spent quite a bit of time playing around in the darkroom. Of course, there was only black and white photography then and the developer I used was called Tabloid. It came in tablet form, dissolve two of this and when fully dissolved add one tablet of that, but it worked and the prints are still reasonable to this day.

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Setting up camp, Velie on left Tent Fly Galley

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Myself and Phil Priday

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Aitkens and Pridays on the beach

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Drying out after a week’s rain One year we camped near the cliff edge

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Drake’s Service Car taking orders For Goods from Opotiki

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Roadman’s Hut by cliff edge

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In 1935 I started at Gisborne High School, the only one, in Form 3 professional.

In that year or perhaps a year earlier I was given the choice of going to the Scout Jamboree in Sydney or going to Mokau, Waikaremoana with the Crawshaws’ who had recently come to live in Stout St. near us. I chose to go with the Crawshaws’ and it was a choice that I have never regretted, as I was introduced to trout fishing.

There was a roadman living down by the river mouth at Mokau and Pat had organised the use of a spare hut there. Pat and Margaret slept in a tent and Brian, Hugh and I slept in one little room of the hut and we used the other room as a kitchen come dining room. In those days the lake level was pretty stable and most of the fish were concentrated around the shoreline. Pat would have hired a clinker dingy from Lake House and with the help of a two cylinder Johnstone outboard, sailed it round to Mokau. At that time the limit was 14 trout per day and I think that, on one occasion, Margaret and I caught 17 between us, they were good sized fish too but probably not in as good condition as you sometimes get today. I had been given a rod and reel for Christmas and although it wasn’t suitable for casting, I managed to get one fish out of a pool on the river. Mum, Dad and Helen together with Reg and Doris Watchman turned up part way through our stay and camped down under the Apple Trees beside the river. Reg asked to borrow my rod and went fishing with it in the evening. Next morning I was up at daylight and was going to catch more fish in the river but I couldn’t find my rod anywhere. It transpired that he had broken it and had the pieces under his camp stretcher, but when we got back to Gisborne he presented me with a real split cane fly rod, and from then on I was a dedicated trout fisherman.

I came up to the Lake many, many times with the Crawshaws’, sometimes to Mokau, sometimes to Tappers Island where there was a hut, sometimes to Parminters hut which was where the Waiopaoa Hut is now. If we were staying down Bruce Papworth, Jack Howell and Dad at Jetty Camp

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in Wairau Moana we would load our supplies into one of the larger clinker dingys and then get a ride down towing our dingy, on the Ruapani on one of its regular Tourist trips. We had some wonderful times, sometimes Margaret came and sometimes not, depending on the age of her latest addition to their family. There were many camps around the lake in those days, some semi permanent and some just fly camps where the framework stayed up from year to year but the tentwork was taken down when not in use. Alec White had a very high class camp in Te Wairoa bay with a proper jetty to tie his large boat up to and some old regular fishermen had a camp at Korokoro. One day we went over to visit them and it must have been bath day as there were several very conspicuous white bodies sprinting out of the water and heading for the bush, as we approached. These would have included Jack Howell, Edgar Wallace and a Mr. Glennie who came from Rere, all great characters and wonderful fishermen. Powdrells had a camp in Te Wairoa bay too and I can remember their green boat with a put inboard motor chugging round all the bays as they trolled along. You did not need sophisticated spoons or lures in those days, just a penny or a halfpenny spoon fitted of course with a treble hook. We made these ourselves by hitting a penny with a ball peen hammer to put a bit of dish in it and drilling two holes, one to split ring on the treble hook and the other for a swivel.

There were plenty of Browns to be caught around the edges too and my favourite fly for these was a Tamati, a sort of big Turkey and Red with a bit of Jungle Cock on it, and another was a Bum and Green, much like today’s Mrs. Simpson. Jack Howell had taught me to make my own flies, and I used these patterns during the day and a Wooley at night. This was a big bunch of Black Ophington feathers on a Red body with a long Turkey tail, fished as fast as you could in the dark with deadly effect too.

Helen, Hugh, Pat and Brain powered

by Johnstone

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Jetty Camp about 1935 The hut and camp at Mokau

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Brian, Me with my first Trout, and Hugh A day’s catch for Mrs Crawshaw and myself from Mokau

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Lake house boat. Hugh, Self, Brian and Pat. Near Narrows. 1934 – 35 Panekiri from a D.H.86 about 1935-36

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Helen, the Watchmans and Mother at Mokau

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We also used to go trout fishing up the local rivers. In those days you had to have a Rotorua District License for Waikaremoana and an East Coast License for the Hangaroa and other rivers around Gisborne. I seem to remember that the fish in the Hangaroa River were fairly plentiful and we took some quite good bags, the fish being good conditioned but rather muddy tasting so they were better smoked. I went up sometimes with Pat Crawshaw and often one or two of his friends and we would just put up a tent to sleep in. Often we would camp near the Tahunga Bridge and would get permission to camp on Baker’s property right along side the school.

As I mentioned before, I moved on to Gisborne High School in 1935 and started in Form 3A, taking History, Latin, French and Science as well as the basic subjects. From my report cards I see that I did reasonably well in Maths and Science and just average in most of the other subjects. In the first Term the next year I was away sick a lot of the time and it took me a long time to catch up again so in 1937 I ended up in Form 5B. By the end of this year my Maths and Science were back on track, English I got an A for and the rest were much the same as before. By 1938 I was in Form 5A Upper and wonder of wonders in the second term I topped the class mainly because of a 100 for Arithmetic. However that term I did get three A’s and the rest B’s, and in the third term five As and one B-A but I don’t know where I came in the class, it certainly wasn’t top again though. I spent a year in the sixth Form too but I must have just coasted along, because my reports are not good at all. I had sat University Entrance and School Certificate Examinations in 1938 and passed in all the subjects I sat. As usual I did well enough in Maths and Science and just enough marks in the other subjects to get a pass. So I ended up with U E and Medical Prelim, more by luck than ability. Part of the Latin Exam included a translation from Latin into English of a passage that we had had in class just a few weeks before and I remembered the story. My very literal translation must have been good enough to get me a mark of 47 and a Latin pass was necessary for Medical Prelim. But I would never have made a doctor or suchlike.

I think it must have been during the first term in 5A Upper that I broke my arm at rugby practice and it didn’t set well so it had to be broken again and reset.

Early Days

Since then it has always been a bit crooked and in those days there was no such thing as physio-therapy so I suppose I didn’t use it as much and never got it back to being as good as my right one. I think it was in the sixth Form that we had a P.T. instructor by the name of Blackwell from USA and he had us building pyramids.

Being the lightest in the class my place was always on the top and I had to stand on the third tier’s shoulders and balance with my arms outstretched. During School Sports Day we put on several demonstrations of our pyramids and all went well.

However in the afternoon some visiting dignitary wanted to see them again and when it came to the top there was no JKA to be found. What had happened was that as Sports Day was on a Friday, I had loaded my little tent, my fishing rod and some food etc. on to my bike and stashed it away by the Rectory. By the time they wanted the top student on the pyramid I was half way up to the Hangaroa River for the weekend.

During the time I was sick in bed in 1936 Pat Crawshaw had given me some hooks and feathers to try and tie some trout flies. Of course I had no idea, but when I was better he took me to see old Jack Howell and I got quite a few very good lessons. Jack would not let me use a vice, his theory was that one day you might be at the side of a stream and have just lost the last copy of the only fly that was catching fish that day. If you had a little bit of gear in your bag you could sit down by the stream and tie yourself some more. Anyway it was just a matter of practice and after a while your fingers seemed to be in the right places to hold all the loose ends and my flies could certainly catch fish. Of course I can’t manage it now though. In the days when petrol was rationed I used to go up to the Hangaroa often with Jack Howell who had a car, therefore some petrol coupons, but was only able to drive himself around town, as he would go to sleep if he drove any distance.

So it worked out well for both of us, he got to do some fishing which he loved and I got a very good grounding in the art of fly fishing.

In the days when I had left school and was working at McCulloughs I got away fishing quite a bit but it nearly always was by bike. One weekend Colin Hardacre and I biked up to Tiniroto and fished in the Lake there. I think we only caught

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one fish but we slept in the Law’s hay shed and Colin got a couple of bottles of beer from the pub. Another time my father and I were staying in the fisherman’s huts at the jetty camp at Waikaremoana and we had gone down to Hopuruahine with Jack Howell who had the use of a boat and motor. We had a great day’s fishing and, if I remember correctly, we had 26 of the best fish in a box in the boat. On the way back to the Jetty camp the Lake had got very rough and we couldn’t get around the point by Mokau. So we spent the night in a deserted roadman’s hut there and tried again early the next morning to get back to base. By the time we got around the point the wind was up again and you could see the bottom of the boat flexing as we crashed over the waves. So we ran the boat in to Rakaiaho Bay, pulled it up on the shore and put the box of fish in a sheltered spot by the bush edge. Then we set off into the bush and walked right around to Mission Bay and up to the road just in time to meet a search party who were on their way to Hopuruahine to look for us.

We all had a bit of a celebration at the roadman’s hut at Aniwaniwa, the boat was recovered later, but all those beautiful fish including an eight pound brown I had caught, were a write off.

When I was 14 I was given an old .22 rifle by Wattie Findlay and with my parent’s permission I could get it registered in my name. We were living at Wainui then and I had permission from Toby Nolan to go shooting on his property between Sponge bay and Tuahine Point. I soon got to know the places to look for hares according to the weather and wind conditions and a nice young hare was a welcome addition to the menu. The rifle was a Belgian made single shot with a very pitted barrel but after I had filed the foresight from a bead to a fine blade I could usually get what I aimed at. I still have it but the bolt was stolen when all my other firearms were stolen in Sept.2000.

I had a go at making my own fishing rods at the joinery factory in Carnarvon St. I bought greenheart blanks and other parts from Tisdalls in Wellington and shaped them up first with a plane and then with pieces of freshly broken glass, finally finishing off with sandpaper. Then the brass ferules and reel fittings were glued on with ferule cement, the rings bound on and the whole thing finished off with rod

Early Days

varnish. The rods were in three pieces and it was a good idea to have several tips as it was not hard to break one especially if you happened to get hooked up on a shrub on the back cast. I had them for years, they finally ended up as trolling rods but I don’t know where they are now. At one time I couldn’t get greenheart and made some tips out of Puriri but they had a very short life. Some rods in those days were made out of Tanekaha but these were mainly stout rods for big game fishing and I didn’t think it was suitable for trout rods. All things being considered I think our parents gave us a great education in being self reliant and the ability to enjoy the simple things of life. But life was to change dramatically for me before very long.

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Learning to skate at R.C.A.F. Edmonton.

Mutual support. Moriarty, Gallagher, Brightwell, Self

Mc Culloughs & R.n.z.a.f.

1939-1943

Mc Culloughs & R.n.z.a.f.

At the end of the 1939 School Year I left school for good, after spending a year in the 6th Form. I applied for several jobs, having obtained references from Pat Crawshaw and a friend of my father’s, Fred Forge. One of these jobs was for a clerical position at Dalgety and Co., and I had told a friend, Ron Harries, about this. He had apparently gone down and put in an application as well, but in the meantime I had also applied at McCullough Butler and Spence and was successful. Ron Harries got the job at Dalgetys, and unaware of my withdrawal, came to see me full of apologies.

Bob McInnes and I started at McCulloughs on the same day and he later went on to become a Partner. Bob was a very keen Cricketer and in later years became the Manager of the NZ Cricket Team to tour Australia. We used to take week about on the reception desk, managing the Petty Cash, doing the banking (there were about six or seven different Banks in Gisborne then), and on odd weeks could sometimes be taken out Auditing by one of the Partners or Senior Clerks The Partners were C.A.Smith, Jack Peach, Magnus Nicholson and Jack Haisman had just been taken into Partnership. Mostly it was Jack Peach or Jack Haisman who were involved in Auditing and we would have to call out postings or Bank Pass Book figures to them as they checked the Ledgers. All the Bookkeeping was done by hand then and the cumbersome Bookkeeping Machines did not make an appearance till some years later.

The Reception Desk job was quite good experience, but kept one on one’s toes. One of the duties under the watchful eye of Magnus Nicholson was to make sure that all the staff signed in on the attendance register as they arrived for work and promptly at 8 o’clock we had to rule a red line across the page.

Woe betides anyone who was unfortunate enough to have his signature below the line more than once in a week. All mail had to be stamped by the reception clerk and the cost of postage noted down in the petty cash book. Near Income Tax time all the client’s cheques had to be kept in the cash box and posted off to the Commissioner of Taxes at the last possible moment. Going out auditing was more to my liking but sometimes we would be given the task of checking the

Mc Culloughs & R.n.z.a.f.

additions in the receipt book for a whole year. One day we had to count the day’s takings at Woolworths. It was all fairly interesting, but until I started to get into my Correspondence Course of Accounting, I did not really know what it was all about. It was one of the conditions of employment that you started studying for a degree in Accounting.

Every male had to register for Military Service before the age of 18 and was likely to be called up at any time after that. So the senior members of the staff started to disappear one by one and we younger ones got promotion much faster than normal. Fred Phillips went into the Navy, Neville Frehner and Gerry Sheppard into the Air Force, Neville became a Spitfire Pilot but I never came across him although he was in UK at the same time as I was. The Army claimed Alec McAnney (never to return), Arthur Skillen, Graham Smith, Dave Lougher, Geoff Crone and Ian Olliver who I next met on the ship on the way home in 1945. The female members of the staff were loosing their fiancées and boy friends as well. Claude Baigent joined the staff in 1941 I think it was. Claude was a qualified Accountant and had done some private flying, but when he joined the RNZAF he was found to have defective colour vision and discharged.

His one ambition was to get back as a pilot and spent a lot of time studying a Doctor’s Colour Vision Test Book. He learnt to give the correct answer by the page number, and not by the tricky hidden numbers put there to trap those whose colour vision was not too good. He eventually made it but by that time I had moved on and did not catch up with him until well after the end of the war when I discovered him as a top dressing pilot at New Plymouth.

Teenage Self with books from the Library in Gisborne

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Partners and staff, McCullough Butler Spence 1940

Mc Culloughs & R.n.z.a.f.

The hours of work at McC. B & S. were seven and a half a day and there was no such thing as overtime if you had to work late, you were supposed to make up all those missing weekly two and a half hours from the time you had started. Rates of pay were a bit different too, we started at one pound per week with an increase of, I think, five shillings after six months. Pay day was on the last working day of the month so my annual salary of 52 pounds was divided up into 12 equal installments and I received four pounds six shillings and eight pence or in today’s terms $8.67 per month. Out of this I had to pay $1 per week to pay off my new bike and also pay my parents for board so I was always in debt. At this time we lived out at Wainui, having rented the house in Stout Street to an American Geologist involved in oil exploration. It was not a good place to live if you biked in to work as most of the summer there was a Westerly head wind on the way in and a sea breeze head wind on the way out again in the afternoon. But it did have its compensations, there were plenty of crayfish to be caught along towards Tuahine Point, and I used to go hare shooting on the hills above the cliffs most evenings on the weekends. If the hare was fairly young it went into our pot at home but the older ones I took along to Hodgsons Store and Mrs. Hodgson would cook old Rollo jugged hare for his tea when he eventually got home from the pub. He was a very tall lean man and rode very slowly on a very tall bike, but he always managed to wobble his way home from the Albion, One night I was out on the rocks crayfishing when I saw in the light of my torch a fish swimming around in a large pool. As it passed near me I managed to hit it on the head with a stone and grabbed it when it blundered into the edge of the pool.

It was Frost Fish and about 5 feet long a bit like a Barracuda with a very small tail so I had to bend it in the middle to get it into my sugar bag and even then the head and tail were sticking out. They were supposed to be a great delicacy and the hotels had a standing order for them. They were bright bright silver and sometimes came ashore when chasing sprats in the surf at night, hence the name. As well as shooting hares I used to get the odd hawk and shag and their legs were worth a shilling a pair at the Acclimatisation Society. Hedgehog Snouts were also worth three pence each and the girl at the Acclimatisation Society could be relied on not to count them if

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they were a bit high. This all helped to pay for .22 shells which were then about 25 cents a box but becoming hard to get because of the war.

Another pastime of this era was being a member of the home guard. I guess it was not too different from Dad’s Army, except that our Commanding Officer at Wainui was the very efficient Toby Nolan and he bore no resemblance to Capt. Mainwaring. We made up hand grenades with bits of old water pipe and one member of the Platoon was an old Quarryman who used to crimp the detonators onto the fuse with his teeth. One of my jobs was to cut up odd short lengths of reinforcing steel into about one inch pieces with bolt cutters and these were then cast into concrete grenades with a piece of broomstick up the middle. This was removed when half set and left a hole for a half stick of gelly to be inserted later.

Luckily we never had to do any live grenade throwing or I hate to think what might have happened. When the war with Japan had started all firearms were requisitioned and from memory our Platoon was issued with one Long Tom .303 dated about 1898 as used in the Boer War. Toby Nolan had a very useful little gadget consisting of a steel tube containing a spring loaded plunger with a pointed end. This fitted inside the barrel of the rifle and when the trigger was pulled the firing pin shot the plunger an inch or so out of the end of the barrel and the spring then returned it again. A little frame held a special card with two bulls eyes on it, one for the line of sight and one for the plunger to strike, this was placed just clear of the end of the barrel and gave a pretty good indication of how well you could shoot.

The old ex Quarryman came in very handy one Sunday when our Platoon was detailed for the exercise of defending the Tatapouri Hill from an attack by the Whangara Home Guard. As supposedly the best shot in the Platoon I was given the job as a sniper up on the hill and had a birds eye view of the whole exercise.

The Whangara Troop, when they saw our road block, very sneakily backed their trucks out of sight towards Turihaua from where they mounted a cavalry charge along the beach. However our worthy Quarryman had buried three half plugs of gelly in the dry sand on the beach and these he detonated at about 50 yards. There was a series of dull booms, clouds of smoke and sand, and when it all cleared a

Mc Culloughs & R.n.z.a.f.

number of horsemen were lying on the beach and a bunch of rider-less horses well on their way back to Whangara. We had been issued with some live ammunition and, after all having lunch together, we had turns firing the old Long Tom. Someone in charge managed to get the bar opened at the pub and in the end all was forgiven. I was not in the Wainui Home Guard for very long but it was a chance to meet some more of the locals from Sponge Bay to Tatapouri.

The Duncan family lived just on the town side of Tatapouri and old Mr. Duncan had a Martini Action Boer War carbine .303 which had not been taken in and was a great improvement on my old Fabrique Nationale single shot .22 when we went Pig Shooting. Graham Smith at McC. B & S. had a relation, Selwyn Smith who had a farm up by the Water Works Bush at Waingake and Graham, Geoff Crone and I would go up after pigs if we could scrounge some Petrol Coupons.

Selwyn was a very unusual character and I remember the first time we stayed there, out of about 6 dinner sets he owned, 5 were on the sink top awaiting washing. After a meal we three set to and did the dishes which took about an hour, and Selwyn sat on a chair watching us. Suddenly he let out a yell, threw a huge sheath knife across the room to where it stuck quivering in the back door and said “Did you see that Rat?” When it was time to go to bed he led Geoff and I through the lounge, which was stacked up high with books and magazines, leaving only a narrow passage to walk through into the hall. He showed us into a bedroom with two beds, but in the flickering light of our candles we saw a huge covered object in the middle of the room, on lifting the cover we found it to be a Harp and many years later when we were working at his house at Makauri, I asked him if he still had the Harp, and sure enough he showed it to me again. The first time I only had the .22 and although we saw some pigs I wasn’t able to make any impression on them. Another time we went up there in Geoff ’s fathers old Oakland car and on the way up the Mangapoiki Hill the gear lever snapped off about 2 inches above the floor. One of us had to crouch down on the floor and when Geoff called a gear change and depressed the clutch we had to use two hands to make the gear change. I think it was that time that we slept in the shearer’s quarters, which were on the side of the hill facing East.

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When the Sun came up next morning it was shining up through the cracks in the floorboards, and we were looking right down into Poverty Bay with the sea beyond.

We did not get any pigs this time but saw a few goats, however didn’t shoot any as we were supposed to carry the carcasses out of the Water Works Bush Catchment.

What happened to the goats that died of natural causes I don’t know but it never seemed to worry the citizens of Gisborne.

One of the more interesting aspects of being on the auditing side of the firm was the opportunity of going up the coast to help the Tokomaru Branch with the audits of Companies there. I think I went up to Ruatoria or Tikitiki three times and found it a welcome change. Mr. Chapman, the resident partner at Tokomaru was a very good person to work with and his clerk, Joe Oates was about our age. He came from Tokomaru and was wise in the ways of the East Coast. We seldom missed an opportunity to supplement our diet with watermelons and fruit of all kinds when in season. We usually stayed at the Manutahi Hotel and Ruatoria was quite a town in those days. When walking along the footpaths, especially in the evenings, you had to be ready to jump into a shop entrance as the local youths used to gallop their horses along under the verandahs. In the local hall where the pictures were shown, all the seating downstairs consisted of forms and these would crash over as the locals rose to their feet at some exciting episode of the mainly cowboy films. We paid extra for the comparative safety of the small upstairs gallery. The bar at the pub did a great trade, especially at the weekends and was reputed to have the longest bar in the North Island.

We audited the books of the Ngatiporou Dairy Co. and the Waiapu Farmers, and I well remember on one occasion we had finished at the Ruatoria Branch of the Waiapu Farmers, leaving early the next morning to audit the Tikitiki Branch.

When we arrived we found the building to be just a smoking ruin with sheets of buckled corrugated iron and burst tins of canned goods everywhere, and the brick strong room standing alone in the middle. We were told “You fellers might as well go back to Gisborne eh, the place got burnt down last night, and bad luck, eh, the strong room door got left open and all the Books got burnt. All the money too, eh.”

Mc Culloughs & R.n.z.a.f.

So that branch made another loss, but we were never sure whether someone made a bit of a profit on the side. Mr. Chapman was very keen on early rising and we used to get talked into a brisk walk before breakfast in the mornings, often seeing the early morning sun hit the top of Hikurangi. If there was snow up on the top, boy was there ever a cold wind coming down the valley. On the weekends we were sometimes taken for a drive up the back country roads, and I was reintroduced to the practice at the many open water courses, of taking off the fan belt, laying an oilskin on top of the motor and driving through the water to refit the fan belt on the other side.Even though we worked quite a bit at night with no hope of overtime, I was always a bit sorry to come back home again.

Jim Burton, who lived opposite our place at Wainui, persuaded me to join the Miniature Rifle Club and as I had always been interested in shooting at school, I soon found myself in the B grade. In 1941 I won the B Grade Championship. We used proper Target rifles and there were plenty of the A Grade members to coach the lower Grades. We had Club Rooms upstairs in the old McCullough building in Cobden Street and I used to bike in from Wainui each Saturday night. While at School I had been in the team in the NZ High Schools Champs and believe it or not, we had an open air range just by the bike sheds with a steel plate behind the targets to keep the other kids safe. I was also runner up at School Champs in the Senior Grade. All the boys at School were in the Cadet Forces and we had Cadet Days on which we all went to School in our Khaki Uniforms and there was a proper Armory at School where the rifles were kept for our Arms Drill. On a number of Saturday mornings all the Cadets would parade at the Range in Valley Road over Barkers Hill for firing practice, first with rifles fitted with Morris Tubes converting them to .22s and then as we became older, with .303s. We also got instruction in boiling them out after use and oiling them again afterwards.

As the senior staff went into the forces, I found myself taking one of the more junior members out auditing, and we did our best, although I guess standards must have slipped a bit as I was still struggling with my assignments of Bookkeeping 1 and Bookkeeping 2. One of those I took out was Colin Hardacre who later became

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a Corsair Pilot. Colin and I biked up to Tiniroto, slept in Law’s hayshed and fished in the lake there, I think we only caught one trout but we had a couple of bottles of beer from the pub and had a good time. Someone told me that when Colin took a Corsair to Te Karaka he had his father, the local storekeeper, lying down in the middle of the road begging him to go away.

As I mentioned earlier all youths were called up from the age of 18 and if you went into the army the usual thing was to spend two or three years on home service guarding NZ as you could not be sent overseas before you reached the age of 21. This did not appeal to me so I decided to apply for Aircrew, preferably as a Pilot. My parent’s permission was required and after a while I was able to obtain this, although at the time I could not have realised what it meant to them. The first thing that happened was an appearance at the old Cook County Building before a selection Board, first to see if I was Aircrew material and then to see if I could make it as a Pilot. It seemed to me that the main criteria for selection as a Pilot was to have some skill with a shotgun, and one old chap on the panel didn’t seem to be impressed by the fact that although I had never used a shotgun, I was more than proficient with a rifle. My other sport of trout fishing wasn’t much help either, and I was told, “Well that wouldn’t do much to develop keen eyesight, would it” I managed to convince him that dropping a fly to a brown hiding in the weeds at Waikaremoana or spotting a fish in the rapids was just the very thing to develop that skill and I got my way with a recommendation to go in as a Pilot. Then it was off to Napier Hospital for a Medical. I had previously taken the nearest thing to an Aircrew Medical with Dr. Bowie, and he didn’t charge me either, who said that although I was a bit underweight, I had a good chance of passing. In the meantime I put in a lot of practice at blowing up the mercury (with a bike pump) and standing on one bare foot with your eyes closed for, I think, 30 seconds. Not as easy as it sounds, you try it.

Then there were Pre-entry courses to be taken at the High school at night to learn things like Navigation, Meteorology, and Theory of Flight etc. and because math was one of my better subjects, I could see the sense in a triangle of Velocities.

Mc Culloughs & R.n.z.a.f.

Most of the others taking the course were High School Graduates like myself, but it was certainly much harder for those who had left school after standard six. Still everyone was dead keen to succeed and we were able to help each other quite a bit. After that it was just a matter of waiting until your call up papers came, the RNZAF especially had a long waiting list, so it was just carry on at McC. B. & S. and in later years I certainly did not regret the excellent grounding in Accountancy I got there and from my Correspondence Course.

We still lived out at Wainui and we had crayfish any time we wanted, we did not need to put out set pots, one night with one pull of a handpot I got seven that I could not fit into a sugar bag. The rocks in those days were out of the water at low tide and after crossing a channel on a causeway of stones you could stay out almost dry shod for an hour or an hour and a half. The coastline dropped quite a bit after an earthquake in the 1950s and it was never the same again. You could even catch them off the rocks in the daytime if the water was a bit dirty. You seldom see crayfish of that size today.

Eventually my call up papers and travel warrant arrived and I was ordered to report to RNZAF Rongatai at 8am on February 27th 1942. I guess that I will always regret not having kept a diary of some sort during those years, as there must be many incidents that I would be able to remember with just a little prompting.

Anyway, spent the night of the 26th in a hotel somewhere in the middle of Wellington and caught a tram out to Rongatai the next morning.

It looked quite a motley bunch of youths arriving at the old Centennial Exhibition buildings at Rongatai, which adjoined the small airfield and over on the other side were the buildings of the De Havilland aircraft factory where Tiger Moths were assembled and repaired. We were paraded, sworn in too I expect and given our Service Numbers, something we would never forget until our dying day.

Mine was NZ 421488, the first two numbers denoting the year in which you joined and the others I expect meant that I was the 1488th Airman to enlist that year. We were issued with uniforms, shown our Barracks and given a bit of drill. My Clothing Card – Airman (Form 665a) shows that I received among other things, one Stick,

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button – one brush, brass – four collars, cotton B G – two drawers, woolen etc.

The next morning we were told to parade after breakfast, but one other airman and myself went to the barracks instead of the Parade Ground. We had the misfortune to be on our way to the correct place when the bugle sounded for the raising of the Ensign. We didn’t know at the time what all the fuss and shouting was about, let alone realise that it was directed at us. However, not much was said and for the next few days we were drilled and attended lectures on all sorts of subjects.

We next found out that we had been called up, not to start our Aircrew Courses as we thought, but to provide manpower in various roles for the Air Force.

We were classified as ACH/GD (Aircraft Hand? General Duties) our rank was A C 1 (Aircraftsman First Class) which was almost the lowest form of life in the RNZAF. Most of those who had a heavy traffic license were sent off to driving jobs throughout the country, and a day or so later on Mar.2nd a number of us were posted to Ohakea. Including Dave Moriarty and Dave Gallagher. Because I had had some accounting experience I was put in the Station Warrant Officer’s Office. The SWO was Bas Harder, and in charge of the main office where I worked was Sgt.Johnston, who I was to meet again in 1946 when I got my discharge. I was summoned to the Adjutant’s office and sent in to be interviewed by the Commanding Officer, who asked me if I was used to working with women, from the way he asked I got the impression that he was not. Anyway he seemed satisfied with my answers as to what I had been doing since I left school. So I stayed in the SWO’s office where as well as Sgt. Johnston there was a Cpl. Hill and two WAAFs. Part of my duties was to take over the keeping of the books of the Sergeants Mess and the PSI. The first problem with the two sets of books was there had never been a trial balance taken out for years that had actually balanced. I managed to get Dave Moriarty who was in Pay Accounts, for a few days and we called over all the postings from the Cash Books to the Ledgers for years back until we finally got them sorted out. A few weeks later one of the RNZAF Auditors, a F/Lt. Enting arrived to do an audit of Pay Accounts and it must have been one of his jobs to audit these other books as well. He must have attempted audits before because shortly after I had handed in the books he

Mc Culloughs & R.n.z.a.f.

sent for me and congratulated me on getting them sorted out. He asked me where I had worked and where I had studied, so I told him “Hemmingways”. It was not until later I realised that he was the principal of Entings Correspondence School, reputed to be the best in the country.

When we first arrived at Ohakea we were put in temporary wooden barracks erected for the duration of the war, but last time I was back there in 2000 most of them were still there and were being put to good use as workshops or various sections.

Later we moved into the main block consisting of several two story dormitory wings, the Sergeant’s and Airman’s Messes etc. The dormitories contained about 20 beds I guess and had good showers and wash rooms, a dresser to keep your clothes in and life was not too bad at all. There were quite a number of characters in the dorm, one LAC Cook, Cookie to everyone, was in the band and used to play the kettle drums on his locker in his sleep. When we took his drumsticks away he still carried on with his fingers, making enough noise to keep those nearest to him awake. Another who came from Raratonga used to tell us all about what went on during the warm tropic nights, and one known as Smithie was a great womaniser and always had a lot to say about his latest conquest. He became known as Ortho Smith. Another up the far end of the room let it be known that he was going to do everything in his power to avoid being posted overseas, and we, who were dead keen to get into Aircrew, found this hard to understand, but it takes all types.

One day all personal were lined up in groups in front of the Control Tower and photographed, then the individual photos were cut out and pasted on our Identity Cards, mine No.4878 was signed by the Administration Officer S/Ldr. F.C.Facer. When the RNZAF Station was being opened up in Gisborne he was posted there and asked me if I would like a posting to my home town, assuring me that I would never make it in Aircrew. I was never lucky enough to meet him after the war. Quite a few personnel were posted from Ohakea to Gisborne and wanted to know what the place was like. They didn’t believe me when I assured them that the main shopping area was at least half a mile long, I think they thought a posting to Gisborne was as bad as a posting to Waipapakauri.

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The aircraft being flown from Ohakea when we first arrived were Hawker Harts and Hinds, Harvards and Vickers Vincents. I managed to get a ride in the back seat of a Harvard one day but it wasn’t encouraged. Then one day the first Kittyhawk arrived from Whenuapai and proceeded to beat the place up. Before long more Kittyhawks came and I think there were eventually two squadrons training there prior to being posted up to the Islands. Over on the far side of the drome were a number of dummy Hudsons made out of timber framing and covered with suitably painted scrim. Some of us went over for a Sunday afternoon walk to have a closer look at them and they were certainly very realistic.

I remember at one time part of my duty was to climb up to the top of the concrete water tower and keep a watch out for Japanese aircraft coming in from the Tasman Sea. It was just after we all had had our jabs for this and that and I had a beautiful Smallpox take on one arm, To get up the water tower I had to go up a vertical iron ladder way up the center of the water tower. I can still remember the agony of climbing that ladder. If any hostiles appeared I had to go down the ladder again, run over to the nearby Dental Section to phone the Control Tower. Later they did get a phone installed up the Water Tower. One day I missed seeing the Lockheed Electra which was flying from Auckland to Wellington, just a speck in the distance so I lost that job, thank goodness. While we were queuing up for our jabs it was strange to see big strong men keel over at the prick of the needle. For one of the shots we had to wait around in the YMCA for an hour or so afterwards and the Medical Orderlies would come around every now and then to collect those who had flaked out. But it was still a rather leisurely war, we usually had at least half of Identification Card Feb. 1942

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Sunday off, there was a dry canteen where you could get most of your requirements, a Post Office in the YMCA, and a wet canteen where you could have a beer and no questions asked about your age, the minimum was 21 in those days.

There was always a slight risk of sabotage so we were on a roster for guard duties about once or twice a month, when we would have to sleep in a room down in one of the hangars. From memory we would do about two hours patrolling, maybe the apron, where some of the aircraft were parked, and then wake the next man to go on. We were armed with a P14 rifle and a verey pistol. One night the Orderly Officer approached one of the guards and when challenged, grabbed the rifle off him, “What are you going to do now” he asked. “Shoot you in the face with this verey pistol” was the reply. Sometimes we would be guarding the Bomb Dump which was in a Pine Plantation on the other side of the river down towards the mouth, and nearing the end of a shift would take a rest sitting down on a 250 or 500 pounder. Sometimes if I was on near the hangars, I would climb up on the wing of a Harvard, and gaze at all the luminous instruments, wondering if I would ever get to sit in front of them. One night I was on guard at the back of the Officer’s Mess and a couple of rabbits kept hopping out of the shrubbery and feeding on the lawn. I reckoned that I could knock one down with a thrown bayonet, but the darned bayonet cartwheeled off into the shrubbery and it took me at least half an hour to find it in the dark.

This spot was a good one though as the cooks started work before daylight, made themselves a cup of tea and often would bring one out to the guard.

Every morning on the parade ground there was the ceremony of sounding the bugle and raising the flag, at which a small guard party used to present arms. They obviously used the same rifles we used on guard duty, and there was the command “For inspection Port Arms”. The Guard Sgt. was Sgt. E W W D Johnston, not overly popular, and his inspection or the vigorous rattling if someone’s bolt was faulty, so when he said “Close the bolt, release springs” there was a loud report, followed by a very embarrassing silence and then some critical comments.

Leave was restricted to 48 hour passes every six weeks or so and it was just possible to get back to Gisborne. I had to catch a goods train in Palmerston North

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about 2am on a Saturday morning and ride in the guards van with several other Servicemen as far as Napier, then catch an early morning Service Car to Gisborne.

I would get home in time to have Saturday afternoon and night at home and then have to reverse the process to get back to Ohakea within the 48 hours. We were often allowed to go into Palmerston North on a Friday night but at this time the Air Force was not popular with the Army boys from Linton Camp, and the Air Force was nearly always grossly outnumbered.

Early in the winter of 1942 there was a bad flu epidemic and those of us who contracted it were packed off to a school in Palmerston North which had been requisitioned as a Service Hospital. It was great to be able to have a huge deep bath after showers for months, even though the bathroom was just one of the school corridors. We were very well treated by the overworked staff and I remember one night there was quite a severe earthquake. The power lines in the street arced together brilliantly and when the power eventually came on again our beds were covered with bits of plaster that had come down from the ceiling.

Eventually my stay at Ohakea came to an end and on Jul.9th I was posted to Rotorua as an Air Observer Under Training (AOUT). I had originally been accepted for training as a Pilot and was bitterly disappointed, but no reason was given and I just had to assume that it was because I had better than average marks at navigation in my Pre-Entry course. We were housed in Hotels in Fenton Street just by the Railway Station. Four on the course in the Empire Hotel on the corner and the rest in Australia House next door. There were 48 or 49 of us on the course and I became friendly with Jimmy Aplin, who also being an A shared the same room as myself. I still have the course photo and there were a couple of Gisborneites there, Jim Robb and Ellis Evans who had lived in Stout Street not far from our house. Some of those on the course I came across again from time to time and I corresponded with a few also, but I guess a lot of them would have lost their lives.

We marched down to parade near Brents every morning wearing our leather flying helmets, the idea was to stretch the seams and get a good fit so that when the ear holes were fitted later, they would come in the right position. We went to

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lectures in rooms in the civic centre, picture theatres and any other rooms that the RNZAF had been able to requisition, and started to catch up on the drill and discipline which had been lacking at Ohakea. Early in the course I spoke to the assistant SWO, Flt/Sgt. Tom McMurray, who came from Gisborne, actually he had sold me my bike. He coached me in the correct way to write an application to remuster to be a Pilot, with an ending like, I have the honour to be Sir, Your obedient servant, LAC Aitken J.K. He also told me that if I addressed the letter to the Commanding Officer and handed it in to the Adjutants Office, I should get a reply in about a week. Well, a week went by with no reply, so he said put in another letter starting off, Further to my application of such and such a date, I wish etc. etc. Still no reply within a week so I sent in another and then another. The course lasted for seven weeks and at the end of it I found that I had topped the course so I assumed that I had cooked my goose so to speak. Then I got a summons to report to the Adjutant I was marched in for an interview with the Commanding Officer, the Navigation Leader and the Adjutant and I noticed that he had in front of him a stack of sheets of paper, my six applications. The CO said, “So you are keen to remuster to a Pilot, Aitken, why?” I don’t remember what I said but was told to wait out in the corridor. After a couple of minutes the Adj. came out and said “Application granted”. I celebrated in the wet canteen that night, and next day saw all the rest of the course go off on Final Leave prior to leaving for Canada.

So that was for me the end of Observers Course No.37 and in a few days I was on Pilots Course No.34. and I was officially an Airman Pilot Under Training or APUT. To my delight the others who had gone to Ohakea at the same time also turned up on the Course, Dave Moriarty, Dave Gallagher, Russ Laws and Jack Brightwell. I moved my possessions down to Brents Hotel where the Pilot Courses were billeted and shared room No.1 with another Aitken, Russell I think his first name was, but have never heard of him since the end of our stay in Rotorua. We were often in trouble in Rotorua with the polish on our brass buttons and cap badges, you could leave the barracks in the morning with such a shine on them you could see your face, but if you walked past a grating at the side of the road,

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a puff of sulphery air would come out and instantly your brass would turn reddish and dull. We had a little celebration in one of the hotels and when a couple of Policemen walked in, the others walked out untouched while I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. After putting the fear of God into me they let me go and I heard no more about it. It was great to be back with the old bunch of friends again and to know that if we worked hard we would get the chance of learning to fly.

Lectures changed a bit and now included things like theory of flight, airmanship etc. but the time I had served on the Observers course did me no harm, especially in navigation and was certainly better than putting in that time at my old job at Ohakea.

Well the Course came to an end and of those who passed, about 200 in all, about one third went off to EFTS (Elementary Flying Training School) atTaieri, one third to Harewood, and the rest including the five of us friends went to No.2 EFTS at New Plymouth. The whole unit there was in the process of being transferred to Ashburton and I think we had been sent to make up the numbers which would entitle them to a special train to Wellington. The Tiger Moths were to fly down, and the privileged Instructors avoided the train and ferry trip. They all did a beat up of the station and formed up into small formations for their trip South. New Plymouth was to become a G R School and at the same time do reconnaissance over the Tasman in that vicinity. We on the other hand went the hard way and I remember there were quite a few who chose to have nothing to eat on the ferry trip to Lyttelton. Dave Moriarty was sleeping off his seasickness up in the bow on a coil of rope and got one side of his face sun burnt, and later I think he got a shower of salt water when it started coming over the bow.

I have no recollection as to how we got to Ashburton but I think we arrived in the middle of the night, and we very quickly realised that we were coming to a very new station. Our huts were still under construction and it was several weeks before power was installed. Candles were the order of the night and our toilets were six or eight seater long drops. Our huts were in the middle of a pine plantation and about a mile from the airfield. Things were certainly a bit primitive, but the prospect of

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Bell Block, New Plymouth, Pilot Course 34 A Flight, prior to transferring to Aushburton

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getting started on actual flying made up for any discomfort and we found that we could swat till midnight by one candle power. The meals were a bone of contention though and dinner might be boiled mutton, boiled spuds and well boiled cabbage, but we got on to a deal which improved the lot of a few of us. Dave Moriarty and I used to keep an eye on where the electricians were wiring out a hut and pinch the short ends of copper wire. When the insulation was stripped off the wire made good snares to catch the rabbits which were common in the fields around the huts.

They had little runs through the hedges and fences and we could catch two or three most nights, then after dressing we would take them down to the back door of the cookhouse where we had an arrangement with the cooks to roast them on a 50-50 basis, one for you and one for me. We would collect them at night and have cold roast rabbit for supper. Once we got a small one caught around the middle and was still alive so we popped it into the Disciplinary Corporals bed. He was Cpl. Reg Kovaleski and he never knew how it got there until I met him out at Makaraka one day well after the war, but he still remembered it.

I see from my Identity Card that I arrived at Ashburton on Oct.16th, and the entry was signed by F/Lt. E. DeSuza. This was the same Ernie DeSuza who managed Adair Bros in Gisborne and who came to work for us when Bett and I went to the 75 Squadron Reunion in England in 1978. He was really good for David to work with and it was no trouble to him to ring up the slow payers and lo and behold a cheque would turn up in a couple of days time. Anyway, after getting away from Singapore he became Adjutant at New Plymouth and then at Ashburton. Between our huts in the plantation and the road, was a water race and one hot afternoon a group of us were detailed to clear the scrub out of an old gravel pit, which was then filled from the water race for firefighting purposes. I am pretty sure it was Ernie who sent a couple of the boys up to the Officer’s Mess with a chit for a couple of dozen of beer for the workers and he would have paid for this himself.

From now on I have my Flying Log Book to help my memory with dates and places and from it I see that I had my first air experience in D.H.82 No.1433 with F/O Anderson as Instructor on Oct.22nd. Then on the 26th with F/O

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Smith, straight and level flight and effect of controls. F/O Smith now became my Instructor and the second flight with him was different altogether, it included stalling, going almost straight down with every detail on the ground getting bigger and bigger was a bit of a shock. But we all soon got used to this sort of thing and on Nov.7th my Instructor changed again to F/O Penniket. I did some circuits with him again on Nov.9th and after two or three landings he got out, removed the front Control Column and said “Now you are on your own, do one circuit only and taxi back to the Flight Office�. All went well and it was great to get that first solo hurdle over. I had done 8 hours and 5 minutes dual which was about average. Several on the course had problems though and, if you had not soloed after 12 hours or so it was often a ride with the Flight Commander or the Chief Flying Instructor, and the decision was made whether to persevere with you or not. I think that a lot of these slower learners would still have made good pilots but the pressure was on to turn out the greatest number in the shortest possible time. It was very much the ability to coordinate your arm and leg movements and remember what you had been told. Others like Dick Bolt, who came from a aviation pioneering family, but had not flown before, went solo in about 6 hours, and went on to a distinguished career in the RAF and RNZAF, eventually becoming Chief of Air Staff and then Chief of Defense Staff. Those who had been fortunate enough to have had some flying experience before joining up certainly had a head start but in the long run we caught them up.

Because of the Nor-wester winds that used to blow over the Canterbury Plains at this time of the year we used to start flying about 5am and I think we were out of bed at round about 3.30am One morning on one of these early morning flights, luckily before anyone had gone solo, a thick ground fog came down and only the tops of the trees were showing. My Instructor must have had a pretty good idea of where we were because after a while we spotted some Tigers on the ground and after doing a steep turn almost in the fog we landed beside them. We were A Flight and these turned out to be B Flight so we did a quick take off and flew across the field at a couple of feet and arrived back safely. Many of the others however Logbook page one Logbook page two

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First Solo

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were luckier having flown off up country where there was no fog, picked out a rich looking farmhouse and landed beside it. After a phone call to base, of course they were invited to breakfast, and we heard tales of where you got cream on your porridge and where you got bacon and eggs to follow. Then when the sun came up a bit and the fog dispersed, these well fed aviators returned to base. This was the only time we saw fog while I was there though.

After my first solo my Instructor changed again to P/O Aickin. He had just finished his Instructor’s Course and was not at all happy at being made an Instructor. It was the policy in most Air Forces to retain a few of the top pupils when they qualified for their wings and send them on an Instructors Course. It was not a popular system but I guess it would always ensure that the standard of instruction would get better and better. Anyway, on my first flight with him he obviously wanted to get some of the frustration out of his system and we went to the Low Flying Area down by the Ashburton River Mouth. He spotted some unfortunate farmer cultivating his paddock and after stalking him up a gully, shot across just above his head. When we looked back he had bailed out successfully and the tractor was doing a bit of solo plowing. How he got it stopped I don’t know but we dropped down into the Ashburton Riverbed and went back to complete my session of medium turns etc. That seemed to get some of the frustration out of his system for he sent me solo again on the next two days, although we did some more low flying on the 12th. Low flying could only be practiced dual as everywhere in the world it was the favourite way for pupils to write themselves off. It was very thrilling but if you were caught solo, it was generally the end of your career as a Pilot. Up at Dromore there was a large paddock where we could practice forced landings but we could only touch down if we were on dual, however one day I made the mistake of actually landing there solo. Before I could get off again another aircraft landed and of course it was dual, so I made a hurried take off towards some tall trees. Luckily I cleared them O K and the Instructor in the other Tiger didn’t get my number. We were always scared of getting caught doing some unauthorised thing and getting grounded.

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I see from my Log Book that I was doing Instrument Flying by Nov.20th, to carry out this exercise the pupil was completely covered in with a folding canvas hood, and the only instruments were an Airspeed Indicator, a Turn and Bank, an Altimeter, and I think there was a spirit level to give you some idea if your nose was up or down. The P4 Compass was not much help except on straight and level, as it was subject to Turning and Banking Errors as well as Acceleration Errors.

Somehow we seemed to cope and later we had to recover from a spin under the hood, helped only by the Turn and Bank and the Airspeed Indicator. This was pretty important because if you ever got into a spin in cloud the instruments were the only things which would get you out. We were not allowed to fly above cloud but we sometimes did and I can remember writing home and telling them just how beautiful it was to be above the cloud tops. Of course if another aircraft appeared we would have to find a hole to dive down through.

On Nov.24th I had a 20 hour test with the Flight Commander F/Lt. Hudson and this was a bit of a hurdle for some, as a failure could mean the end of your career. I passed O K and the same day was doing solo stalling, steep turns etc.

Steep turns were fun now that we had more confidence, you were looking straight down the inside wing at the ground which seemed to be pivoting around you, not the other way. Next day I was doing steep gliding turns and gliding approach and landing. Gliding turns were a bit different because the inner wing, as well as going slower than the outside one was also descending at a greater rate, so the angle of attack was higher, and if you let your speed drop off too much it would stall first and you were in a spin. Of course this didn’t matter if you had plenty of height, but if you were gliding in to land, the consequences could be different. I remember that a cousin of Wattie’s, Maitland Findlay, spun off a gliding turn into the only empty section in that part of Ashburton town, but he got away with nothing more than a couple of very black eyes. Also on steep turns if you tightened up the turn a bit too much and tried to pick up the nose with a bit too much top rudder, the Tiger would flick, as fast as a Tiger could flick, into a spin in the opposite direction, and it was good fun.

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By the end of the month I was on to dual and solo aerobatics, loops and stall turns, a loop was very satisfying if you hit your own slipstream again when pulling out as this meant you had described a perfect circle. With a Tiger you had to dive to get up enough speed for a loop, and also a bit for a stall turn, which meant going almost straight up and then at the last second, kick it over and be going almost straight down. It could be quite a gentle manoeuvre if you kept a bit of speed on at the top but let the bank go a little past the vertical. At the end of the month I had done 18 hours dual and 13 hours solo and I hoped I was not becoming overconfident, a trap some fell into.

Dec.7th was the first time I was up at night, I did 8 landings with F/O McNeill on a Single Flare Path. The flare path was made up of a row of goose neck flares, rather like a large flattened watering can with a long spout. Down this spout there was a wick in the bowl of kerosene or maybe kerosene and oil. There were six or eight flares in a row into wind with an extra one at one end to show which end to approach from. Then there was a stand of lights called a Christmas Tree which was where you waited for permission to take off, I think all take offs and landings were controlled by the duty pilot by Aldis Lamp but I don’t think we were able to reply in any way.

There would only be about 4 aircraft on at a time I think, but anyway the system must have been quite efficient to be able to get in the 8 landings in one hour. I was on more night flying on the 10th With Sgt. Higenbotham and after 5 circuits, did three circuits solo in 20 minutes. Earlier on the 10th I had done a dual cross country with P/O Aickin, Ashburton, Albury, Timaru, Gleniti and Ashburton taking 2 hours.

One of the things we had been told was that it was very hard to do things like simple mental arithmetic while concentrating on flying and they sure were right. The next day it was a solo cross country, Ashburton, Hororata, Pleasant Point, Ashburton. We had to prepare a flight plan for these cross countries and the method of navigation was pretty primitive but it was all we could manage. We would mark off the track to the various turning points on the chart and then divide each leg into 10 mile sections with cross marks. With the Met. Wind we would have worked out the course to fly each leg and written all this down on a kneepad on which we were supposed to

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keep a log. If after flying say two of the 10 mile sections you found yourself 2 miles to starboard of track you had to work out that 2 miles in 20 was 6 miles in 60 and that would be about 6 degrees, so if you altered 12 degrees to port and flew that course for the same length of time you should be back on track. Then if you altered course again 6 degrees to starboard, you should then be able to maintain your track, all very well if the wind didn’t change. Also you had to work out a revised ETA at your turning point, and we did have good 8 day clocks in the Tigers. Somehow it all worked out, provided it wasn’t too bumpy or your chart didn’t get sucked out by the slipstream, and this had to be done for each leg, and in the end you had to be able to produce a log for the Instructors to check. It wasn’t as easy as it sounds.

On Dec.15th I had my Final Test with the Chief Flying Instructor and passed, although my slow rolls were not too good, but I had just learnt them anyway. A half roll off the top was quite a good way of changing direction, consisting of half a loop and then rolling right way up so you ended up going 180 degrees to your original course. It wasn’t quite so good in the underpowered Tiger as you had to dive to get up enough speed, and that wouldn’t be too easy if you came out of cloud with a cliff face right in front of you. Another thrill was restarting engine in flight, we only did this dual and I think we had to be near the drome. You had to hold the nose up to the point of almost stalling and turn the switches off. You always had to have quite a bit of height and to have done a check to see that all was clear below, then very reluctantly the prop would come to a standstill. Next you put the switches on again, kicked over into a vertical dive and watched the speed build up towards the maximum permissible. Still there was that prop stuck stationary in front of you. It would not turn over and then just when you were committing yourself to a dead stick landing it would disappear and the engine would be roaring again.

I have forgotten to mention that communication between the Instructor and the pupil was by means of a Gosport Tube. We each had a thing like a rubber funnel in front of us and this was connected by more rubber tubing to ear holes in our flying helmets. It was a bit primitive but worked well in picking up engine and wind noise, but just moderately with voice communication, but it was all there was.

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When the Nor-West winds were likely, if we were up, we would keep an eye on the Rakaia Gap where the Rakaia River came out of the Southern Alps, and if we spotted a cloud of dust coming out we would head for the drome as fast as we could. It was funny to see about 20 or 25 Tigers with their noses down and their tails up, all trying to be first back. If the wind got too strong they would put out two lines of ground crew and pupils too, into wind on the airfield and we would have to land between them. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds as we would be coming in at 65 mph. and the wind might be 40 or so, but you did get buffeted around a bit.

As you neared the ground they would close in on you and then two of them would hold your wingtips as you taxied back to the flight to be picketed down. You cant taxi a Tiger in a strong wind as it always tries to weathercock into wind and any great burst of throttle gets up too much speed with the risk of the wind getting under one wing and putting you on your back.

Another funny thing that happened one windy day, when all flying had been cancelled was that there was a steam traction engine working out on the airfield raking up stones, of which there were millions, and they caused a lot of tailskid damage. Well the Fire Section did not have a crash wagon at the airfield as there was no flying, and in the afternoon they got a phone call to say that there was a Tiger going up. They had about a mile to go and were tootling along leisurely when they spotted a cloud of black smoke. There was a Tiger going up alright, but it was going up in flames. It turned out that a spark had blown out of the smoke stack on the Traction Engine and landed on the doped fabric wing of a Tiger. Result one Tiger a complete write off. At this time the threat of a Japanese Invasion of NZ had not completely disappeared and our Tiger Moths were still fitted with bomb racks and we hoped that it was not going to be us that drew the short straws to repel the landing barges.

The Course came to an end and I made my last flight from Ashburton on Dec.18th having a total of 40 hours 30 minutes dual and 25 hours 50 minutes solo, my proficiency as a pilot was average as also was my proficiency as a pilot-navigator.

I have no recollection as to how I got back to Gisborne, but we were all told that we

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would receive our postings by telegram. While on leave I put in a bit of time fishing and one evening was coming back from either the Ruakituri or Tiniroto in our 1935 Hudson Terraplane with my mother and father. As we came around a corner just on the Gisborne side of the Tiniroto Hill a big Oldsmobile or Studiebaker came towards us on our side of the road. He hit us just about dead centre with his right wing at the same time as I hit the left bank, and my mother who was in the back seat ended up in front with a cut on her head from the rear vision mirror. The poor little Terraplane was crunched in right back to the drivers door but the other car was not so bad. The other driver demanded to see my driving license but I did not have it on me, he must have thought I was too young to have one and, he started to try and bully me into admitting it was my fault. Then he said the sun was in his eyes, but I have been around that corner many times and there is no way it ever gets the sun in the afternoon. He took no notice of his wife who was trying to tell him he was on the wrong side of the road. Eventually he condescended to take us to the Tiniroto Pub from where my father rang Mollie and Wattie who came out and picked us up. By the time the Insurance claim came up I had left for overseas and he denied it was his fault. My father had to get a statement from the breakdown truck driver to the effect that I had hit the bank at the point of impact.

Eventually my telegram came and I was to report to RNZAF H.Q. Auckland, We slept in the YMCA and I think we spent a couple of days with time to wander around the Auckland Streets, as I once had a couple of photos by a street photographer but have lost one of them The other shows Dave Moriarty and Dave Gallagher and the caption for the missing one says, Self, Jack Brightwell and Russ Laws. Russ went missing from Penfield Ridge, New Brunswick on Aug.10th 1943, Jack Brightwell was killed at Jossing Fiord, Norway on Apl.14th 1945, just three weeks before the end of the war in Europe, and Dave Gallagher was killed in Burma on Aug.3rd only a week before the end of the war against Japan. Dave Moriarty was badly wounded over Normandy on Jul.18th 1944, so I was the only lucky one out of the five of us. By a strange series of coincidences one day I met in the Albion Hotel, a chap called Reg Cullen, who was on the same course at Ashburton and who was then flying for Air

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Home on Final Leave, at Findlays

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Two Dave’s, Dave Moriarty and Dave Gallagher. Auckland January 1943 prior to Embarcation Self, Jack Brightwell, and Rus Laws.

Auckland January 1943 prior to Embarcation

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NZ He was at Penfield Ridge and took part in a search of the sea for Russ’s aircraft but all they found was wreckage. In 1946 I went down to Wellington to meet Mary McLean with Fred Hall, the Cray fisherman from Tatapouri, and he was on the same Operation as Jack Brightwell. He told me that as they were approaching the rendezvous point after Jossingfjord two of the Beaufighters collided, one went straight into the sea but the other ditched successfully, and the two crew members got out into their dingy. A Warwick was called in and dropped an airborne lifeboat but this did not release from its parachutes and was carried away by the wind. Then some 109 s appeared and the rest of the squadron had to leave but before they did they saw a fast launch coming out from the land. They were sure that this boat was to pick up the crew from the water, but they were never heard of again. All the German Records for that area for that day were destroyed and it is believed that the crew of two were taken ashore and shot. It is not known for sure which crew was which, but there is a memorial in Jossingfjord to the four men, all New Zealanders.

Then one day I was working on a Tiled Roof at a new house at Manutuke and at smoko time got talking to the builder Phil Webby. He was a Navigator on the same squadron as Dave Gallagher in India and told me that Dave’s crew did not return over the Burmese Hills where the weather was very bad. But I have since learnt that some villagers south of Magwe saw the Liberation flying through a heavy storm completely enveloped in flames and that it suddenly dived into the ground on the West bank of the Irrawaddy River.

Anyway after a couple of days in Auckland we ended up one afternoon down at the wharf alongside a ship called the Bloemfontain. She was a Dutch cargo ship converted into a Troop Transport, was officered by Dutchmen and crewed by Javanese. As an A, I was one of the first aboard and was shown down a vertical iron ladder into the front hold. It was not exactly spotless or free from rust and there were wire mesh bunks four high and three deep around both sides and the front, the back being a bulkhead. Rather selfishly, I picked a bunk on the outer row and not high, there was just enough room between bunks to roll in or out, but nowhere enough to sit up. Our contingent of all trades of aircrew filled this front hold and

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some of the others contained wounded and battle fatigued Americans mostly from Guardalcanal. We were issued with a couple of blankets I think and slept on rather thin mattresses, and I guess we must have carried our kitbags on board with us. We settled in and found we had two RNZAF Pilot Officers in charge of our draft. As we were considered to be Officer Cadets we dined in the Ships Officers Dining Room and the meals were just out of this world. We would be summoned to meals by a little Javanese boy coming down into the hold and playing a tune on a miniature xylophone thing with a little hammer, and go up out of our dirty hold to sit down to three course meals. If there was chicken on the menu, then you got half a chicken split down the middle and the sweets were worthy of being photographed.

However for the first couple of days only the hardy ones went up for meals, we ran into the tail of a bad storm, and most of us were hanging over the side now and again. Russ Laws had a boot polishing outfit in a tin container, and after emptying out the brushes etc. the tin never left his side. He even took it in to meals with him and would suddenly pick it up off the floor and rush out on deck. Every day and night four of us were detailed for submarine watch, two on the Port side of the Bridge and Two on the Starboard. I think we did shifts of two hours at a time, but there was not much show of seeing anything for the first couple of days.

I can remember the waves looked about twice as high as the bridge and then every now and then I would sell out, wipe the tears from my eyes and try and search some more. Then the weather got warmer and the sea calmer and we settled in to the routine. On the bulkhead on the forward end of the hold there were two fresh water taps and basins, and the water was only on for an hour in the morning and again in the evening, so can you imagine about 250 men trying to clean their teeth in that time let alone having a shave. Up on deck there were deckhouses where there were salt water showers and basins and we were issued with salt water soap, but this left you feeling stickier afterwards than you were before. One day in the tropics we ran into a rainstorm, there was a rush for the hold for real soap and up again and in next to no time there was not a stitch of clothing to be seen anywhere up on deck. The best place was under the corner of one of the deckhouses where a

Mc Culloughs & R.n.z.a.f.

regular spout of water poured off. The fact that there were some American Nurses on board didn’t mean a thing, they had seen it all before anyway.

The sea now became very calm and we used to watch the flying fish scattering away from the bow, some were quite big and often after making one flight would just drop their tails into the water and be airborne again. No rubbish could be thrown over until nightfall, not even cigarette butts as they could leave a trail for a submarine to follow. We had P T on deck, lectures, and one of the Officers in charge was a Maori, so we got a good grounding in performing the Airman’s Haka, I can still remember the words today but not the actions. We had been issued with tropical kit, Kahki shirts and shorts and our blue uniforms were stored away. We had no idea when we crossed the Equator and Father Neptune never made an appearance. One day one of the mentally sick Americans jumped overboard, someone on the bridge released a lifebelt, which when tripped just slid down a sloping track, and the ship circled to port. We came up with the lifebelt again but there was no sign of the man so the ship just went back on course without slackening speed.

One day when some of us were having a game of Rugby come Soccer in the hold with a medicine ball, I got my left forearm ripped on someones belt buckle.

It looked as if it needed stitching so I reported to the Ship’s Doctor, a Dutchman of course. He took one look, grunted something in Dutch, and painted it with a solution that looked and smelt like model airplane glue. For a couple of years afterwards I had a series of boils on that arm, but they gradually got smaller and less frequent. The Heads or toilets were up in the bow of the ship and consisted of rows of long troughs with salt water rushing through constantly and each had a row of seats on the top. One day some bright spark made a paper boat, put a match to it and sailed it along a row. There was much consternation and a bit of singeing, and it certainly wasn’t eyebrows that were singed.

On nearing the West Coast of North America we again ran into a storm, but we were seasoned sailors by now and very few succumbed to seasickness this time.

One day a plane appeared and circled the ship with its Aldis lamp flashing out Morse too fast for us to read. It was a Kingfisher, a low wing monoplane with a

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Vancouver Railway Station.

First Snow. Goodies to eat on the train to Edmonton

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single large float under the fuselage and two small wingtip floats. Then it was gone again, and a day or so later we sailed into San Francisco Harbour. We must have come in during the night as I don’t remember seeing the Golden Gate Bridge, but we were docked not far from another long bridge. Our tropical kit had been handed in when the weather had cooled off and we were now back in our Blues.

After being paid in some greenbacks we were allowed ashore with strict instructions to be back at a certain time. We headed off into the city and soon were being pressed by some of the small junk shop owners to buy some of the huge rings they were displaying. They really looked more like Knuckle Dusters and then we noticed that quite a lot of American men wore them. Then several of us were bailed up by some young girls, also practicing their skills at salesmanship.

It turned out that they were from New York and were taking part in a contest to sell subscription in the Saturday Evening Post. This was probably the most popular American Weekly at the time and always had a very topical cover painting by Norman Rockwell. Two year subs were available for the price of one, so I took two years and had it sent to my parents. It always turned up, mostly in batches, and at the end of the two years, when the sub ran out, they were able to renew as they were existing subscribers. It made us realise what a generous people the Americans were when these girls said “If ever you are in New York, give us a ring and come and stay, we have plenty of room” and they meant it too.

We reported back down at the dock and boarded a train for Vancouver, but I have very few memories of the journey. One is how at every stop we saw them loading ice in through the tops of the carriages, each of which had a dispenser for ice water and the other memory is of passing through endless forests of huge trees. We must have spent two nights and a day on the train but I don’t think it was equipped with sleeping compartments. Someone had a camera, Jack Brightwell I think, as I have a photo of Dave Moriarty and myself all togged up in our greatcoats, outside the Canadian National Railway Station holding parcels and bags of what I think was mainly food. We look to be standing ankle deep in snow and also there is a street scene with windrows of dirty snow where it has been graded off the road

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and sidewalk. We headed up into the Rockies to Jasper National Park and a photo of Red Pass Junction shows about a foot of snow on the roof of a building with icicles hanging half way down to the ground. There were many high peaks, snow everywhere and one of the mountains may have been Mount Robson, the highest peak in Canada. At Blue River we saw the Canadian Winter equivalent of a pram, a little sledge with a well wrapped child sitting on it.

When we arrived at Edmonton we were taken to the RCAF manning depot, and rather strangely were given a lecture by the Medical Officer on personal hygiene and to be sure to change our sheets every week. I don’t know who he thought we were or where we had come from. Another thing that we must have been told at this time was that in the RCAF you always salute the flag when you pass it. This didn’t mean much to us, and having arrived at night, we were pretty tired. When we eventually were put into our barracks we noticed that by the door at each end of the room there was a shadow board with various tools on it, but in each case the fire axes were missing. This didn’t really register until the next day when we found out that the previous batch of New Zealanders there had objected being punished for not saluting the flag and had done a Hone Heke on the flagpole. Next morning as we went to the Airman’s Mess for breakfast, it was like walking along the bottom of a ditch, with snow piled up about 6 feet high both sides of the path. We were not allowed into the city to start with, but some bright sparks requisitioned a ladder from the works section and scaled the fence. Later we all were and some of the photos show street scenes with thick snow and a bridge over the North Saskatchewan River and another of Dave Moriarty with a pipe stuck between his teeth.

On camp there was an outdoor skating rink and most of us had a go at keeping on our feet, a photo showing the two Dave’s, Jack Brightwell and myself all holding each other up. Dave Gallagher is wearing his outer flying suit of heavy canvass and Jack Brightwell and myself have our Yukon Caps on. The surface of the rink was restored each night simply by running a hot water hose on it. There were no shortages in the shops on Edmonton, I bought either silk or nylon stockings and sent them home and also bought a pair of ice skates which were still in the shed

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Crossing The Rockies, Red Pass Junction Blue River

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Vancouver Street, Jan. 1943

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at Stout Street when I left there in 94. Most of us became proficient enough to get around without trouble, but one of our course, Ollie England broke his leg and was held back to a later course. He was killed in Burma when a Beaufighter making an emergency landing crashed into his and another Dakota and all three burst into flames. Ice hockey was a very popular sport in Canada and there were many championship games. At one of them, prior to our time, the curtain raiser for a big match was a contest between the Australians and the New Zealanders, it brought the house down because at one stage not one of either team was on his feet, or skates. We were only at Edmonton for five days and the Pilots amongst us were posted to No 3 Service Flying Training School at Currie Barracks, Calgary.

Cessna Cranes with The Rockies in the background

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1943

R.C.A.F. Calgary and Edmonton were boom towns because of the oil exploration which was going on in the area to the North, and although the whole country was flat to slightly rolling it was in fact 3675 ft. above sea level at the airfield. The Canadian Rockies were not very far away and the scenery was pretty impressive. The aircraft we were to learn to fly were Cessna Cranes, twin engined low wing monoplanes slightly resembling an Airspeed Oxford. They were powered by two Jacobs L4MB engines but I am not sure of the horsepower, about 300 I should think. Several of the Instructors were Americans, but now I can’t remember which ones. I started off with F/O Reynolds and after 5 hours 45 minutes dual I was sent off solo on Feb 17th for 25 minutes, probably a couple of circuits and landings. The Crane was a rather sedate sort of aircraft and seemed a little unstable laterally, it had a tendency to waddle a little, first one wing forward a bit and then the other. It had a retractable undercarriage and flaps, both electrically operated, and the wheels were half showing under the engine nacelles when fully retracted.

On Feb. 13th we had our first flying accident, when a Crane taking off, collided with another doing an overshoot along the line of the runway. I was on just my third dual flight when the Instructor F/O Reynolds made me circle over the crash site, just off the end of the runway, where both aircraft were burning on the ground. Two of our course, L.A.C. McDonald and L.A.C. Walkinshaw and their Instructors were the first deaths we had encountered and it was driven home to us when we all had to attend the burial with the Last Post and a Firing Party.

I see from my Log Book that we all did a certain amount of passenger time and this was generally when one pupil was doing dual instrument flying with his exterior vision screened off and another pupil would act as lookout on the Port side and the Instructor on the Starboard. Then the pupils would swap places for about the same length of time. We did quite a lot of Navigation Exercises but they are just down in my Log Book as Nav. Exercise No.3 or Nav.Exercise No.5, so I have no idea where we went, but by Mar. 21st we Royal Canadian Air Force Identity Card

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were flying with our fellow pupils. I see that on that date I did 2 hours 50 minutes with L.A.C. Anderson as 1st Pilot, which must mean that he did the flying and I did the navigating. This would have been Jack Anderson who was the old man of our course, about 28 I think. Again on Apl. 5th I was the first pilot and L.A.C. Gallagher was the navigator on Nav. Exercise No. 7. We had started night flying on Mar. 31st and my Instructor was now F/O Bell-Irving, who remained my Instructor for the rest of the course. On Apl. 1st I did 3 night landings solo and on the 3rd another 5. One of the hazards of night flying at Calgary at certain times of the year was the floodlit Hydro Dam in the circuit. When the wild geese were migrating they sometimes circled and landed on the Dam at night and a Cessna Crane was not up to a mid air collision with one or more Canada Geese, one had crashed on a previous course. The idea of floodlighting was, we were told, to prevent sabotage.

We did some night cross countries but these were with an Instructor and the turning points were towns which of course were lit up. About this time the days were getting warmer and the snow on the runway and taxiways would thaw during the day and refreeze again where there were puddles at night. The aircraft were fitted with toe brakes which took a bit of getting used to, and we were expected to park wing tip to wing tip in a straight line on the tarmac in front of the hangar. It was pretty tricky as a braked wheel would skid on the ice and grip when it came to dry concrete and I remember someone getting into trouble touching wingtips.

Earlier a snow plough had cleared a rather heavy snowfall from the runway and left a heap of piled up snow along each side, so woe betide you if you swung on take off or landing. Also the tail wheel of a Crane used to shimmy badly so the aircraft were equipped with a tail wheel lock. You locked it when you lined up for take off and unlocked it at the end of your landing run, if you remembered. Often we saw a Crane trying to turn off at the end of the runway but refusing to because the pupil had forgotten to unlock that blasted tail wheel. And if you forgot to lock it for take off it would shimmy so badly you thought the tail was going to shake off.

On Apl. 17th I was briefed for a cross country, Calgary – Milo – Kirkpatrick – Penhold – Calgary. I cannot find Milo on the map, but Kirkpatrick is about 60

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Course 74 ‘A’ Flight

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miles North-East of Calgary and Penhold was an RAF drome about 150 miles to the North. The Cranes had one fuel tank in each wing and rather basic fuel gauges which we were told were somewhat unreliable. From memory they only told you whether your tanks were full, three quarters, half, or quarter full. My cockpit check had shown everything OK before takeoff but after about 20 minutes, the port gauge still read full but the starboard one read empty. The standard drill was to turn on the cross feed between the two tanks and if the gauges still showed the same then it was safe to assume a faulty gauge. This I did, and there was no change, but after my turning point at Kirkpatrick the topography I was flying over changed and below me were a series of creeks flowing along deepish gullies, most of which were filled with pine forest. Some of this looked burnt over and was certainly no place for a forced landing, still I had plenty of fuel or so I thought. By the time I arrived over Penhold I decided discretion was the best thing and joined the circuit full of Oxfords, and got a green to land. I reported to the Control Tower, told them my story and they said, no problem, we will fill you up and report to Currie Field what you are doing. From my Log Book I see that it took me 2 hours 25 minutes to get to Penhold and the direct route back to Calgary took an hour. Nothing was said until they had refueled the aircraft and it was found to have used much more fuel than an hours flying, so it was started up and when the starboard motor was running fuel was pouring out of a loose union on the fuel line. The aircraft had just come out of the hangar after an overhaul, so someone would get it in the neck. I had to count myself lucky as a forced landing on parts of the route would not have been survivable.

A few miles to the South of Currie Field there was another RCAF field called Shepard, where there was a training school for Wireless Operators. The very experienced staff pilots there flew little Fleet Forts, just a pupil under training and the pilot. We often did forced landing approaches there but never actually landed, and it was fairly common to be on your approach when a Fleet Fort would cut in ahead of you and go in to land. One day as I was doing an approach dual, this happened and the airfield Control Officer at the end of the runway gave us a red

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on the Aldis Lamp. Before I could start to overshoot, the Instructor said to carry on with the approach, another red, then a red Verey Cartridge and another. Then I was allowed to overshoot and as we turned away the Instructor had a great chuckle.

The Verey Cartridges had started a fire in the neighboring wheat stubble and there was a fire tender off in a hurry to put it out. I think it was on May 2nd when I was up solo on Armament Exercise No.5 that I encountered strong updrafts and tried to see how high the Crane could go. I got up to 17,000 feet but almost got into trouble on return as I was away much longer than authorised. My excuse was that I was not satisfied with my exercise and did it all over again.

We used to get leave every now and then and sometimes go into the City.

The tram lines were right outside the camp gate, and visit the excellent parks etc.

There was quite a good Zoo where we saw Coyotes and Squirrels and I suppose many other North American animals too. There were also concrete replicas of Dinosaurs; of which there were a lot of their bones discovered in this area. Some were so large that you could walk upright right underneath them. Also there were lots of waterways we could explore by canoe. In general though we did not have much contact with the local population, as far as I know, none of us ever got to see the inside of a Canadian home. This was quite the opposite in Eastern Canada where most of the RCAF Stations had standing invitations for overseas trainees to stay with local families. Many of the Navigators and Bomb Aimers training around Winnipeg became engaged to or married Canadian girls. One weekend some of us went up to Banff by train and stayed in a boarding house. We had a good look at the Bow Falls and the huge Banff Springs Hotel, which was closed at the time, but whether it was for the season or for the war I am not sure. We hired bikes and got around quite a bit and I hired a trout rod but didn’t have any luck. We had a pretty good time though and resolved to go back again, if we could.

The Bow Falls

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Look at the size Lyn Price and Self canoeing in Calgary Park

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Banff Main Street Another view down Main Street Bridge over Bow River at Banff Banff Spring Hotel

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Biking around enjoying the leave Fishing in the Bow River at Banff Jack Brightwell and Self at Banff

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Gopher I’ll get you next time Get that string off me

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One of our pastimes, if we had a half day off, was to try and catch gophers, little ground squirrels which were very common around the perimeter of the airfield.

They were very watchful and would duck down their burrows as we approached, but we would put a slip knot noose around the hole and retire a distance to the other end of our piece of string. After a while just the top of a head and a couple of eyes would appear, but if we kept still a little more and a little more would come out. Then a jerk on the string and Gotcha. They had a nasty pair of little fangs and it was a bit of a risk holding them to get the noose off again and let them go.

I remember another day we went for a walk outside the perimeter fence down to where the hydro lake was and met a family of Indians. They would not speak to us and averted their faces when we went to take a photograph.

Our Low Flying area was in the vicinity of Eagle Lake to the East of Calgary.

One day an Instructor and Pupil flew low across the lake and as they lifted up over willow trees on the far shore, a duck did the same thing in the opposite direction.

It went straight through the windscreen, between their two heads and wrecked the radio set in the back of the cabin. Apparently the cabin was full of blood and feathers whirling around in the gale coming through the hole. Two rather shaken, blood splattered men emerged when they got back, but neither were hurt. The course eventually came to an end and my last flight in a Crane was one and a half hours solo low level formation on May 26th. By this time all the snow had melted, there were little lakes and water holes everywhere and the weather had become quite warm. It was rather bumpy low down and we didn’t tuck in so closely in low level formation as we could higher up. My total hours were now 126.45 dual and 96.30 solo and my assessments were, as a Twin engined Pilot, Average, as a Pilot-navigator, High Average, and in Bombing, Above Average, so there was not much doubt as to where I would end up. My 3 decompression chamber tests of 2 hours at 35,000 ft. recommended that I was You two, get your hands out of your pockets

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not suitable for high altitude duties, and I was authorised to wear the Pilots flying Badge as from May 28th 1943.

We had our Graduation Banquet at the Palliser Hotel, on May 26th and the Graduates consisted of 3 RAF, 5 RCAF and 46 RNZAF, there were about 90 Guests and it was quite a party, I think that future courses might have trouble booking the Palliser (known as the Paraliser) for a similar do. I seem to remember several games of Rugby up and down the corridors with bread rolls for balls and someone slept in one of the baths all night. Another bath was being used to keep the grog cool. The Canadians had very strange liquor laws, down in the city there were beer parlours with separate entrances for males and females, tables and chairs down the sides, but when you got down to the bar it was common to both sexes, I can’t remember whether you could have a female at your table but I don’t think so.

Then you couldn’t take any liquor away with you, you had to have a liquor licence, which restricted you to so much of this or that per month, according to the strength of the booze you were buying. We all had to go down to the Govt. Liquor Store to get enough for the Party and produce our Identity Cards to get our licences. I was only 20 at the time and if the minimum age was 21, it did not seem to matter.

We must have had our Passing Out Parade earlier in the day and it was supposed to be a great occasion. Quoting from the Calgary Herald of the day. “Fledgling Flyers of Great Britain and her Dominions, on parade at No 3 S F T S , Currie Field, on Monday afternoon, were urged to live up to the record of Canadian aces of the last Great War and the present conflict, when the current graduating class was addressed by His Excellency, the Earl of Athlone, Governor-General of Canada, before the largest crowd in the history of the station. His Excellency presented Wings to a class of 50 airmen, and although the majority were New Zealanders, there was a sprinkling of Scotsmen, Irishmen and several Canadians in the graduating class.

A large crowd awaited the distinguished visitors at the airfield. Long before the vice regal party was due to arrive, every seat was taken and the crowd overflowed into the lawns. The whole station personnel was drawn up in flights before the official stand, while yellow planes bearing the insignia pf the RCAF formed a fitting background.

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The brass band of the No 2 wireless school RCAF played the National Anthem as the Governor-General took the Salute. The Guard of Honour was composed of the graduating class and a company representing the women’s division of the RCAF, the latter a tribute to Her Royal Highness, who joined the inspection party at this point. And then there was a lot of back scratching.

We were then called up by name and had our wings pinned on by the old chap.

At first there was applause from the crowd as each one marched up but it gradually petered out unless it was one of the Canadians, so we realised that a lot of the crowd were there to see the Vice Regal Party and not us. Then the Adjutant announced that the Governor-General would present a Gold Identification Bracelet to a student, in recognition of his standing first in the graduating class. He then called for L.A.C. Gisborne to come forward. There was no Gisborne on the course so we all thought that the poor old Adj. has stuffed it up again. We regarded him as a bit of a ning-nong, because while we were once subjected to a pep talk which included an address from Buzz Beurling, a Canadian fighter ace from Malta, the Adj. kept on referring to Messerschmitt 190 s and Focke Wulf 109 s, and of course he had the numbers mixed up. Beurling was a down to earth character, and lost no time in putting him right. Then from the Adj. again rather tersely, “Will L.A.C. Gisborne from Aitken New Zealand come forward”. Still nobody moved until someone near me said “Christ, Johnny, that might be you.” So out I marched and up to the dias, where the Gov. was holding this Bracelet. He looked at both sides of it and when I put out my wrist he growled, “No, boy, I’m not going to put it on you.” He then put it back in its little case, handed it to me and I had to march back to my position with my left arm stiffly at my side holding the case. It has on one side RNZAF wings and L.A.C. Aitken J.K., NZ. 421488, and on the other, Senior Graduate Course 74 No. 3 S.F.T.S., May 28.43. My thoughts were, why in the hell didn’t they warn me that this was going to happen and also I don’t suppose it will be much good, the gold will melt in a fire, and probably some lucky erk scratching through a burnt out wreck will find a blob of gold and be none the wiser. But I still have it, and it must be gold as it is quite scratched and also has some sort of hall mark on it.

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Got my WINGS at last And a gold bracelet

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Course 74, Wings Parade

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Skite Ditto

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So ended the course. I bought a little Baby Ikonta camera off the chap who had taken the photos at the Wings Parade and took some shots of the boys outside the barracks.

There was Lyn Price who survived the war and was in the NZR in Timaru, I think, but died a few years back, and Keith Marsh, who was with Jack Brightwell, but was on leave when Jack was killed. He wrote and told me and it was a terrible shock to lose such a good mate when the war was almost over. Keith lives in Reigate, Surrey and I visited him one day when I was staying with Kay. I get a lovely tea towel from him every year, and because my table is usually covered in papers, I can always clear enough space to use one of these tea towels for a table cloth.

We were all promoted automatically to Sgts. and given leave from 0645 hours on May 29/43 until 2200 hours on June 7/43, with permission to visit U.S.A. whilst on leave, but we had to pick up another pass at Toronto on our way to the States.

We had enjoyed our previous visit to Banff so much, that five of us, Daves Moriarty and Gallagher. Jack Brightwell, Lyn Price and myself went up there for a few days before heading off East. We hired a little log cabin just across the river from the shopping area and had no trouble feeding ourselves as food rationing in Canada was a bit of a joke. We hired canoes and paddled up river, then up a little creek and under a railway bridge, then when the creek got narrow we dragged the canoes until we came out onto a little lake. On the far side there were a couple of Moose (plural?) but they took off before we got near and several Beavers swimming around. When we paddled up near them they would slap the water hard with their tails and dive and it was good fun, we even got close enough to get splashed from the slap.

Jack Brightwell with Beaver sized wood chips

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The view from our log cabin

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We hired some canoes Under the Railway Bridge

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Up a side creak And explored upriver

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Another day we went up the main river and did some fishing, I caught a couple of smallish trout but when I got back to where Dave Gallagher was, he had two decent sized ones, but I think a few worms lost their lives in the process. However we now had plenty for a good meal. We had all been promoted to Sgts. and there is a good photo of us outside the log cabin. We hired bikes and biked or more likely pushed the bikes up to Lake Minnewanka, which was about 800ft. higher up than Banff.

The lake was shaped rather like Wakatipu but nowhere near as big, and we hired a couple of row boats. We saw more beaver and I got a photo of a Rocky Mountain Sheep in the bush near the lake. It had good sweeping horns and looked quite impressive, also there were some young ones on a rocky outcrop which were very tame, almost inquisitive. Jack Brightwell caught a lake trout so we had enough for another meal.

There was snow on the tops but really the weather was rather warm. It must have snowed again the night before we left as a photo shows about 12 of us at the railway station in pouring rain but snow on the station roof.

We had rail warrants that took us pretty well anywhere and after returning to Calgary we boarded a train to take us to Toronto. I think it would have taken a couple of days and nights but the carriages were made up into sleepers for each night and there was a very plush dining car as well. I remember one evening the train coming to a stop in the middle of nowhere, for several deer to cross the tracks.

As we neared Toronto we traveled along the edge of the great lakes and it seemed to last all day. The train used to stop now and then to pick up supplies and I saw several huge Great Lakes trout being taken in to the dining car, these being on the menu for lunch. The meals were of a very high standard, but it was a very long journey, but not as bad as a coast to coast I suppose.

And caught some fish for tea

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On leave at Banff, 4 Sgt. Pilots Our log cabin. Self, Moriarty, Gallagher and Price

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Biked to Lake Minnewanka and hired Dingy’s We saw a Rocky Mountain Wild Sheep Jack Brightwell caught a Great Lake Trout

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Leaving Banff in the pouring rain

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We must have stopped at Toronto as I have a leave pass signed on Jun. 3rd at the Orderly Room No.1 Training Command, Toronto, but I think we then went on to Montreal, and crossed the St. Lawrence River on a very long bridge. Some photos of Montreal show trees in blossom and a cab rank of horses and carriages for doing a sightseeing trip of the city. We went on down to New York and arrived at the Grand Central Station mid morning. We hired a Yellow Cab, asked to be taken to the ANZAC Club and eventually figured out that what the driver was asking was “Wats der location” we were relying on him and he next asked, “How do yer spell it, A, N, Zee, A, Kay”. Anyway we set off and got a short sharp lesson in city driving.

Apparently the traffic lights go green in sequence down the street and the idea was to plant your boot on a green and then see if you could make ten blocks, or only nine before you got a red. Forty to fifty mph was quite OK and if you could beat the Yellow Cab in the adjoining lane, then that was even better. We arrived safely at the ANZAC Club and were made very welcome, accommodation was arranged and a program worked out for our stay. We were sent to the Rockefeller Centre and wisked up to the top floor in a high speed lift so fast that it takes five floors to slow down so it can stop without you leaving the floor. The view was great with the Empire State Building nearby and only just a whisker taller, the ride down in the lift the opposite of going up and you could feel your knees wanting to buckle as it took five floors to slow down, then we had tickets to a show in the centre’s theatre and saw the Rockettes, a chorus line that went from one side of the stage to the other. The Club was organised by a New Zealand woman but I just can’t remember her name, we could have seen other sights or shows too, but didn’t have the time.

Before long we were on our way back and arrived at Niagara Falls on the USA side to cross back into Canada.

From memory it was after dark and as we walked over the long bridge we came across a Canadian soldier struggling Two Daves’ and part of St. Patricks, New York

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along with two big kit bags. As we were all traveling pretty light we offered to help him and after we had passed through border control and customs he thanked us profusely. On being asked why he had such big bags, he replied that they contained American Cigarettes which he would sell at a good profit in Canada. We got lodgings for the night and were up early in the morning to see the sights, we could hear the falls but it was so misty that we could not see anything. We were running out of time to get to Halifax before our leave ran out and had to catch a train.

So we never saw the falls after all. On the way up from New York the train had stopped at a station and as we stepped out we had cardboard boxes of comforts handed to us by women volunteers. They contained sandwiches, biscuits, fruit and drinks and it didn’t matter which service of which country you were in, you were still so generously treated.

We arrived at the Manning Depot at Halifax on time and I remember being put into barracks where the chap in the bottom bunk ground his teeth all night, I got hardly any sleep. After a couple of days I was told that I had been commissioned as a Pilot Officer and that I had better get into town and get my new uniform. I think we got a once only uniform allowance of fifty dollars but the grapevine said to get as little as possible in Canada and wait till you got to England. The Canadian outfitters were well aware of this and probably had a deal going with someone at the camp that you had to have a minimum of this and that before you leave. I bought a uniform jacket and trousers, a shirt and tie, a garbardine raincoat and that was more than my fifty bucks gone. Halifax was rather an old fashioned city and the tram cars rattled up and down between the city and the camp. They did not turn around at the end of a run, but had a control compartment at each end, each with a big crank handle to wind around to get up speed. Of course they were easy prey for some of the boys after a session in a pub to wait until the driver got out of one end and then to take off in the opposite direction under NZ or Aussie control. I was walking down a road in the camp one day and passed an airman who was supposed to salute me but didn’t. It was no worry to me as I would have had to salute back, but suddenly there was a roar from a Senior Officer “Hey You”. I hadn’t got used

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to ignoring that form of address yet, so stopped and this bloke stormed up berating the airman for not saluting and me for not putting him on a charge. Luckily a van had been going up the road at about that time and I managed to convince him that it was between us as we passed, which of course it wasn’t, but at least peace was restored, in the minds of two of us anyway.

On the afternoon of Jun. 23rd we marched or were bussed down to the Wharf to go aboard the Louis Pasteur, a pretty large ship which once had contested the Blue Riband award for the fastest Atlantic crossing from Europe to New York. There were something like 6000 servicemen and women aboard, quite a big contingent of Air Force personell including some WAAFs, and a lot of Canadian Army. The ship was capable of 26 or 28 knots and she sailed alone. She was fitted out as a troopship in the British way, with 9 compartments and 5 decks. We were put in compartment E 9 which meant we were in the 5th deck down, about 2 below the waterline, and the 9th from bow to stern, which meant we were almost right over the propellers.

There were long tables running out from the sides with forms to sit on, and at night men slept on the tables, under the tables and on the deck between the tables. Along the sides were lockers containing hammocks which were slung each night above the tables, so close together that you could reach out and touch the one next to you. I opted for a hammock and it was strange to wake in the morning and see this layer of hammocks all perfectly still and the rest of the compartment rolling all around the place. We had no duties so could spend the time reading or playing cards etc.

There were only two meals a day and the queue for each went around the ship a couple of times, even though we had different coloured cards for different sittings.

There was no chance of being able to double up and get back to three meals a day.

Down on each mess deck there were wash rooms and toilets along the center of the ship but I can’t remember if it was fresh or salt water. Generally it wasn’t too bad though, the worst thought was the possibility of an acoustic torpedo which would home on the noise from the propellers. One day we were all ordered below and then there was the sound of a lot of gunfire from up top, but they assured us afterwards that they were only having a practice shoot. They might have told us that first!

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As we neared the coast of Ireland a couple of Spits shot past much to everyone’s delight and away in the distance we could see and hear a destroyer or frigate dropping depth charges. But we sailed into the Irish Sea OK and as we approached Liverpool we saw anti aircraft towers sticking out of the sea. We docked in Liverpool after 2300 hours, but by Double British Summer Time it was still broad daylight, and not very far away we could see the Liver Birds on the top of their building. Not long after dark we were on a train heading South in fits and starts and a couple of Army cooks came around with steaming dixies of mashed spuds and corned beef. We must have all been pretty hungry because it sticks in my mind as one of the best feeds I have ever had. By daylight we were close to London and viewing the bomb damage from the slowly moving train. We eventually got to Brighton where all the Sgts. went to the Grand Hotel and we Officers were put into two adjoining hotels just by the pier. They had been quality hotels before being taken over and were just across the road from the waterfront.

The next day we were paraded and marched to a hall in what might have been the civic center, a building with lots of little towers and domes. There we were addressed by Bill Jordan, the NZ High Commissioner to UK who welcomed us to Britain and if we ever had any problems to come up to London and see him or his staff. While he was making his welcome speech the air raid sirens sounded but he never faltered and it was a good lesson to us. Away in the distance we could hear the cough, cough, cough of a Bofors and a couple of distant crumps, then after a few minutes the all clear sounded. By this time the Luftwaffe was on the defensive in France but on days when the visibility was poor they made what were called Tip and Run raids. A pair of 109s or 190s would approach the South Coast towns at low level, do a steep turn at the coast line, releasing a couple of 500 lb bombs in the turn at the buildings on the waterfront. We were issued with clothing coupons, and given a few days leave. Most of us headed up to London which was a little over an hour from Brighton by train. I went to Montague Burtons, tailors, and was measured up for a new uniform, cost, 12 pounds 10 shillings and a spare pair of strides for 25 bob.

Also I bought a Greatcoat, I think this was off the rack, but it was beautiful material

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and lasted me till well after I got home and was discharged from the active reserve at the age of 32. Years after I bought it I found a little note, address and phone number in a pocket within a pocket, I presume from the girl who had made it. All the clothing from Montague Burtons or Austin Reeds was of excellent quality, as they specialised in Uniforms for Officers of the three Services. I still have that uniform jacket and can still get into it but had to shift the buttons a bit. The trousers I wore out and the greatcoat suffered from moth damage, so it must have been thrown out.

While in London I got in touch with Dad’s cousin, Jack Aitken, who picked me up at the NZ Forces Club in Charing Cross Rd. and took me home by tube. I was made so very welcome there that I will never forget them, May was kindness itself and Douglas was aged about 10. Any time I was ever in London, I only had to ring up and there was always a bed there for me. When they moved to Glasgow it was just the same, but of course that was a bit further away. I soon got the hang of traveling by tube, going South on the Northern Line to the last station, Merton Park I think it was called, and then a short walk took me to 90 Sandbourne Avenue, Morden. In 1978 when Bett and I were there we tried to find the house and after one false move, we went straight to it. It was just like a home away from home for me. Jack had been in the army in World War 1 and was now an Officer, a Captain I think, in the Artillery. Some nights when there was an air raid on I visited anti aircraft batteries with him, they had 3.7s I think, but on Wimbledon Common not very far away, there was a battery of heavier (Naval ?) guns and they certainly rattled the slates on the roof. Jack took me several times to see some of the sights around London and I can remember going to Hampton Court with him. He was a salesman for a Glasgow firm who made, amongst other things, traveling overhead cranes for factories.

One day I was with him when we called at an engineering works on the South side of the Thames Estuary and asked to see the Manager.

The receptionist called out to the Boss in the Jack Brightwell, N.Z. Forces Club, Charing Cross Rd

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office upstairs that he had a visitor and when he asked who it was she replied “Jack Aitken”. Quick as a wink Jack called out “Two Jack Aitkens” and the reply he got was “One’s enough”. This part of Britain was very badly bomb damaged with rows of buildings missing and wild flowers growing up among the ruins.

In their dining room there was a steel reinforced table under which we were supposed to shelter if there was a sudden raid and down at the bottom of the garden was a small underground shelter complete with blast wall across the entrance, where several people could shelter if the raid was going to go on all night. I never actually spent any nights in that one but many a time crouched under the table with May, Jack and Douglas, and it certainly was a bit of a tight fit. Later on I used to take a lot of persuading to get out of my warm bed upstairs.

From my logbook I see that it took us 8 days to get from Halifax to Brighton so we must have taken a rather devious route across the Atlantic. At last after 20 days at Brighton I was posted to No 15 (P) A F U, (Pilots Advanced Flying Unit) at Andover. We were there to do a Battle Course which involved a lot of P T and exercises like throwing live grenades and shooting on the range, some of the time wearing gas respirators. Grenade throwing from a trench was quite an education in their effectiveness as you could hear the fragments whine through the air and see the grass stalks above the trench being cut off. Shooting on the range wearing a respirator was not easy either as no matter how much anti-fog you put on the lenses, they still fogged up. We found out afterwards that those who got high scores had cunningly unscrewed the right eyepiece right out and it was hard to spot the difference. Another day we had to run an obstacle course of a mile or so, over this wall, under this obstruction and at the end line up in our groups of about 8 or 9 about 25 yards back from a scrim fence into which clay birds had been inserted.

We were all issued with 5 rounds, but were not allowed to open fire until our team was complete. The targets were backed up by a railway embankment and just as our team was complete we had to wait while a train went past. Of course we were all puffing like anything and it wasn’t too easy to hit these clays, but I think I got 4, and our team came second.

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May, Douglas and Jack Aitken Jack and Douglas in Uniform

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At Jack and May Aitkens House, for me the nearest thing to home 90 Sandbourne Av. Morden, South London

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Looking across the neighbors shelter etc View of the House from the rear

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Back garden and Air Raid Shelter

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Jack took me to see Hampton Court The Thames at Hampton Court Hampton Court palace Hampton Court Gardens Bloomsbury Square

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Wellington Arch by Hyde Park corner Soap Box Orator, Hyde Park corner Out for a Sunday stroll

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Boating on the Serpentine

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It was about the last day of the course that we were divided up into two teams which were to engage in a mock battle with Army Officers as umpires, and points were to be awarded for this and that. The side I was on were to defend a small hilltop with trenches and the opposition were to assault the hill. We were issued with P14 rifles, plenty of blank cartridges and some thunder-flashes to simulate grenades. A thunder-flash is a very large fire-cracker with about a 7 second fuse on it. We found that we could jamb one of these on the muzzle of a P14 and with a blank cartridge send it about 200 yards. I climbed up a tree near the trench and directed the thunder-flash explosions as the enemy approached out of sight from the level of the trench, and I reckoned that we had pretty well eliminated them.

However the umpires let them approach and then they laid on a charge, eventually appearing above us on the edge of the trench. One of them, a Canadian I think, shoved his rifle down at me and pulled the trigger. I caught most of the blast on the left side of my face and it knocked me down in the bottom of the trench from where I was unable to get up again. My left eye was rather the worse for wear and my face pitted with powder burns. I was taken by ambulance to an American Army hospital near Salisbury where my eye was operated on, my face cleaned up and then returned to sick quarters in a splendid old country mansion near Andover Airfield. My head was all bandaged but my right eye was clear so I could get around alright and after being there a couple of days I lifted the bandages to see what my left eye was like. It was very depressing as all I could see was one big blood clot and I had no vision in that eye. I thought my flying days were over before they had hardly got started. But I was wrong, the bandages came off, I was fitted with a black patch, and the vision gradually got better. Eventually I was examined by a specialist R A F Medical Officer and the eye test was a piece of cake. I had noticed the eye chart as I walked into his room and the bottom line was T A U P O and a couple of other letters at which I had a guess. Andover was a peace time R A F Station and had been pretty badly beaten up during the Battle of Britain, quite a few of the buildings were in ruins and they had just been left like that. One of the more interesting buildings was a dome shaped one for training aerodrome defense

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personell and inside it a movie camera projected images of aircraft on the inside of the dome. You could have a series of Stukas peeling off and coming straight down on you with all the accompanying noise, while you had a replica machine gun with all its noise too, and the instructor was able to record any hits you were making.

Well after being at Andover for a month instead of a week I was posted to Ramsbury to learn to fly Oxfords.

Mepal, Home of 75 N.Z. Squadron

R.a.F.

1943­-1944

R.A.F. I started flying at Ramsbury on Aug. 23rd with Flt/Sgt. Howland as my Instructor. Ramsbury was a picturesque little village on the river Kennet which I found out later was a well known trout stream, and the airfield was up on a hill to the south of the village. The whole area was delightful with winding country roads beneath huge overhanging trees, little thatched cottages and being summer, we enjoyed our time off biking around the countryside. After 4 hours 20 minutes dual, including a check with the flight commander, I was sent solo on Aug. 26th and did quite a bit more solo the next day. The Oxford was not as forgiving an aircraft as the Crane was, and was all the better trainer for that. It was quite docile in an unpowered stall, but when the power was on, it was very quick to drop a wing and rather reluctant to bring it up again, when you put on full opposite rudder and stick forward. It was the first time we had flown anything that you didn’t deliberately have to put in a spin. There were quite a few tales of pupils getting into a spin, unable to it get out, but when they got near the rear door to bale out, the change in the centre of gravity brought the Oxford out on its own. OK if you had enough height to get back to the controls. Another nasty little habit it had was that as it was summer time it got rather warm in the cockpit, rather like a glasshouse, but if you slid the window open a little, whit!, your map was gone off your knees never to be seen again.

A rather ingenious exercise of night flying during daylight was called Day/ night, and we started on this the first week we were there. Along one side of the runway there was a row of powerful sodium lights and also in the cockpit there was a light behind the pilot which lit up the instruments. The pupil had to wear a pair R.A.F. Indentity Card

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of very dark glasses through which you could not see anything but the instruments and runway lights. The exercise was always carried out dual so the Instructor kept a lookout for other aircraft, and the only problem was that the Oxford had a nasty little habit of swinging on landing, but usually to starboard and the sodium lights were on both sides of the runway. We did a fair numbers of cross country flights, and it was so different from what we had been used to in Canada. There were little villages everywhere looking much like each other, winding roads and railway lines going in all directions, I had only done 5 hours solo on Oxfords when I was sent on Nav Exercise No. 5, I can’t remember where I went, but my log book shows that it was a 3 hour flight, and I must have ended up back at Ramsbury alright. We also did some cross country flights with other pupils and the names, Sgt. Squibb, Sgt. Klucnzy, and P/O Fowke are in my log book. Sgt. Klucnzy’s name cropped up in some documents I got in 1978 from the Public Records Office in Kew, and he and Fowke were both Canadians. Fowke was the owner of a revolver which he could convert from .22 to .38 by changing the barrel and other parts, and used to take pot shots at squirrels with the .22. I would have dearly liked to have bought it off him but he would not part with it.

All the accommodation huts and various Messes etc. were scattered around in surrounding woodland and each little cluster of huts there would be a few Officers, a few sergeants, and the rest airmen so that if one site was wiped out in an air raid, the casualties would not be all Officers. I well remember the big Hazel Nut trees overhanging the huts, wash rooms etc. and the squirrels running up and down storing their nuts. About this time I was getting a series of warts on my hands and was always knocking the tops off, which caused them to bleed.

The M.O. saw this in the mess one night and told me to report to Sick Quarters in the morning. He had me going in every day to have caustic applied, but after a couple of weeks with no real improvement, he topped them all with a scalpel and then applied the caustic. Well I passed out and when they picked me up off the floor I swore I was finished with the treatment. I never went back, but the warts went away and have been too frightened to ever come back.

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On Sept. 15th I went to No.1 Beam Approach School at Watchfield, flying Oxfords still, to learn to use the Lorenz Beam Approach. This was a standard type of blind approach using a radio beam lined up with the runway in use. From memory I think you got dashes to the right and dots to the left and if you were right on the beam the two signals were superimposed so you got a continuous signal. As you flew down the beam it got narrower and right over the end of the runway there was a cone of silence, so you knew roughly where you were. The idea was to turn on to the reciprocal and, after crossing the cone again, follow the beam for, I think 30 seconds, which you had to count to yourself, turn 30 degrees to starboard for 30 seconds, and then do a rate one turn to port of 210 degrees which should have then brought you back on the beam. All this was done at 1000ft., so then you started letting down at so many feet per minute along the beam and at 800ft. should be passing over the outer marker, a signal superimposed on the beam. If all was OK you continued letting down and there was another signal on the airfield boundary at which you should be at 300ft. All this was done under the hood, and at this stage the Instructor would whip the hood away, if you had done everything right, lo and behold there was the runway right in front of you. By today’s standards it would be a very primitive system, but at that time it was all there was, and must have saved many, many lives. Once we got on to later aircraft, the receiver was standard equipment, so the training was invaluable. There were a few variations and I see that we had to do some approaches with Kicker (a type of radio compass) only and some with aural signals only. Of course the whole idea was to get you down when the airfield was closed in with low cloud, but the Germans had perfected the idea to a high degree and used a similar system for blind bombing. After doing about 10 hours on this course I went back to Ramsbury, and on Sept. 21st started night flying. Of course it was very different to night flying in Canada as the whole countryside was completely blacked out except for a series of red flashing beacons each with their own coded signal.

Sometimes several aircraft and a bunch of pupils and instructors would fly over to a nearby airfield at Membury for night flying. I found out later that this was an American airfield but they did not do any night flying, After we had got up a

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few hours at night we were sent of beacon flying, for example on Sep. 23rd I did 45 minutes dual beacon flying with the Flight Commander, F/Lt. Baxter, then 1 hour solo, then a W/T cross country dual with P/O Gosper of 1 hour 50 minutes, and then another 1 hour 30 minutes solo beacon flying. Mostly I think beacon flying was doing a triangular flight from one flashing beacon to another and then back to base and round again till your time was up. That was over 5 hours for the night and it was great to be able to go into the airmen’s mess for a fed of toast, plenty of margarine and golden syrup, then off to bed until the next night. We also did some longer cross countries at night and had to turn our log in for checking. One pupil turned in a perfect log, but claimed he had been shot at when at his most distant turning point, However they had a radar plot of his flight which showed that he had done it in reverse by putting red on blue on his compass. This meant that every course he flew was 180 degrees away from the correct one and he had been down over the Channel Islands instead of up towards the Midlands. So much for the perfect log he had cooked up after he had got back, but quite ingenious! The Germans on the Channel Islands were a bit unfriendly.

Out on the flight where the aircraft were picketed down each night, some of the ground crew were WAAF s and one of their tasks was to crank the starters for the pupils. The Oxford was turned over with a longish crank handle inserted into the nacelle and the ground crew knelt on the wing while the pupil operated the switches and throttle in the cockpit. Often on cold mornings they would be hard to start and we would swap places if it was a WAAF doing the cranking, but it was strictly against orders. Another thing I can remember about Ramsbury is that there were several steel post stands with browning machine guns mounted on top, a relic from the Battle of Britain I guess, but at this stage of the war, enemy aircraft were only about at night. We did more cross countries and formation flying and something called armament, but I can’t remember what that was. When I was over in 1996, I think it was, I met Roger Day, who was a young boy in Ramsbury in 43 and wrote a book on the changes to life in the Village during the course of the war.

I had previously sent him some photos, one down at the back of the flight office

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with an Oxford in the background and a couple at the Nissen Hut where we slept.

I still had the little camera from Canada, but it was a pretty serious offence to take any photos on or near the airfield, and although films were unobtainable, I had a good supply from Canada. I had a couple of developing trays and some chemicals in tablet form and tried to process my films by hand in the hut at night. Of course I lost a few with someone coming in and switching on the light at a critical stage of doing the negatives, and the results were not at all good, but Roger included 3 in his book and as I have lost the originals, one of them is a good reminder of how the hut was surrounded by trees. One memory of Ramsbury which is quite clear is that of approaching the airfield several times when the wind was from the South.

To land on Runway 20 you had to fly over the village and the river, and then just as you seemed to be lined up nicely, you would find yourself too low and have to open up almost to full throttle to clear the brow of the hill. What happened was there was a downdraft as the wind dropped into the valley, but after getting a couple of frights, you learnt to allow for it.

About the end of October the whole unit was moved out to make room for part of the American 9th Air Force and I was in the part that was posted to Castle Combe in the Cotswolds. Between Ramsbury and Castle Combe I went to Watchfield for another Beam course, but had only been there a couple of days when I was recalled to Castle Combe. Castle Combe was supposed to be the prettiest village in England and often appears on calendars. The village itself is down in a valley and the airfield was higher up, as also was our camp. The first night we were there we decided to go to a pub for a drink and on going out on to the road, had to decide whether the village was to the right or the left. Anyway we made the wrong choice and went left, and after about a mile we came to a pub, this was in the village of Yatton Keynell.

After a drink or two, I noticed that a lot of the younger women in the pub were wearing silver fern badges, and it turned out that an N.Z. Army Forestry Unit had been stationed there earlier in the war. Anyway we were made very welcome, but of course we had a mile to walk back to camp and it turned out that Castle Combe and the pub The White Hart were just a few hundred yards away to the right. The

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Format on me. A view of three Lancaster bombers from the cockpit of U Uncle Our Nissen Hut

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airfield was grass, but the main runway was made of steel mesh matting and did it rattle when you landed on it. Several funny things happened at Castle Combe, but not while I was there. One was that one morning three Oxfords went to take off one after the other but did not make it due to frost on the wings spoiling the airflow over them. The other was that one night a 75 Squadron Stirling, flown by a F/O Treasure, I think, on its way down to the Gironde Estuary in the Bay of Biscay to drop some mines, had engine trouble somewhere about Bath. There was an emergency radio frequency called Darky, that every airfield was supposed to keep watch on, and although several large dromes were nearby, the only one to answer the Stirling’s call was Castle Combe. The runway lights went on but the length was much too short for a loaded Stirling so they retracted the undercarriage and slid to a stop among the station buildings. The plane caught on fire, so the crew were out pretty smartly and a warning was put over the Tannoy to evacuate the station. It all worked perfectly except for a prisoner who was locked up in the guardhouse, and when the mines blew up the guardhouse was demolished, but somehow the prisoner survived.

My last flight in an Oxford was on Dec. 4th and my total hours on that type were about 67 by day and 40 by night, my assessment was just average. I must have been given some leave as I did not actually leave the unit until Dec. 14th when I was sent to No.11 O.T.U. (Operational Training Unit) at Westcott in Buckinghamshire.

The next morning we were all assembled in one of the hangars, a mixture of all the aircrew trades and told that we had the rest of the day to crew up. A lot of what I want to say from now on will be very similar to Ron Mayhill’s account, but I will try and be as different as possible and tell it from my point of view. This was to be a day critical to our chances of survival, but Duncan and I hit it off right from the start and I was more than pleased when he said he had already spoken to the best bomb aimer of his course, then Ron turned up having already collected Gordon. So we now had the nucleus of a crew. We were all about the same age, I was just a few months older than the others and would be 21 in a couple of weeks. We acquired one gunner who was much older that the four of us and the had trouble finding a suitable second gunner and I think we had one allocated. It was not what we would

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11 O.T.U. Westcott. Bomb aimers in the rear, Wireless operators next, navigators center, then Pilts (myself on the left), then gunners at the front

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Our Crew, as it originally was at Westcott Number one Uniforms. Myself and Dunc And Battledress. Myself, Dunc and Ron

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have liked, but too late we realised that we should have concentrated on getting two good gunners early in the procedure. Anyway it turned out OK in the end as the elder one developed ear trouble and when he became fit again, elected not to fly with us, and the other one didn’t stack up too well and the rest gave me the unpleasant job of telling him at the end of the course that we did not want him in our crew.

Christmas and New year at No.11 O.T.U. were memorable occasions and I think a lot of the difference was that we were no longer in Training Command, but were mixing with and taking as roll models, Operational Types, who had been through the mill, as all the Instructors had done their tour of Ops and were on a so called rest period. We did a lot of ground training, crew drills, crash and dingy drills, the latter at some swimming baths in a nearby town, We found out how hard it was to get into a rubber dingy and also how hard it was to right it if was upside down. The Pilot, Navigator and Bomb Aimer spent considerable time in a bombing trainer where you imagined you were flying over Germany with a moving map of maybe the Ruhr below you and you had to fly, navigate and bomb a specific target, while the instructor fed all sorts of disconcerting information in to your earphones. We Pilots did a fair bit of Link Training too, and the Bomb Aimers did some too as they had to be capable of flying the plane back to U.K. if the Pilot was knocked out.

Then we moved over to the adjacent airfield at Oakley, to learn to fly Wellington 10s powered by two Hercules 16 radial engines of about 1500 hp. One of the gunners, Gordon, Ron and myself were taken up on initial dual by F/Lt. Gunn, of whom more later on, and the flight consisted mainly of circling a certain house in nearby Oxford, while Garth Gunn described the prowess of his exploits there the previous weekend. Wellingtons were a different kettle of fish to anything I had flown before as they had been made for a purpose and not to be easy to fly.

On our second flight the Instructor was P/O Corley and after nearly three hours dual instrument flying, we were taxiing back to dispersal when a petrol bowser approached. I was in the right hand seat and thought the Instructor could see it, At Westcott we flew Wellington MK 10’s

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which he couldn’t, but when the tanker driver pulled over but not far enough, our starboard wingtip hit it and suffered a certain amount of damage. There was a Court of Enquiry and the upshot was that Corley was posted back to a squadron, which was the very thing he wanted anyway.

According to my log book we moved to Oakley on Jan. 3rd and that night Lofty Coulter, who was in the same flight at Ashburton, but had got one course ahead, was on a dual high level bombing exercise, when they got lost, flew into a balloon cable and crashed near Slough. Only the Bomb Aimer got out. It paid to have a good Navigator. Either the same or the next night, Dave Moriarty’s Navigator, Harry Willis was flying with another crew as 2nd. Navigator, on a cross country over the North Sea and the aircraft disappeared without trace. This was really the start of the thinning of our ranks. It took me over 7 hours dual before I went solo on Wellingtons and part of my poor crew had to endure that flight of just one or two circuits. However the next day we did 2 hours circuits and bumps and the same the following day. The weather that winter was pretty appalling and interrupted the flying program, but there was plenty of ground training to be done, so the time was not wasted. One day we were on a P T run around the perimeter track when a flight of American Mitchells went over heading North, and then one broke formation and headed back towards us. It was obvious that he was in trouble and it didn’t look as if he had enough height to get over our boundary, but at the last minute he pulled it up, just cleared a row of big elm trees, stalled and crashed between the perimeter track and the main runway in a surprisingly large cloud of dust. The next day we had been on an exercise, had to land cross wind, and just as we touched down, swung off the runway. I had forgotten that it was not done to do an overshoot off the deck in Wellingtons as the trim was badly affected by the flaps, and although there was some sort of interconnected flap – trim system, it didn’t seem to work very well. The aircraft reared nose up and it was more than I could hold so I ended up with my knees on the control column while I frantically wound the trim control forward. It was just one more lesson that we were not now flying training aircraft.

In line with the runway at Oakley was Brill Hill, which had a bit of a reputation as

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a favourite place to crash, but we made it over the top alright. When I went back to Oakley with Phil and Kay in the 1990s, Brill Hill looked very small and distant, so I guess it was more the poor rate of climb of the aircraft than anything else.

Although we were flying Wellington 10s, which were very much better and more powerful than earlier models, especially 1 Cs, they were ex operational, tired and not as well maintained as they would have been on a squadron. Early in Feb. we started night flying and from then on whenever the weather was OK we seemed to be on both day and night flying, high level bombing, cine camera gun exercises, and the never ending circuits and bumps. On Feb. 27th we were due to carry out our final high level bombing exercise from Oakley but the weather was so bad that flying was cancelled. Then about 1 a.m. the Tannoy called for P/O Aitken and Crew to report to the Control Tower, the weather had cleared a little and our exercise was on again. Part way through dropping practice bombs on the range we got a message over the radio but it was very staticky and I didn’t get the code word either the first or second time. The next time the whole crew shouted at me “Bandits”, the code for enemy aircraft. So I replied that we would not return, but carry on with only the downward identification light on, and advise the range as we dropped each bomb. We achieved a bombing error of 180 yards converted to 20,000ft., which wasn’t too bad, and a day later we were back at Westcott for the rest of our course.

We did a dual cross country, then a solo cross country, and then another solo cross country with Sgt. Sheppard as a second navigator. This was Gerry Sheppard who was a year ahead of me at McCullough, Butler and Spence, just one of the amazing coincidences of service life. Gerry went on to fly in West Africa and then to Italy to fly over Yugoslavia and our flight was the only time I ever saw him until back in Gisborne where he later became our Company Secretary. We carried on with day and night cross countries, some as long as 5 hours, all over England and Wales sometimes doing a bombing run over a target with an Infra –Red light on it which of course we couldn’t see From our Wimpy, somewhere over Wales

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but had to get it on our camera. We were briefed to drop leaflets over Paris three times but it was scrubbed because of weather and when it did clear another crew had taken our place. This was F/Sgt. Jamieson and on their return to Westcott they were told to do a short cross country before coming in. Jamieson reported that he was pretty short of fuel but they sent him anyway. He eventually ran out and they all bailed out except Jamieson who stayed at the controls and was killed, the last to get out was the Wireless Operator who left the aircraft at 400ft., too low for his chute to open, but luck was on his side and the shrouds wrapped around some telephone wires and held him off the ground.

Then another crew returning from a cross country collided with a diverted Stirling in the circuit, both crews were killed and Ron and Duncan lost another good friend. One day as we waited to take off, the aircraft which had just taken off ahead of us started jettisoning petrol and feathered one motor, but it couldn’t climb and piled in with the now familiar plume of black smoke. As we climbed away we could see the blackened wreckage still burning on the snow covered field. Another crew gone and by this time our original course was down to almost half, partly due to the weather and partly to inexperience, I suppose although maintenance also played its part. There had been other prangs too, one night one of Dave Moriarty’s crew was going in to one of the villages when an aircraft crashed nearby. The crash tender arrived but got stuck in the mud and they gave up, then Dave’s man jumped in, revved it up, and somehow got to the crash, but it was too late. While we had been at Oakley I must have had a weekend in London because on Jan. 24th I bought a bike from a dealer in Wimbledon and had it railed to Thame, from where I would have ridden it to Oakley. Now I didn’t have to wait for someone to get killed before being issued with a service bike. I still have a receipt for 6 pounds 10 shillings for Gent’s Bicycle No. 47279, and it stayed with me from Station to Station, for a year or more.

One of our last exercises Westcott was a cross country to the South West and we were to drop a live 250 lb. Bomb on a target in the Severn Estuary. On the way down we were to stream our own drogue and the rear gunner was to shoot at it

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while I did some turns. Anyway he managed to shoot it off which was a no, no, and I think that was the final straw which made us drop him from the crew. We duly dropped our bomb at the target, which was a triangular raft out in the Estuary and returned to base. The shooting off of drogues had become too common and Command sent a senior gunner to go down with another crew to check on what was happening, so he duly flew with Brian Roche, I think. Well they let their live bomb go on what they thought was the target, when it suddenly sprouted a wake and took off at high speed. It turned out to be a landing craft and the senior gunner reckoned it was the best day’s fun he had enjoyed since finishing a tour of ops. The Bomb Aimers name was Dowding and after that he was known as Barge Buster Dowding, but he can’t have been with the Roche Crew when they got the chop later on.

I finished the course with a total flying time of 78 hours on Wellingtons and my assessment was “Extremely reliable, Above the Average”, which was a bit better and my grand total hours was 334. We were given quite a bit of leave and were to report to No 3 B.S. at Methwold on Apl. 7th This, as far as I can remember was a Battle School, but my memory is pretty hazy. I think that as the invasion was approaching, and the Germans were expected to react by dropping parachutists on the English airfields we were given some training in aerodrome defence. I know that one of the exercises was an escape drill where several crews were shut up in the back of a closed van and dropped off at night in remote areas 30 or 40 miles away from base, devoid of any identification, or money and had to orientate themselves and get back. The local police and home guard would have been alerted just to make it a bit harder and of course they put guards on all the bridges and had done all this before. But some enterprising souls beat the system by hiding a ten shilling note in their socks, caught a bus and were back in bed before the truck had dropped its last victim off. This was supposed to be good training if we were shot down over Germany or Occupied Territory.We also had lectures from Interrogation Officers who were experienced with German Prisoners and warned not to have any documents, not even a bus or theatre ticket in our pockets, as anything was a start for an interrogator to throw you off balance. Also we were told we would be

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taken to Dulag Luft, near Frankfurt for interrogation and there would be a dossier on our careers to date, even to where we had trained and who our Instructors had been. All to make you think that they already knew everything about you and that answering one of their questions didn’t matter. There were bogus Swiss Red Cross representatives with questionnaires to be filled in. We were to stick to name, rank and number only, to be polite, respect their rank, and refuse to say anything more.

Also we were told what their names were, and a description of what they looked like. We were likely to get at least a weeks solitary confinement to start with, to have heaters and lights on for a while and then cold treatment for another few hours, to be denied sleep and not to drop our guard if the pilot who had shot us down turned up for a chat, because he would not be genuine, but just another Interrogator.

After a week of this we then went to Chedburgh to learn to fly Stirlings. Here we were allocated a Flight Engineer and low and behold we had acquired two Gunners.

A pair of smiling twins greeted us, William and Henry Monk from Brazil. They were identical, except that Henry had a highish mole to the left of his mouth and Willie’s was a little lower. The Engineer was Dick Taylor and as he came from Wales he became Taffy. They were all younger than I was and we soon got to know each other.

The twins had had an eventful trip from Brazil, having been torpedoed in the South Atlantic, sailed in a lifeboat to the coast of West Africa and then been rescued by a British destroyer. Our Initial dual in a Stirling took place on May 3rd and our Instructor gave us a really professional demonstration. We were buzzed by an American Lightning, and by letting out a bit of flap and standing the aircraft on its wingtip at low altitude, the Instructor had us on the tail of the Lightning, but of course he was able to climb away when he wanted to. The Pilots cabin was on an upper level and we had a very good all round view, and the Stirling was a very nice aircraft to fly. That was about all there was good about it though, on the ground it was difficult to taxi, its brakes were operated by a huge truck type hand brake lever, and the undercarriage was a complicated, double A Sterling taxis past

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Henry, Grin, Dunc, Self, Taffy, Shorty and William

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folding system that looked terribly fragile. It had seven fuel tanks of various capacities on each side and its wing span had been reduced to the extent that it could only reach about 13,000ft, with a full load, so it was not popular operationally. The throttle and pitch controls were what was called exactor controls and consisted of fine tubing with a fluid inside to connect the lever to the throttle or propeller in each engine. They tended to leak a bit and could be primed by going up to full throttle or fine pitch for a while, but this always seemed to be needed when you wanted to slow down.

After 1 hour 25 minutes dual circuits and bumps on May 4th I went solo, and did a few more hours of the same on the next couple of days. On May 10th we were doing night circuits and bumps with S/Ldr. Megginson as Instructor, but after 1 hour the aircraft, No 508 went unserviceable and we changed to No. 363. On take off after another hours circuits and bumps there was a bit of a thump just as we had become airborne and the Instructor asked if anyone had heard it. I hadn’t really noticed it nor had anyone else and he said, well if it was a burst tyre we would have felt a bit of a swing, but got the Engineer to shine the Aldis Lamp on each of the tyres to check. They both looked OK but he then got me to fly through a searchlight while someone looked at each tyre, and again they seemed OK. So I went in and did a pretty good landing, but after the tail came down the aircraft started to swing to port and even full throttle on the port outer couldn’t stop it. Next we swung right off the runway, the port undercarriage collapsed, and as the port wing hit the ground, sheets of flame sprouted from the two port engines as the petrol lines broke. We spun right around and stopped and he yelled everybody out. I was busy with all the four fire extinguishers which were on my side, every one had to have a flap lifted and then a button pressed, and then I went out through an escape hatch in the roof. I probably did not need to operate the extinguishers by hand anyway as they should Seven good men and true

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have gone off with an inertia switch, but I wanted to make doubly sure. I ran along the top of the fuselage to the tail but it seemed too high to jump off but I managed to get around the fin to the lower side and on to the ground. If anyone says you can’t run 100yds. upwind in full flying kit in 10 seconds, I think we proved them wrong that night. The crash tender arrived with a wail of sirens and pumped foam over the wing and luckily the fire went out. I had hit something as I ran along the fuselage, and when we were all taken to sick quarters for a check up, I had some nice bruises, but we were all OK really and pretty lucky. I had to swear the whole crew to secrecy about the suspicion of the burst tyre on take off, as it was not uncommon on Stirlings and the standard procedure was to go to a special crash drome and do a wheels up landing on the grass. I certainly didn’t want to get the Instructor into any strife. The next night after a bit of dual I went solo and after about the third landing we had just turned off the runway when a tyre burst. We began to wonder if we were jinxed, but after getting into another Stirling we finished the night’s detail.

We did a bit more circuits and bumps both day and night and a couple of fairly long cross countries which included practice bombing over a range. Most airfields had a 25 yd. Rifle range and always loads of ammunition for the use of anyone who wanted. The .303 ammunition was cordite and was not to be used in automatic weapons (The Browning Machine Guns) after an expiry date which I think was 2 years. Duncan and I enjoyed spending our spare time there but I don’t think Ron was so keen. Anyway just a few days before we left Chedburgh they held the station championships and I managed to come first by about one point from one of the ground crew and I think Dunc came third. There were prizes for first and second, and I was asked to choose, so I asked the chap who came second if he was married, when he said he was, I chose a silver serviette ring and left a set of silver spoons for him. The ring was easier to carry round anyway, and I still have it today, somewhere! That was the end of our stay at Chedburgh and I had another 9 hours dual and 30 hours solo in my log book. We were given 6 days leave and ordered to report to No 3 Lanc. Finishing School at Feltwell on May 29th So it was off to London and some R & R at Morden.

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At Chedburough we bent a Sterling on night Clearing the Runway next morning

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Back on her dispersal Full throttle to a dead stop in ten milliseconds Not worth repairing

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We spent the first few days at No.3 L.F.S. learning all the knobs and switches of the Lancaster. Whereas the Stirling had looked ungainly on the ground, the Lanc was much squatter and business like, the Pilots cockpit in the Stirling 26ft. off the ground but the Lanc’s only 20ft. Feltwell was a Peace Time R.A.F. Station with comfortable brick buildings and all the facilities you could wish for right down to Squash Court. It was bursting at the seams though and we were billeted in a local Manor House, not very far away. We started our flying on Jun. 3rd and after a demonstration of what you could do with a Lanc. we did a few circuits and bumps, quite different to a Stirling which you wheeled in, the Lanc. was 3 pointed and it seemed much easier. It was a grass field with quite a hollow in the middle but when the aircraft was down it wanted to stay down. After the first flight lasting only 1 hour 25 minutes we went off solo to do an hour and a half circuits and bumps. This shows you how much easier the Lanc was to handle, plenty of power and no vices. It was remarkable that the design was almost accidental, following the failure of the Napier Sabre engines on the twin engined Manchester. The next day we did a short flight just local flying and then an hour dual night circuits and bumps followed by an hour and three quarters solo ditto. On Jun. 5th we did a short night flying test, and then were briefed for a night cross country out over the North Sea and then over to Wales and back to base. It was a rather unusual briefing as we were to burn Nav. Lights all the time and were not to use our I.F.F. (Identification, Friend or Foe) The weather was not all that good and on our back to base from Wales we noticed masses of planes, all burning Nav. Lights passing above us heading South, in what seemed a never ending stream. It was not until we went to the Mess for lunch the next day that we realised that those planes were the airborne troops on the way to the invasion of Normandy.

We received a posting to No. 75 N.Z. Squadron at Mepal, not far from Ely, Cambridgeshire, and moved over there on Jun. 7th my total experience on Lancs, just under 11 hours. We spent a few days settling in and getting to know our way around, and then on the 10th my name was on the Battle Order on the notice board in the Mess, to fly that night as second pilot to P/O Bonish in “Q” Queenie.

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The time for briefing was set down, meal times etc. It was the practice to send each newly arrived pilot on what was known as a Second Dickie flight, an Operation with an experienced crew, to get an inkling of what Ops. were really like. Then just after lunch I was passing the H.Q. Office when the Adj. came out and said, “Get your crew together and you will be driven over to Waterbeach (Our Base Station almost on the outskirts of Cambridge) and pick up a new aircraft. You will have to do an acceptance test on it (Test every bit of equipment on board) and if all is OK bring it back here.” I told him I was down on the Battle Order for that night and he said “That doesn’t matter, you will be back in plenty of time”.

So off we all went to Waterbeach, signed for Lancaster No.PB 132,and proceeded to look for any faults, Either Dunc or Ron found something wrong with the H2S but otherwise all seemed OK. After one hour 40 minutes we returned to Waterbeach and reported the fault to the F/Sgt. in charge. He thought he knew what was wrong, said it take about an hour to fix, so why didn’t we go up to the Mess and get a cup of tea. We had only finished our tea and sandwiches when there was a large explosion and some of the windows came in. They had been bombing up for that night’s operation when a 4000 pounder had gone off, it took quite a few personell with it and damaged a large number of aircraft. As was usual in the circumstances every aircraft on the Station was grounded until it could be checked and that included ours, which was well down their priority list. I tried to get some road transport to get back to Mepal, but everyone had something more important to do, so I got on the phone to the Adj. He couldn’t help, so we were told to stay the night and bring the aircraft back when it was cleared.

So we flew PB 132 back the next morning and got one or two strange looks, then someone asked me how did I get back so quickly, and where were the rest of the crew. When the penny dropped I found that P/O Bonish had been hit by flak over the target, blew up and found out much later that there was only one survivor.

By such slender threads our lives were now suspended, it was just the luck of the draw, and luck was what we needed most. Incidentally PB 132 survived the war and was broken up for scrap in May 1948.

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And on to Lancasters at last A Lanc takes off from Mepal in 1944 Sutton church and water in background

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And sets course

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Grin Dunc and Shorty Look Mum no oxygen

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Dunc Taffy Willy

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Our Landmark, good old Ely Cathedral Ely Cathedral 1978 Mepal, Home of 75 N.Z. Squadron

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That night I was down on the Battle Order again this time as 2nd. Pilot in P/O Burtt’s crew and we were duly briefed to attack the submarine pens and docks at Nantes on the South Coast of the Brest peninsular. The journey down across France was fairly quiet with searchlights waving about and a sparkle of flak from time to time, but we had no trouble evading the searchlights. As H hour approached however all hell seemed to break loose, Red markers went down, dozens of searchlights came on, light flak was hosing up and Bofors shells were sparkling as they self destructed at their maximum height. Bombs burst around the Markers and photo flashes exploded as the aircraft took their photos, the whole place was lit up almost like day, and then there was the thump, thump of our bombs being released. A few seconds later we were back in darkness and on our way home, I hadn’t seen anyone shot down and neither had I seen any combats. After an uneventful flight back across France, we crossed the Channel, then across England to base, joined the circuit and were back on the deck after five hours and 40 minutes. That was one down and only thirty more to go. On the 14th we took P/O Burtt’s aircraft on an H2S Cross Country. We had only had very little time to get to know the H2S (Ground Seeking Radar) up till now and this flight was to prove to the Nav. Officer that Ron and Dunc were proficient in its use. Not all aircraft were fitted with it but we found it was a great help to navigation, although it was not realised at this time that the Germans were capable of picking up the transmissions at a couple of hundred miles.

Duncan’s log must have passed the test alright, as we were on the Battle Order that night for an attack on the harbour at Le Havre, a short trip and an easy target for a new crew. Just as we were running in on the target we had a fire in the fuse box, and I had trouble coping with the slip streams of other aircraft while Ron was directing me on the bombing run, so we did not get a very good photo. However I 88 millimetre, Good grouping

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First Op Target: Harbour at Le Havre Night of 14.06.44

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think the actual impact point was better than the photo showed when we saw it the next day. We had seen several other aircraft shot down, but apart from feeling the blast of a few 88 millimetre shells, it had been a piece of cake.

Next night we were down for the same aircraft again and at briefing we learnt that the target was the railway yards at Valenciennes, to block the Germans railing supplies down to Normandy. As we neared the target, marking was a bit late and the Master Bomber advised that he was going to replace the first Reds with Greens.

We managed to avoid other planes as we did an orbit and turned on nicely as the greens went down. No slipstream problems this time, we had a good run in and Ron was very happy that we would have a good photo. There was some flak and searchlights, but not as bad as Le Havre, and although we did not see any combats, the squadron lost one aircraft, all killed, and another just made it back to Manston on the South Coast after being shot up by a night fighter. When we neared base we were warned that there were intruders about, no runway lights would show and were sent away on a short cross country till the all clear was given. Next day, after we had looked at our photo where the error was only 50 yards, we had an air test to do, but were not on Ops. again till the following night. This time take off was delayed a couple of times, but eventually we got away, climbed up through the clouds, and down to France again. At H hour we could see the glow of the Red markers through the clouds and were just going to drop down, when we got the code word to abandon the mission. It was frustrating to have to bring our bombs back, but as we had been to the target area it was still to count as another Op towards our tally of 30 as a crew. Dawn came while we were still over the Channel, and we thought we were being chased by fighters, but they turned out to be a swarm of Flying Bombs on their way to London. The Germans had started sending them over a couple of days earlier, they were very fast and as we climbed a bit, they passed on their way underneath us.

Airstrip on the French Coast taken from nose of Lanc a week or two after ‘D’ Day, Normandy Coast

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Second Op, aiming point Target: Railway yards at Valenciennes Night of 15.06.44

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Target: Flying Bomb site at Rimeux Night of 24.06.44

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We had a bit of a break from Ops. now as Taffy and I were sent to Rolls Royce in Derby to learn all about handling Merlins from the experts. We were billeted with an elderly couple in the town, they couldn’t do enough for us, and were picked up by truck each morning and taken to the factory. The course proved to be really worth while and there was not a question you could ask the instructors that they couldn’t answer with a perfectly logical explanation. One thing I remember about the billet was that their budgie sat on a ring above the table and there always had to be a bare spot in the crockery directly below it. When we got back we were on the Battle Order again, briefed to attack a flying bomb site at Rimeux, We went North of London, dodged some flak from our Navy over the Channel, The target was well marked and we dropped our bombs without any distractions but shortly afterwards had to corkscrew as the gunners saw a fighter. However he left us alone, but shot down an aircraft nearby. There were other combats around us and we were caught in searchlights before we reached the coast, but managed to get out of them before too long. The Squadron lost one aircraft “P” Peter, all killed.

On June 25th Ron, Duncan and I were happily eating strawberries in a paddock between our billets and the airfield (we paid a shilling a pound for what we carried out in paper bags) when the Tannoy ordered another crew and mine to report to the flight office. We were to do a fighter affiliation exercise with a Hurricane making attacks on us while we took evasive action. There were to be both pilots, all the gunners and one navigator, one flight engineer and one wireless operator in the aircraft. I took the controls first and after half an hour and then handed over to the other pilot, by this time Taffy was being sick down the window chute in the bomb aimers compartment, normally used for dropping out the metalised paper strips for jamming radar. I soon joined him and we took turns with his breakfast being followed by my strawberries, but there was no room for Duncan. However, being a resourceful sort of person he used his canvas map case, and even today he can show you some topographical maps with a distinct pink fringe.

For every Op we got in we were being briefed for two others which would be cancelled time and time again, mostly because of weather. Sometimes we got to the

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stage of boarding the aircraft and even starting up before a Red Verey cartridge from the Control Tower would signal a further delay or a cancellation. It wasn’t all that good for the nerves. This is what had happened on June 27th and it was well into the night when we were again briefed for an attack on a V Weapons construction site at Biennais. This time we lined up on the runway, got our Green from the Control Caravan and set off down the runway. All went well for a start, the tail came up and I passed the throttles over to Taffy to take up to the gate and lock them. Then we started to swing violently to port, I couldn’t correct it with the rudders, and we went off the runway and on to the grass. I grabbed the throttles back from Taffy and cut the starboard outer, and then we swung back across the runway to starboard, so hard that I thought the undercarriage might collapse. Now we were on the grass on the other side, and it was too late to abort the take off, so I slammed the starboard outer throttle to the gate again and we staggered into the air. I whipped the undercarriage and we carried on across the rest of the drome just a few feet in the air, but the speed started to build up. Taffy called out the boost pressure was off the clock on the starboard outer and he brought the lever back to match the boost on the other three engines. By this time he had figured out what was wrong. The superchargers deliver a colossal amount of air to the carburettors at ground level, far more than the motor could stand, so the throttle opening is controlled by an aneroid which gradually opens them up as you gain height, and it was one of these aneroids which had failed.

The throttle quadrant looked quite funny with three levers at max. climb setting and the starboard outer just about an inch open, but as we climbed, Taffy gradually advanced it and by the time we got to about 10,000ft. all four were in line. When we got near the target we were over ten, tenths cloud with the tops at something like 12,000ft. and just on H hour Ron spotted a Red glow in the clouds. There was no way we could drop our load accurately so I dived into the cloud, through rain and hail, and we didn’t break through till 5,000ft. Ron spotted the Red markers and with a steep turn to port I turned on, Ron lined me up and with a few hurried corrections he released our load, fully confident that they would be right on target.

Now it didn’t seem such a good idea being down here on our own, silhouetted

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Some going out, Some going home

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Lancaster Bomber Stream Follow me

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against the glare of the markers on the cloud base. If there had been any light flak gunners there we would have been easy meat. As soon as the camera run was over we shot up into the welcome obscurity of the clouds and headed for home just brushing into their tops. Most of the others bombed on the glare of the markers through the clouds but I think my choice was the right one especially over France. As we neared base the Wireless Operator passed me a message that there were a couple of Ju 88s on the prowl in the vicinity so we were sent off on a short cross country till the all clear was given. At debriefing the Wing Co told me off for swinging on take off and my protestations of mechanical problems were ignored. He was a hard taskmaster. I thought I might have got an apology later but never did. He was a very brave man, and on more than one occasion had flown as rear gunner with a crew he thought needed checking, but he did not endear himself to many of his crews. I suppose he had the misfortune to follow on after a Wing Commander who was so well liked, that his crews would have followed him anywhere. So we had survived the first five and that was where a lot of new crews came to grief.

I and many others have always found it hard to understand why the Germans did not do more intruding over our bases as the potential for disruption was tremendous, especially in training areas. Sure they did do it from time to time but not in large numbers or on a consistent basis and usually if we were diverted away for half an hour or so it would be all clear when we got back. There were times, though, when we had to get down especially if we were short of fuel. Each airfield had as part of its lighting system, called a Drem system, a ring of lights four miles in diameter, called The Outer Circle, which was kept going all the time at night.

From this each runway had a set of lead in lights called the Funnel, which led you on to the runway in use. There were hundreds of Outer Circles, some with airfields and some without, some were dummy airfields bristling with flak all set up to try and nail the intruders. If we came back and were required to land we would be stacked up in the order we called up, three aircraft at each 1,000ft. and would fly anticlockwise around the Outer Circle. There would be no runway lights and of course no navigation lights on the aircraft, each one in turn would be told to make

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its approach and when on the end of the downwind leg, it would report its position as 3 plus. Then as it entered the funnel it would call “Funnels” and the runway lights would be switched on, as it touched down those lights would go out again and it would continue your landing run on some little hooded glim lights along both sides of the runway. These could only be seen from on the ground. As soon as it turned off on to the perimeter track you would call “Clear”, and by this time the next aircraft should be just about to enter the funnel. Meantime the rest would one by one be brought down to take their turn, but you could claim a priority if you were on three engines or had some other emergency. It would be a modern day Air Traffic Controller’s worst nightmare especially as we might have 25 or more to get down and the next door airfield, Whitchford, was less than five miles away so their Outer Circle intersected with ours. We still managed to get down at the rate of almost one a minute, and our take offs were only about 30 seconds apart, just enough time for the slipstream of the previous aircraft to dissipate.

Early one morning the whole station was woken by a large explosion followed a lot of small arms fire, and at first thought the place was under attack. There was a great glow in the sky over the airfield, our billets were almost two miles away, but it turned out that an aircraft on Western perimeter had blown up at its dispersal.

Luckily no one was injured but the locals were upset that several houses in the village of Sutton lost parts of their roofs. The Lanc. that blew up was virtually non existent, most of the pieces you could have picked up with one hand, but quite a few of its bombs were scattered all over the field unexploded. The remains of some of the propellers were way out in the middle of the drome and the aircraft we were to fly that day although parked a good half mile away, had three holes in it. More than half the aircraft on the whole station suffered and the two nearest ones were complete write offs.

We were briefed in the late afternoon for our first daylight raid and the target was a concentration of German armour in the town of Villers Bocage. After a short delay for cloud to clear we bombed from 11,000ft. and got a good result although we could see in our photo later three aircraft at least a mile lower than we were.

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One of our Aircraft is missing. On the night of 30.06.44 an aircraft loaded with bombs blew up on dispersal at Mepal. It was Standing between the two air craft in the photo both of which were write-offs

Ah, here is a bit after all. When the aircraft blew up no one was injured but some houses in Sutton were damaged. Dunc beside prop

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The only fighters seen were ours but the heavy flak was pretty thick and accurate, as we saw several planes shot down. When we got back and were at debriefing there was great consternation as Nick Williamson, the newly appointed flight commander of “C” Flight was missing. Nick was on his second tour and this was his first Op. on the squadron and the first time he had flown a Lanc. He came from Gisborne, I had known him at school, although he was ahead of me, and our fathers were very good friends. Well it turned out that as we had come out of France, I had seen a Lanc. going down towards a newly built airstrip near the coast, and when I reported this I said that it was obviously under control.

Luckily it turned out that it was Nick whose Flight Engineer had suffered a bad leg wound and Nick’s prompt action probably saved his leg, or maybe more. Nick was unable to start up again without advice from the Engineer and they spent about three days there waiting for him to regain consciousness, having a series of exciting incidents, and arriving back with a plane load of weapons, grog, etc. I can remember some of us at our hut site gazing at a keg of brandy, and wondering if the Jerries might have poisoned it before they retreated. In the end someone took the risk and none of us suffered any bad effects.

Bombing on the target was very good and although our troops were nearby, no bombs fell anywhere near then. I later met a British Major whose regiment was held up in front of the town and he said what a wonderful sight it was to see all these black planes come over and take out their opposition, making their advance possible. We did have a thought for the townspeople of Villers Bocage though and it was a sobering thought to see by daylight what we were capable of doing. A great many of them no doubt lost their lives, but I am sure we had saved a lot of British casualties. So ended June 1944.

On Jul. 2nd. The Target was a flying bomb depot at Beauvoir, another daylight Op. Over France there was a lot of scattered cloud and we could only On their way, 1,000 pound bombs in the bay of Lancaster U Uncle, over Normandy

First Daylight Target: Concentration of German armour at Villers-Bocace Day of 30.06.44 Aftermath

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Target: Flying Bomb deport at Beauvoir Night of 2.07.44

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glimpse the markers through the gaps. The Master Bomber instructed everyone to orbit port and then when the clouds didn’t clear away he instructed us to bomb if we could. Off we went down again from 13,000ft. to the cloud base at 5,000ft. and there were the yellow markers right in front. As we started to line them up we heard the Master Bomber instruct the rest still at 13,000ft. to commence bombing as apparently the clouds had cleared. We had no time to waste and as I handed over to Ron, almost miraculously a cluster of about eight angry black puffs appeared exactly at our height and a couple of hundred yards in front. I thought the next bursts are not going to be too good for us, but they never came. Our last bomb had just left when suddenly a shower of 1000 pounders went past our nose and wings, so close you could have almost touched them and someone called that there were more coming. It was no place to loiter, to hell with the camera run, I stood the aircraft on its port wingtip and we got out of that as quickly as we could. Our photo showed some ground detail 2250 yards from the aiming point but at the time we were going into a steep turn, so we didn’t really miss the markers at all. I think that cured me of going in below everyone else.

We were now due for 6 days leave and I headed for Glasgow, where May, Jack and Douglas were now living, I arrived at the Main Station about 2 a.m. and was killing time having a cup of tea and a sandwich in the Forces Canteen which was quite full, when someone came in the door and shouted “Hey Jock”. Every one of the 50 or so in the room swung around thinking they were being called and I realised that they had come from units all over Britain and of course they all had the nickname Jock. I waited till daylight and then set off for Jack’s apartment which was within walking distance and sat on the front doorstep until they got up. I had a good leave and Jack was able to show me around a bit, We took a train past Gareloch, which I think was a submarine base to Arrochar at the head of Loch Long and then walked over to Tarbet on Loch Lomond, then retraced our steps and back to Glasgow. Somewhere along the Clyde he had pointed out one of the factories where Shorts were making Sunderland Flying Boats, and that was fine with me so long as they didn’t make any more Stirlings.

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When we got back from leave we got a job as extras on a film being made at the time. This was really a propaganda film to be shown back at home and we had to all pour out enthusiastically out of the briefing room and climb into transport to be taken out to the aircraft on their hard standings. Most of us piled into the back of an open truck, but Ron was a wee bit slow and tumbled out again as the truck took off. However they cut that bit out of the finished result. Then our crew had to take up the Lanc. AA O to do a few of the flying sequences. The camera man was in another Lanc. which was put on auto pilot and he set his camera up and wanted to film from the pilot’s seat. We were to formate on his port side and follow the instructions he gave on the R/T. That went OK but then he wanted a close up of the cabin of our aircraft and I guess he didn’t want to use a tele lense because of the vibration. Anyway he called us in further and further till our starboard wing was just ahead of and almost inside his port one, that was still OK but then he wanted us further ahead and I lost sight of him, so I had to rely on information from our Flight Engineer as to how close we really were. I was very pleased when the camera man said he had the footage he needed.

For some of the other sequences they wanted to film a night take off, as it was black and white film they put on a heavy red filter and when there were some nice clouds about filmed the squadron actually taking off for a daylight raid. They had set up their camera on a tripod just off the end of the runway we turned on to and some of us rather unfairly used a bigger blast of throttle than necessary, to give them the best of the slipstream. Some of the stills they printed from air to air shots they had taken on days with good cloud formations were really good and I would have liked to have got my hands on some.

Ron, Dunc and I carried little cameras with us sometimes, it was strictly against orders, but of course the results we got were not up to professional standard. We 75 Sq. Briefing Room etc.

From our dispersal

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were not using 35 mm film, but films with backing paper and this had the advantage that if you took your film in to the Photographic section to be processed on the sly, you got it back again with a piece of Air Force film attached. The disadvantage was that every now and then the Intelligence section would raid the Photo Section and would confiscate any illegal material and someone would be in trouble. But we did get a fair bit through and it is a great help to me now as I try to jog my memory. The quality of their processing too was streets ahead of what I did myself and that is all the more apparent after all those years.

After being briefed for the fourth time for an attack on the big rail yards at Vaires just outside Paris, we finally took off for a daylight raid on it on July 12th Flak was pretty heavy and very accurate, several aircraft near us going down, and when we finally got there the Op. was cancelled, so we had to bring our bombs back. None of us liked doing this partly because of unpleasant thoughts while landing and partly because we often carried the odd bomb or two with long delay fuses. It had happened before that a heavy landing could break a little vial of acid in the fuse and this would gradually eat its way through a set number of celluloid disks, finally releasing a spring loaded plunger on to the detonator. I think that it was on this trip that for the first time I saw a Lanc. spinning, it spun down several hundred feet, came out of the spin but then piled straight into the ground.

I saw a couple of parachutes.

Charlons sur Marne was on the map on the 15th and this was to be our deepest penetration yet. We flew to the West of and around the South of Paris and dropped our 18 x 500 pounders from 9,000ft. It looked to be a pretty accurate raid and the markers were right on the spot as some of the Bomb aimers were able to identify ground detail. We were airborne for six an one quarter hours and in our innocence thought that was a pretty long trip. Vaires was on the list again several times but always cancelled because of the weather, and I suppose the powers that be did not want bombs scattered around the suberbs of Paris. We finally took off Bert Bowden, Assist.

Intelligence Officer

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for Vaires again on the 17th but after encountering some accurate radar predicted flak over France, we were recalled again, but we did get a credit towards our total of 30. The R.A.F. were still short of bombs at this stage so we had to jettison petrol to get down to safe landing weight. the Gunners had to come out of their turrets and forward and then with a bit of flap and at low speed two great hoses like elephant’s trunks dropped out below the wings spewing out 1000 gallons of petrol. Every one of our aircraft was doing it plus all those from Whitchford and the whole air reeked of petrol. All aircraft were refuelled immediately and bomb loads changed while we were told to have an early night, easier said than done as we all had splitting headaches from the petrol fumes.

We were up just after midnight and airborne before daylight at about 4 am.

On our way to Cagney just south of Caen, where Montgomery was to break through the ring of steel the Germans had built up. There were to be over 1000 aircraft on the Op and accuracy was essential as our own troops were nearby. We dropped 11 x 1000 pounders and 4 x 500 pounders from 8500ft.and although the markers were obscured by dust from time to time we got an aiming point photo. There was a lot of 88mm flak and this was the trip on which Dave Moriarty was wounded in the head but managed to fly right back to base and land safely, being awarded a C G M for his efforts. We turned out of the target area and someone noticed that one of our tanks was holed and we were loosing fuel. I got Taffy to feed all engines from that one tank until it was almost empty and then switch back again to the undamaged ones. We still had plenty left when we got back to base and there were delays while they got Dave down and into an ambulance. The damage we suffered was easily fixed but Dave lost one eye and very nearly the other too. Prior to this a funny thing happened to Dave one night after he had landed and was taxiing around to his dispersal. A crew bus driven by a WAAF had approached him and when she saw the aircraft she pulled over to one side and switched off her headlights. Dave thought she had turned right off but when he got opposite the bus there was a noise like a machine gun and his port outer prop sliced a series of gashes along the bus. All the passengers became airborne as they jumped out the back and I believe the WAAF passed right out.

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Target: Bois Chalons-san-Marne Night of 15.07.44

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Good old Uncle

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From under Uncle, loaded with 500lb HE’s, towards the Mayer Crew’s T-Tiger Refuelling Donald Duck. Mepal 1944

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Target: German ‘Ring of Steal’ at Cagny Day of 18.7.44

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Handley Page Halifax MK 2 with D-Day markings Another Halifax

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I had flown the Cagny trip with a head cold, which we were not supposed to do, but I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Anyway later in the day I started getting a terrible headache and was put in sick quarters, where I spent most of my time having inhalations under a blanket. These gradually reduced the pain but I was there several days and when I started to take notice of things again I began to chat to the bloke in the next bed. He had about two weeks growth on his face and looked a real mess. Suddenly we realised we knew each other and it turned out to be Bob Nicol from Gisborne. Bob had been in Rhodesia when he joined up and had been in one of the R.A.F. Squadrons which supported the Army in operations against the Italians in Ethiopia.

It had been a real old fashioned war with biplane against bi-plane and they had worked their way up from Kenya around Ethiopia and up to Egypt. From there Bob was posted back to England and sent to 75 Squadron as an armourer. He had contracted some sort of tropical skin disease and this was why he could not shave, still we had a good yarn about some of the people we knew back home. My spell in sick quarters turned out to be a real blessing in disguise, as the Squadron sent 26 aircraft to bomb Homberg in the Rhur on the 20th and 7 had failed to return. That was 50 good men gone in one night including many we had trained with.

Now we were about to grow up. On the 24th we went to Stuttgart, the target was covered by ten tenths cloud and we bombed on sky markers, which were parachute flares of a certain colour dropping stars of another colour, but of course they drifted with the wind and could not concentrate a raid like ground markers.

Somewhere over France

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There had been lots of fighter flares and we had corkscrewed our way out of one fighter attack and seen what we thought was a lot of aircraft shot down. When we got back after nearly seven and a half hours two crews were missing.

The next night it was Stuttgart again and we were told the previous raid had been a failure. The aiming point was again the Bosch electrical works which had suffered some damage the previous night but not enough. There were not enough hours of darkness for a trip of this duration so we took off in daylight and returned after daybreak, but most of the time over hostile territory was in darkness, that is of course until the Germans lit it up with fighter flares to help their day fighters supplement their night fighters. After take off we climbed into cloud and struggled upwards not knowing how close our friends were. As we climbed up over the South Coast the clouds got darker and darker, by the time we reached 15,000ft. we could get no higher, ice was building up on the wings and being thrown off the props to clang on the sides of the fuselage. Even at full climbing revs and boost we were sinking and eventually dropped out of the cloud base at about 5,000ft. over the Channel.

It was still daylight enough to see all around us Lancasters sinking out of the cloud base with their noses in the air and their tails pointing down at about 15 degrees but still dropping towards the sea. As the ice melted off at those warmer temperatures they would climb back into the cloud again and although you couldn’t see them you knew they were there.

There was less cloud over Stuttgart this time, we could see the green ground markers and got a good photo of them. We could only get up to 18,000ft. this time but couldn’t see those aircraft dropping bombs from higher up. No losses this time but several had returned early because of severe icing, but 23 aircraft were missing from other squadrons. We had a flying time of nearly 8 hours.

Part of a lanc stream of Lanc over France, 1944

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Bosch Electrical Works at Stuttgart Night of 25.07.44

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Bosch Electrical Works at Stuttgart Night of 25.07.44

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P-47 Thunderbolt, American fighter aircraft Two feathered on side, No Problem

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Take off was delayed

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The weather was bad for two days and then to our surprise we were briefed for Stuttgart again, same route same everything, it seemed to be tempting fate too much and we felt that we were being punished for not having done a good job. But if we were given good marking we could do everything asked of us, and it was the weather which was the real enemy. This time we flew over France just below the cloud base and watched the enemy searchlights and light flak claim their share of victims. The searchlight master beam would flick on to an aircraft, a dozen or so more would fasten on too, making a cone from which it was impossible to escape, then the light flak would hose up into the cone from three or four different sites.

I am sure the firing would stop sometimes before the first tracers had reached the aircraft but it didn’t stand a chance. We would see a flicker of flame start, spread and then the plane would dive into the ground. Before it hit, the searchlights would be out and then the process would start over again. We climbed a bit nearer the cloud base and when the master beam sought us I pulled up into the cloud and out of sight. We had a different aircraft again this time, when we had to climb up to bombing height, it proved to be a good one and when we went through the target we were at 21,000ft. Nobody was going to drop bombs near us this time. The markers were a bit hazy but we had a good run, got a photo of them, and we could do no more than that. On the way back towards to a turning point near Orleans there were a lot of combats going on around us, bursts of tracer everywhere, and there was a continuous layer of low cloud being lit up by aircraft burning on the ground. For over an hour we were flying over this and at any time I could look down and clearly see three or four Lancasters silhouetted below me. It was a night fighter’s dream come true and only added to the fires. I thought the best place to be was as high as possible, this was a good aircraft so we got up to 28,000ft. and although probably on our own, we had no problems, and dropped down into the main stream again over the French coast. When going to targets in Southern Germany we were always routed in over the beach head so the German frontline soldiers would hear us go over, hear us come back again about four hours later and it did their morale no good to wonder where we had been. The Squadron lost

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Bosch Electrical Works at Stuttgart Night of 25.07.44

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another two aircraft that night and the last Stuttgart raid cost Bomber Command 62 altogether. Our flying time was just over seven and a half hours and we felt we had certainly grown up a lot during the last three trips. Over the last week the squadron had lost almost half of the average number of planes sent out, and a lot of our friends had gone with them, but in a few days replacement crews and aircraft had arrived. That was No13 for us and although we had collected a few holes, it certainly wasn’t our unlucky number.

We had the rest of the day off on the 29th but were woken early on the 30th for briefing before daylight. Orders were to bomb German troops just in front of the front line at Amaye sur Seulles, and there was to be a very large effort by Bomber Command on a series of targets in the vicinity. Our attack was to be followed by an Allied counter attack and although Group Met said the weather would be OK, our Squadron Met man had a different opinion, warning us of a lot of cloud in the target area. As we neared the French coast we were called down by the Master Bomber to 3,500ft, then 3,000ft. and almost immediately to 2,500ft. Even then we were still in cloud and could not identify anything on the ground. When he called us down to 2,000ft. we were already below that height and at 1,500ft. could see the ground and suddenly the red markers. One of the crew called out to watch out above and I looked up into the open bomb bay of a dirty big Lanc. only 50ft. above us. Ron was already directing me on to the markers and I think he was a bit put out when I did a quick weave to port and back again, but we ended up with quite a good run in. We were very close to the minimum safety height for the size of bomb we were carrying and shortly after Ron called bombs going we seemed to be taking great leaps as our stick and those of others exploded on the ground. There is nothing more vulnerable to light flak than a large slowish aircraft at that height, but the option of pulling up into cloud filled with 500 other Lancs and Halifaxes did not appeal. So we and many others dropped down to tree top level and with all turrets ready to answer any fire, we headed for our side of the front line. Not a single soul did we see until we crossed the lines and then there were kahki clad troops everywhere waving to us as we flashed by, we shot across a large red cross laid out on the ground. We ran

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into rain and cloud so had to climb and witnessed two aircraft collide in front of us and go down in flames, the Navy had a go at us as we crossed the coast, but missed, and then we were in clearer sky. Ahead of us over England was a massive sheet of low cloud and if it extended to near base the only thing to do was to try and stay below it. We were soon down to 200ft. and as we neared Cambridge only 120ft.

We lifted over the Sutton Church Tower and when I called up for permission to pancake, was asked if I could see base. We then got the OK but I had to do a tight circuit to keep the drome in sight and came in too high. The Wingco instructed me to overshoot, and rightly so, so we climbed into the muck and came out into the clear. We were told to do a triangular cross country, Kings Lynn, somewhere else and back to base, to fill in time while they sorted things out. On the R/T we could hear others calling up and being refused permission to land, but then they started getting diversions to Woodbridge, a huge airfield near the coast mainly designed to handle cripples, and I realised that it was going to be a very busy place. I got Dunc to give me a course for Woodbridge, turned on to it, and asked him to let me know when our theoretical ETA of our cross country was up. At that time I called base for further instructions, diversion to Woodbridge they said, but we were almost there. When we joined their circuit we got turn 26 to land, but by the time we got down they were up to turn 85, and when we had been directed to a place to park it was nearly turn 200. Some of the late arrivals were circling round for over an hour and a half. A meal was laid on for us in the Airmens Mess and among our crowd lining up for it was the Station Commander Group/Capt. Campbell. I guess he had been away from anything but the Officer’s Mess for too long, he had a roll neck aircrew jersey on hiding any rank, and was told by the Corporal behind the counter in no uncertain terms to get a fxxxxxx plate off the stack and fxxxxxx well hold it out or he wouldn’t get any fxxxxxx meal. He had no option but to grin and bear it.

The airfield was huge, 3000 yards of concrete runway with 2000 yards of grass undershoot and overshoot at each end, and down the sides of the concrete were the pipes for FIDO which burnt thousands of gallons of petrol to disperse fog and give crews a chance to get down if we there was no other alternative. After inspecting

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some of the wrecks around the field, we finally got clearance to return to Mepal and debriefing. Only one more trip and we would be half way to that magic thirty.

The fifteenth was to Le Nieppe, a flying bomb site but it was cloud covered and we brought our bombs back. The cloud didn’t worry the 88mm though and the Lanc. nearest us had a motor on fire but got it sorted out OK. We stayed with him on the way back until near our base, he seemed to be fine and went on his way. Our engineer, Taffy Taylor, went down with ear trouble and was grounded, we then carried on with different engineers but most frequently with Bob Cunningham who we gradually came to regard as one of the crew. Ron worked it out that from the time we had arrived on the Squadron 20 crews had gone missing and only 4 had finished their tours of Ops and been posted away, but we had gained in experience and confidence, although we still needed a lot of good luck to do the next fifteen.

Even then you could sometimes be held back if there was the need and could only consider yourself tour expired when the Squadron Commander said so.

On Aug. 3rd we went to a V weapons supply depot called L’isle Adam near Paris in good visibility and it looked a pretty good attack although there was a fair bit of heavy flak and one plane near us went down in flames. I think this was our first trip with Bob Cunningham. There used to be some competition as to who could get the best air miles per gallon of fuel out of their aircraft and the results were published on the notice board. We always seemed to be near the top of the list when we flew with Bob, but later on we found out that he was the one doing all the calculations. Still he was a very good engineer and we have kept in touch for years.

We visited him at his home near Bristol and he and his wife stayed with us when they were doing a caravan tour of N.Z. The next Op. was one of the more interesting, we went to Bec D’Ambes on the Gironde river near Bordeaux. This was a big oil storage site, I think the oil was brought in from Mexico by tankers running the blockade, and the Germans Dunc from my cabin window, Mepal August 1944

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were now starting to get very short of oil fuel. We flew at low level all the way over England down to Lands End and at very low level over the sea for 700 miles. The sea in the Bay of Biscay was oily calm and we could see fish and dolphins as well as patches of seaweed. About 50 miles off the French Coast we climbed up to our bombing height of 7000ft., across the strip of sand and across the rolling countryside to the target. The oil tanks stood out clearly, there was a tanker unloading at the dock and at that height we just couldn’t miss. There didn’t seem to be any opposition at all and in no time the smoke was reaching up well above our height, truly a piece of cake. We turned away confident that we had hit the central big oil tank and that we would have a good photo, and so we did. Part way home across Western France we picked up an escort of Spitfires. When someone down below opened up with some 88s, several of the Spits rolled over on their backs, disappearing into the haze below and that was the end of the 88s.

The Spits rejoined the close escort all the way back to the Channel and we most likely had other escorts too that were covering us from further away. The whole trip took just on eight hours, but we all thought it was the best we had been on, a photo taken seconds after ours showed bombs bursting right across the big central oil tank, and we knew they were ours. It did not worry us that the aiming point was 600 yards away up where the main refinery was, the tank farm was just too good to pass up.

A few nights later we were on for a night raid just in front of the forward troops in Normandy and as well as PFF Markers the Army fired coloured Bofors shells into the target area. Searchlights were providing artificial moonlight for our troops to advance into the places we had bombed. Night Fighters were more active than usual, we saw several combats and aircraft shot down, then had a near miss with another Lanc. We had no R/T or W/T communication when we got back to Base and had to wait a fair while before they got our Aldis Lamp message and gave us a green. The Squadron lost one aircraft that night.

Passing Lands End on the way down

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Bec D’Ambes, Early in the attack

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Ten seconds to go for the centre fuel tank, Stick of Bombs extreme top right Target: Oil Storage site at Bec D’Ambes on the Gironde River Day of 4.08.44

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After a very short time in bed we were roused to go to briefing but it was put back because of fog, then there was a flap in the parachute section and the Op was cancelled. After lunch a night raid was laid on to bomb a petrol storage depot in France, and the poor overworked armourers had to change the bomb loads. This time it was our turn to take a second dickey, one Harry Yates, who later wrote a very good book on his experiences in the R.A.F. As we approached the French Coast there were masses of searchlights, it looked like a solid wall and impossible to get through. Harry wanted to know how we would get past them and I told him, just wait till some other poor sod gets caught and then slip through the gaps.

We did nearly get caught ourselves but managed to evade the Master Beam. On the way out we saw a fighter but evaded him too and then saw him shoot down someone behind us.

We seemed to have hardly got to sleep when we were dragged out of bed again, and after several delays were briefed for another night raid on another petrol and ammunition dump. We were all pretty tired by this time, with very little sleep for three days, but made it to the target alright. Then things started to go wrong, the marking was way off the aiming point, and just as our bombs started to go down, the aiming point was remarked, but too late for us. Then we went astray over England, were late getting back to base and had to circle for a long time. I guess I wasn’t concentrating enough because when we did eventually get permission to land I mistook the Whitchford runway for ours and nearly caused a collision with one of their kites. I knew as soon as we touched down that it was not our runway but it was too late and it would have been too dangerous to overshoot. We had to taxi round to the beginning of the runway and were made to wait till all their planes were down. Because we were cross wind there was not enough airf low through the radiators and the two outboard started to overheat. The temperatures went over the maximum permissible and I was just about to shut them down when their f lying control finally let us go. If I had shut them down then we would have had to have a starter trolley and fire extinguishers etc. to start up again. It took only a couple

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Target: Fort D’Englos Night of 9.08.44

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Target: Lucheux Night of 9.08.44

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of minutes to get back to Mepal and a verbal blast from the Wingco, but it all simmered down when I said we had been on three nights in a row with very little sleep for three days.

This was against the rules so I suppose whoever put our names on the battle order got some caustic comments as well.

Our next Op was to Brunswick and was a totally blind bombing raid. All aircraft were H2S equipped we were to do a timed run from an easily recognisable landmark. We think we did pretty well and got a good photo of the H2S screen, but as we were over ten tenths cloud, that was all we had. But photo reconnaissance later showed the bombing too scattered to be worth the risks. Our flying time was under 5 hours so it was not a very deep penetration and we came down to a fairly low level on the way out of Germany. We got caught in searchlights when crossing the Coast but managed to evade them.

There were several targets in Germany attacked that night and losses amounted to over 7 % of those despatched. It may have been the day after this Op when we were inspecting the flak damage we had incurred, one of the fitters extracted a piece of an 88 mm shell from the wing and tossed it down to me. The jagged piece of metal cut my hand, the only bit of damage I suffered at the hands of the enemy.

We were again due for six days leave but had to do one more before we could get away.

This was a daylight to Hamel, we were trying to close the Falaise Gap to prevent the Germans, who were now nearly surrounded, from escaping to fight again somewhere else. It was a bit of a shambles with markers going down and then being obliterated by bomb bursts and dust, but we just managed to turn on to some new markers and got a good photo. Then it was a rush to get our leave passes and rail warrants and get down to London.

London was grey and drab, sirens wailing every now and then, and the odd buzz bomb puttering over. We had applied for and been granted five days leave in Cornwall, courtesy of Lord Nuffield, at Tregenna Castle just above the little fishing village of St. Ives. We arrived at the train very early but every seat was taken but we managed to grab a corner in the corridor of a first class carriage and had room to stand but not enough to sit down and get a bit of sleep. I see from Ron’s book that we were 13 hours on that train so we must Gravel Pit swimming hole, Dunc, Taffy and Ron

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Blocking the Falaise Gap Target: Hamel Day of 14.08.44

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have been able to doze off a bit standing up.

The south West of England was full of Naval Bases, the train was chocker with Naval personnel, the notices said “Is your journey really necessary”, and we thought ours was.

Eventually we changed to the little branch line train to St. Ives and we were whisked up to Tregenna Castle in time to get tidied up for breakfast. The Castle was really a very posh hotel where the rich folk from London came to get away from the war from time to time. There was a nine hole golf course and tennis courts etc., plenty of places to go for walks and the beach was really beautiful. Not too crowded and real white sand, not like the gravel beaches around the Brighton area, the sea was calm and although the water was not very warm, people were swimming and boating.

In the evening we got spruced up for dinner, selected a table and studied the menu.

I ordered a St. Ives lobster and it arrived as half a lobster on a plate with salad and all the trimmings, I’m not sure how I got inside the claw though, perhaps they supplied a nut cracker. When we asked the waiter for a drink he drew himself up to his full height and said “Sir, you will have to ask the wine waiter, I will order him to attend to you”. Later that evening we went out for a bit of a walk and both going out and coming back had to run the gauntlet down the long entrance hall between the rows of London dowagers keeping a very very close eye on their teenage daughters. And rightly so too, because there was also an Australian aircrew staying at the Castle. They were quite a hardened bunch, having nearly finished their second tour on PFF and had high hopes of being chosen to f ly a veteran Lancaster out to Australia. They missed out on that though but we had some good conversation about their trips to Berlin while lying in the sun on the beach watching the girls go by. We hired clubs and balls to play a few rounds of golf, did not do too well and I can remember the disgusted look on the Pro’s face when we returned our chipped and scuffed balls to him after a round. But he just covered them with white paint and hired them out again, of course new balls were as scarce as hen’s teeth.

Two of our 75 Squadron Lancastes over east Anglia 1944.

Love and Robert

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Tregenna Castle, St. Ives

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Total relaxation Even a Cabbage Tree

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St. Ives

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That went so far I can’t even see it Mine has gone though

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I left a day earlier than the others to spend a bit of time in London and see a show. I got a seat this time and went to sleep, waking up later with a WREN Officer asleep on my shoulder. She slept for hours but I didn’t like to wake her and we were half way to London before I could get the circulation back in my arm. Travelling on trains in wartime Britain was always a hazard and the trains were always crowded.

They had a funny system about tickets, you could buy a platform ticket for one penny and this entitled you to go on to the platform to see someone off, travellers had their tickets checked from time to time on the train and if you were stuck you could generally buy a ticket on the train. I once read the tale of two friends who were broke and were trying to get to Glasgow on a platform ticket. When the ticket collector entered their carriage they went along the train until they each came to a locked toilet, they would knock on the door and would shout “Ticket collector here, just slide your ticket out under the door and I will check it”. They made it. Our few days in Cornwall had been just great, good weather and so different from life on the Squadron.

After checking that all the crew were back from leave I found that U Uncle, which we now regarded as our own personal aircraft had been written off in a landing accident. It had been on the squadron for a long time, done 48 Ops and seen several crews finish their tours safely. For the next few days we were down on the battle order twice but they were both cancelled. Then on the 25th we were briefed for Russelheim, and it was going to be a long one. Our aircraft for this was a new U Uncle and it turned out to be a beauty. We had another second dickey on board and on the way in there were a lot of combats, we saw a FW 190 but it was after someone else, and although the target area was well lit up with fighter flares we got through OK and took our photo. We had a good trip back to base and landed after 8 hours 10 minutes flying time. Ron had broken all records with his H2S fixes and everything about this new Uncle seemed to be just as good as it was Uncle had done 47 Ops at this time

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possible to get. We had lost another two crews on this Op and I have found out from post war records that all but one were killed.

The next night we went to Kiel, and were well across the North Sea when the sun set.

We made a feint down towards Hamburg and then across to Kiel where fighters and flak were as thick as we had ever seen. Then we saw a German twin engined fighter caught in its own searchlights a little below us and to port. I got the engineer to take the throttles up to the gate and with Ron in the front turret we slid down towards it. I thought we were within range and urged Ron to open fire, but he had the gunsight and could check the range better, he wanted to get a bit closer. Then it gradually pulled away and the searchlights flicked out. Ron thinks that this happened on the Russelheim trip but my recollections are different and as this is my story, I am putting it in here. We got through again alright, saw a mid air collision and quite a few shot down, and although we were the last to land our flying time was only 5 hours 35 minutes, quite short for a German target.

Losses overall were over 5% but the squadron all returned without loss, however with a lot of flak damage and some wounded crew members.

On Aug. 29th 14 of our aircraft were to attack Stettin while another three including ourselves were to drop mines in the Gulf of Danzig. We had the new U Uncle again which was great because of the very good H2S set it had. It looked very much as though we had drawn the short straw because our drop zone was right in the harbour of Gdynia while the others were mining in the channels much further out in the gulf. It seemed to me that we had the additional job of keeping the defences interested while the others did their work. We were warned that there were at least two German capital ships in the port of Gdynia as well as their normal on shore defences, also their partially completed aircraft carrier was there. We were carrying one mine of 1800 pounds and four of 1400 pounds, all to be dropped by parachute from 13000ft.

10 of 47 Ops with us

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When we returned from leave she was written off

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Dunc on U-Uncle. Veteran of 47 ops.

We didn’t know that we were saying farewell I think that this may be the New Uncle

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Target: Russelheim Night of 25.8.44

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Target: Kiel Night of 26.08.44

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We were airborne at 2018 hours and set course over base at 1500ft. five minutes later, then at 2113 hours we saw some flares on the starboard beam and after circling once we sighted two small vessels on the port beam and suddenly two angry black puffs appeared about 200 yards in front, then two more much closer this time. Why they were firing at us we did not know and any vessel in this part of the North Sea had to be friendly!! After a bit of evasive action we got back on course and then the gunners reported that the ships had opened fire on another aircraft behind us. It was still daylight, we were all in four engined aircraft coming out of England at 1500ft. and there would have been at least a dozen of us in sight at any one time. We had by this time learnt to give the Royal Navy a wide berth and it was just as well that their shooting was as bad as their aircraft recognition, we had fired off the colours of the day but they did not seem to know which day it was. Twenty minutes later we sighted another vessel and decided to give it a wide berth.

After two hours Ron picked up the coast of Denmark on the H2S and we were only a few miles off course. We climbed to 5000ft. to cross the coast and evaded some light flak coming our way, then climbed to 14000ft. as we entered Swedish airspace. We were invading their neutrality but they did not seem too worried, all their towns were lit up and their flak did not come anywhere near. In fact it looked almost as if it was deliberately fired wide and often it appeared as a V pattern from where it left the ground. We crossed over Southern Sweden and out into the Baltic heading towards Danzig arriving in the vicinity of Gydnia about 0100 hours. The whole area showed up well on the H2S with the long sandspit terminating in the town of Hel unmistakeable. We were to do a timed run from here to the pinpoint where the mines were to be sown but the defences had other ideas. Heavy flak came very close and then we were caught in a Radar guided Master searchlight beam. Instantly five or six more beams latched on to us and there was no hope of getting out. Heavy flak was bursting all around us and I was weaving desperately for about 10 minutes but it seemed more like half an hour. I could not get out of the beams and I had heard it said before that the flak was so thick you could have

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walked on it. Well this was not that bad, you would have had to jump from puff to puff, but strangely a lot of it was bursting below us. Perhaps they were making allowance for us to be losing height, but I was trying to maintain as much height as possible for the parachutes on the mines to work. I told Dunc. that I would have to go out to sea and then make another approach, but he said NO we are just about on the marks so we dropped the mines there although by this time we were down to 10,000ft. Anyway the parachutes opened alright because I could see some of them going down illuminated by the searchlights. Then we scuttled back out to sea as quickly as we could and set course for Sweden. Away to Starboard we could see all the fireworks of a raid on Koningsberg and a bit later to Port a lot of activity over Stettin where the rest of the squadron we taking part in a raid. Well not quite all the rest of the squadron because as we were walking out to board our aircraft, a Sgt. from Squadron H.Q. ran out and asked me to sign a further battle order. He said any Officer can sign it, so I said OK but I want an extra copy for a souvenir, That was how I managed to send Sq/Leader Nick Williamson and two other crews on a raid down over the beach head.

Well we flew unmolested back over Sweden, then across Denmark almost right over the top of Copenhagen where the flak seemed almost friendly compared to Gdynia. Across Denmark and out into the North Sea letting down to 3,500ft. for the run back to England. I discussed with the Flight engineer what boost and revs. would give us the maximum range with an empty aircraft as I could not believe that we hadn’t been hit and most likely in the tanks. He could see no obvious loss of fuel from his gauges but to be on the safe side we went down to 1800 rpm and about +2 boost which would give us an airspeed of 150 mph. This would reduce our fuel consumption from about 200 gallons per hour to about 130. Shortly after leaving the Danish Coast Ron picked up a convoy of four ships on the H2S and we reported this to a Naval Liaison Officer at debriefing. I believe Coastal Command attended to it later that day.

We had the rest of that day off and then on the 31st were briefed for a raid on a flying bomb supply depot at Pont Remy near Abbeville. This was just a short

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daylight attack and all went well until we were approaching the target area with Abbeville on our Port side, when there was a cluster of 88mm flak bursts at our height and ahead close enough to feel the concussion. The next bursts were all around us, there were a number of clangs as we took some hits and we could smell the explosives. As I started to check the crew, the Flight Engineer called that the Bomb Aimer had been hit and he could see blood on his face, but Ron cut in to say he was OK but that we had passed the markers which had been obscured by cloud.

We did an orbit to Port and ran in on the markers, then when Ron called “Bombs Going” there were only about three thumps as they went and then a great lurch as all the rest of the load went as he put the jettison bars across. Most of his bomb release gear had been hit and there was a hole through the Perspex just a few inches in front of his face. This bit of shrapnel had driven masses of Perspex splinters into his eyes and all over his face, but in spite of this he still managed to do his job. I think we were carrying eleven 1000 pounders and four 500s so most of them going down together would have made quite a hole.

I told Grin to go down into the nose and help Ron back to the rest bed while the Flight Engineer was to check for damage. There seemed to be plenty of holes in the wings and I wanted him to keep a close eye on the engine temperatures and pressures. Duncan, the Navigator, was the stand by Bomb Aimer so he was sent down into the nose to check for hang ups and switch everything off, but Ron called out that he had done all the checks. Dunc had put a bandage around Ron’s head and he was settled down and strapped to the rest bed with his oxygen and intercom leads plugged in. I caught hold of Dunc as he passed me and told him to disconnect Ron’s intercom so we could discuss his condition without him hearing.

I thought maybe we should give him some morphine but was told he didn’t seem too bad and it was not advisable with head wounds anyway. By this time we were on the way home and I got Dunc to work out a few short cuts that we could safely make so we arrived back over base well before our ETA. As we joined the circuit I called up for permission to land and requested an ambulance at dispersal.

Then they asked my position and I replied rather tersely “3 plus” and got a very

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Disaster Target: Flying Bomb supply depot at Port Remy Day of 31.08.44

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quick reply “Uncle pancake”. After a pretty tight circuit we landed right on the threshold, plenty of brake and were able to turn off at the first intersection, then a fast taxi round to our dispersal. Just as we approached the turn off to dispersal the ambulance came hurtling down from sick quarters and it was just as well he had better brakes than Lancs did. By the time the Engineer and I had shut everything down Ron was well on his way to Littleport Hospital, which specialised in eye wounds. Dunc and I later went around to where they had towed poor old Uncle and although the light was bad we tried to take a few photos. They didn’t turn out too well but we had collected over 50 holes right from nose to tail and of those in the Starboard wing, one looked to me to be perfectly round and 88mm across. My guess was that a shell had gone clean through without exploding, perhaps we could thank some slave worker in a German ammunition factory. The aircraft was a write off, but would be sent away to be rebuilt, and had only done three operations from new.

We tried to get a report on Ron’s condition and at first the news was that he would be able to return to Ops before very long. Then the news was worse and eventually we were told that he would never fly as a Bomb Aimer again. This was a blow because we had been selected to go straight on to another tour on PFF but I had said that we would only go as a complete crew. Another crew went in our place and they survived their tour alright.

That looks about 88mm in Diameter to me

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Holes from nose to tail. Myself by the starboard fin flak after Port Remy

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7.9mm ?? Grin by port fin flak the day after Port Remy Holes everywhere

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Crew prior to the Kamen Raid, G.Coull, Dunc, Self, Lyndon Simm, Grin, W and H

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We had a week or so off while Ron’s condition was being sorted out and managed to get into Littleport a couple of times to see him and Dave Moriarty who was still there. We used to hitch a ride and I can remember one truck picking me up and in the cab was a plaque stating “The driver of this vehicle will suffer instant dismissal if he is found to be carrying unauthorised persons in his cab” but they still stopped and picked us up. We tried to keep out of the road as much as possible but when it became clear that Ron would not be rejoining us we found ourselves back on the battle order again with Nick’s Bomb Aimer, Graham Coull from Christchurch as a replacement. Our first trip with Graham was to a synthetic oil plant at Kamen between the Ruhr and Hamm and it was the first time we had attacked Germany in daylight.

Taffy was still off sick and this time we had the Engineering Leader, Lyndon Sims as Flight Engineer. It was a beautiful clear day and we were routed away from the most heavily defended areas, not a German fighter did we see and flak over the target was not too bad. The markers went down on time and as we ran in to bomb, smoke from the plant was already up to our height of 16,000ft. with some spectacular fireworks at the base of the smoke column. We had no problems on the way out either, but saw some aircraft shot down by flak as they strayed a bit too close to the Ruhr. This was the end of Lyndon Sims second tour so it was a good one for him to finish on.

The next night we were on the battle order again and the target was Frankfurt. This time we could pass to the north of Paris and still be over friendly territory. If my memory is correct we flew over much of France at fairly low level to escape radar detection and I can still visualise an aircraft slightly ahead and below spreading itself along the ground in a brilliant trail of fire and ending up in a blazing heap. Dunc said that our charts showed all the heights in metres and they must have mistaken them for feet. It was a good feeling to know that we had the best navigator in the flight. We passed to south of Chalons sur Marne and then started climbing up in the direction of Strasbourg, then north to pass just to the west of Mannheim. The idea was to keep the Germans guessing which was the

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Targrt: Synthetic oil plant in Kamen Day of 11.09.44

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Target: Frankfurt Night of 12.09.44

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actual target until the last possible moment. Not long after we turned north east towards Frankfurt someone got themselves coned near Mannheim, suddenly right in front of me and not more than six feet above me, I saw a FW 190, heading on a reciprocal course. It passed so close that I was almost scared to call up the mid upper Gunner in case he wasn’t there anymore. I swear it was still slightly in front of me when I felt the shock wave of its passing. I hope the German pilot got as big a fright as I did.

As we approached Frankfurt at about 18,500ft. We were suddenly caught in a master beam and within seconds coned by about ten or twelve more searchlights.

There was no hope of getting out and I could see the exhaust flame of a single engined fighter not far away, so the only thing to do was to try and get right out of the target area. The engineer gave me combat boost (five minutes maximum) and I put the nose down and headed down wind to increase our ground speed.

The maximum permissible airspeed for a Lanc is 360 mph but I had the airspeed indicator hard on the stop at 400 and I estimated we must have been doing 440.

The lights passed us from on set to the next and Graham Coull wanted to shoot them out, some hope from a height of over two miles. Eventually we were about half way back to Mannheim before we got clear and down to about 9,000ft, when I eased the aircraft gently out of the dive using the trim control, the stick load was too high to pull it out with the control column. For some reason we seemed unable to climb well, staggered through the target at only 13,200ft and dropped our 4000 pounder and fourteen 500s. We got our photo and scuttled off into the welcome darkness. Then as we lost height, the reason for the lack of ability to climb became apparent, At 18,500ft we had the superchargers in S gear and I had forgotten to tell the Engineer to go back to M gear when we were returning to the target at the lower height. But anyway we got away with it, returned towards Paris and then north west to cross the coast by Calais. Then across the Channel north of the Thames and back to base. Our flying time was only six and a half hours, what a difference from the Stuttgart trips of almost eight hours only six weeks ago and now we could fly over liberated France at low level and by a much shorter route. I guess this was

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about the stickiest trip we did. Graham Coull was a much more excitable type of person the Ron, but he got good results and that was what mattered.

We had the rest of the day to catch up on some sleep and the next day were briefed for a raid on a V2 site at Wassanaar near the Hague in Holland. We were to lead ten aircraft of our squadron and there would be the same number from two other squadrons on the trip. We all set off in three clusters of ten and then I made another mistake by setting the course Dunc gave me ten degrees out on the DR compass, he soon sorted me out and we got back on track, but it was a warning that I was becoming stale and tired. We duly bombed the markers from 10,000ft. and the bombing looked pretty good, but the Germans were very adept at setting up their rocket site, firing it at London and then dismantling it in quick order.

There was absolutely no opposition and if the markers were spot on and the rocket launcher still there we would have got it. As we approached base I wanted the ten aircraft to fly up the runway at a couple of thousand feet and then drop out of the gaggle one by one from the rear and join the circuit. But it didn’t work out like that and turned into a bit of a shambles, we were in S Sugar and when I started to turn to port someone yelled on the RT “Don’t go down Sugar” and I pulled up just in time to miss another Lanc. So even the easy trips had their moments.

Our next was to Boulogne where German troops were holding out to deny the Allies the use of the port. It was a warm sunny day and I can remember being in my shirt sleeves as we flew over the Thames Estuary and I think that some of the gunners on the forts in the Estuary were not quite as friendly as they should have been. It seemed no time when Dunc warned Graham 10 minutes to the target. This was a strong point on a hill top near the town and we were to attack from 3,000ft., which was pretty low and a sitter for light flak. I took a photo of the town and river on the way in from my window and then we were dropping. We got through without any trouble and got a really Chuck Washer, now Acting B Flight Commander

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Target: V2 site at Wassanaar Day of 14.09.44

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good photo, then it was off back to base, flying time two hours thirty five minutes, our shortest Op ever. We had now done 30 Ops. as a crew, and really appreciated the flight commander giving us an easy one to finish on. At least we hoped we were finished but could only be sure when the CO said we were. It didn’t turn out to be an easy one for the flight commander S/Ldr Garth Gunn though, he got hit by light flak over the target, struggled back to England with two motors out on one side and crashed at Hawkinge on the South Coast. Some of the crew were killed and he died of his injuries a couple of days later.

Also several of the others were injured too. He had lost his hydraulics and asked the Flight Engineer that if he used emergency air to get his wheels down could he get them up again. The Engineer said he could, but he was wrong and Garth should have known this too. Hawkinge was a small grass fighter airfield and when they ran out of room he couldn’t lift the undercart and ran into a concrete pill box. Once the wheels were down with the emergency air system they were down to stay, you could retract the flaps if you wanted to but were unlikely to be able to put them down again. The moral, read your pilots notes. He is buried at Brookwood Cemetry near Bisley, and I just happened to be in the N.Z. Forces Club when someone mentioned they were going to the funeral, so I went down with them.

The N.Z. Forces Club in Charing Cross Road was a great pace to call in to when we got the chance to go to London. It had previously been the Italian Embassy, was very central being just up from Trafalgar Square, You could always rely on meeting someone you knew there, you could get food, a beer or they would sort out overnight accommodation or else you could just sit around and talk. There was a pay phone where you put money into a slot, dialled your number and then when you Boulogne from my window at 3000ft

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Target: German strong point on hill in Boulogne Day of 17.09.44

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got an answer you pressed button A. There would be a clang and your cash went into the machine but if there was no answer you would press button B and your money would be refunded. One day I pressed button B and a shower of coins came out, so after that I would always check first and sometimes had a win. When May and Jack were still in Morden I used to ring up and was always invited out to stay. I can remember one evening as I walked along Sandbourne Av. from the tube, there were little piles of debris along the footpath where bomb damaged material had been stacked and the further I went, the bigger they got. Luckily as I neared No 90 they started getting smaller again. Another morning I was having a sleep in when what sounded like a Spitfire whistled over the top of the house and next there was an almighty bang, as what was actually a flying bomb hit a row of poplars a couple of blocks away. It was one of the ones which didn’t go into a dive when the motor cut. Another day I was walking across a bridge over the Thames when the sirens went and a flying bomb approached. About half a mile away the motor cut, it dived straight into a large gasometer and the resulting gout of flame and the smoke cloud was exactly what we came to know later on as a mushroom cloud.

The evening after Boulogne the Wing CO came up to me in the Mess and said “You can tell your crew you’re finished”. No congratulations or saying you have done a good job just those seven words. I’m afraid Dunc and I had too much to drink that night but at least we had a foreseeable future to look forward to for a while. I had done 31 Ops Dunc and the rest of the crew 30 and Ron was finished at 26 anyway. We had been at Mepal for just over three months, during that time the squadron had made 1040 successful sorties on targets in France and Germany and had lost 23 aircraft. If you work that out and multiply by 31 Ops you come to a loss figure of 70% so statistically you had a 30% chance of survival. Remember too that by this time the R.A.F. was getting on top of the Germans and that only about six months before we started Ops, the loss rate was more than twice what it was during our time. That is how Bomber Command came to lose over 55,000 aircrew and the only Service to suffer a higher loss rate for the whole war was the German Submarine Service. By some standards however we were well paid for our efforts,

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looking at one of my pay sheets for Sept. 1944, I see that 26 pounds 10 shillings was credited to my Lloyds Bank Account at 6 Pall Mall, London, that works out at $1.77 per day. Those serving in the R.N.Z.A.F. in the Pacific were paid more than we were, but our Government did not want us to be seen to be better off than those in the R.A.F. who were flying with us. However they were grateful enough to make it up with deferred pay which you were entitled to collect if you survived and returned to N.Z. We got a fair bit of Post Op leave and I think that was when Dunc and I went up to Scotland to Alastrean House. But first I must have gone to London because I was in the N.Z. forces Club when as I mentioned before someone said they were going to Garth Gunn’s funeral. So several of us went off by electric train to Brookwood Cemetry, somewhere near Slough I think and saw him buried with full Military Honours. I have nothing now to prompt my memory but I know we first went to Alastrean House about this time. The setting was a beautiful part of Scotland inland from Aberdeen and was a Country Estate that had once belonged to Lord and Lady Aberdeen but had been purchased by Lady MacRobert as a R.A.F. leave centre in honour of her three sons Sir Alasdair, Sir Roderic and Sir Iain who were all killed in the R.A.F. It was known as the House of Cromer.

We had to stand all the way from London to Edinburgh but from there to Aberdeen the train was not so crowded. I can still remember the smell of fish when we pulled in to Aberdeen Rail Station, on the platforms were wooden crates of fish with the fins sticking out and the juice running across the platform. No wonder that some of the fish we got down in England was a bit on the high side, I always used to break the batter carefully and then decide whether to eat it or not depending on the aroma.

Brookwood Cemetery, Garth Gunn’s Funeral

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Logbook June 1944 Logbook July 1944

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Logbook August 1944 Logbook August 1944

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We took the little branch line from Aberdeen through Banchory, where relatives of the Findlays lived, and on to Aboyne from where we were taken by car to Alastrean House. The bedrooms were huge, there was a blue room, a pink room and so on, plenty of bathrooms and lashings of hot water. The whole place was run by the R.A.F. and the resident manager and his wife could not have been kinder. The meals were just out of this world and there was always a barrel of beer on tap. We paid a small charge but really it was only a token. There were two lochs nearby to go fishing in but I had no success there, we were taken out by the Gillies rabbit shooting and ended up with about 30 rabbits, there is a bit of a story to this. The Gillies would put us in position around some rabbit burrows in a plantation of pines and then take some ferrets out of their pockets and pop them down the holes. Rabbits would come whizing out in all directions followed by the bang of 12g. guns using Airforce ammunition and then the retrievers would pick up. Well one of the New Zealanders saw something move from the corner of his eye, bang, and there was a dead ferret. The owner picked it and as he stroked it he kept on saying “Oh the poor wee beastie, the poor wee beastie�. These Gillies were the slickest I have ever seen at gutting the rabbits and then they were put in a little hand cart and off to market. I guess we got some at the house too.

There were bikes to borrow and ride all the country roads, good roads too, perhaps because we were pretty close to Balmoral, and I used to take a rod and bike over the hill to a little pub called the Boultenstone Hotel. There was a little stream nearby in which we were allowed to fish. It was all dry fly fishing and pretty tricky too, the stream was full of little salmon parr about three or four inches long and if you struck as they took your fly, they went over your head into the long grass behind. It was a very serious offence not to return them to the stream unharmed so I spent quite a bit of time hunting around in the grass. After a while I cottoned on to the fact that the little salmon had a frantic sort of rise to the fly whereas the Now for a hole in one

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Alastrean House, main entrance

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trout had a much more leisurely one. The trout were only about seven or eight inches long and at first I was too ashamed to take them back, but after taking a couple of the biggest I learnt that all sizes were fair game. Air Commodore Grenfell, the res.

Manager was also a keen fisherman and sometimes we went fishing in the river Don past Boultenstone where there were also salmon in the river. I don’t think we could have kept a salmon if we had caught one by mistake, but never had to make the decision, although I could see them splashing their way up some of the shallows.

A.C. Grenfell caught a magnificent trout of fully half a pound. We also were taken out pigeon shooting, the pigeons roosted for the night in little woods and we were posted all around one of these one evening while the gillie crept inside and then fired a shot. The pigeons knew all about this and spiralled to a safe height over the centre of the wood before setting out for a safer roosting place. I think we only knocked down two or three and when the gillie went to pick one up, it took off again at high speed. I was amazed to see him fire his shotgun from the hip and bring it down.

One of the nice things about being up in Scotland was that food rationing was much more relaxed. There seemed to be a little more of everything and I suppose it had something to do with being in a country area. Not that we weren’t reasonably well fed on the squadron, but there things like milk to drink was unheard of and eggs and bacon were only available if you were going on Ops or alternatively had just returned. But at the back door of the Boultenstone Hotel we could always come in and have ham and eggs. The front door was always only open during licencing hours.

So our stay in Scotland came to an end and we returned to Mepal early in October.

There we found that the whole crew, excepting Ron of course, were posted back to Feltwell as instructors. I was a bit disappointed as I had hoped to get a posting to BDU (Bomber Development Unit) at Newmarket where new equipment was tried and tested, but it was not to be. So we were transported by truck back to Feltwell, certainly a comfortable peacetime station, on Oct. 5th.

Tour expired, leaving Mepal for Feltwell

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Lady McRobert’s memorial to her three sons The Front Terrace

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Dunc on the Putting Green Movies, by A/Comm Grenfell the Res. Sec.

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Tea in the Sunken Garden There was room for lots of guests

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Out of Uniform Part of the Gardens

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The Boltenstone Hotel Again in 1978

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Off back to War again Flight Lieutenant JK Aitken, 1944

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On the boat, sailing back to New Zealand

INSTRUCTOR

1944-1945

INSTRUCTOR I was told to report to A Flight and after a couple of days hanging around was told to take a pupil up and give him a check circuit. When I said I had never sat in the right hand seat, I was told all I was doing was checking him out and to get on with it. Following that I spent an hour in the right hand seat with the chief flying instructor and from then I was an Instructor. Then about four days later I was given a pupil, told to take him over to Mepal, give him some dual, send him solo on circuits and bumps and then bring him back. Everything went OK and the next night it was the same pupil on night circuits at Waterbeach. It was a much more leisurely type of existence and the worst part was watching from the control tower, your pupil doing his stuff and hoping all would go well. This was a bit nerve racking especially at other airfields at night as you knew that the squadron aircraft were away on an Op and you hoped your pupil wouldn’t stuff up the runway before they got back. We always had time to get well out of the road before this happened, but our aircraft were older and a little prone to having things go wrong. I remember one night at Mepal doing dual circuits when there was an almighty bang from the starboard outer and sparks flew out at right angles. The motor caught on fire but after feathering it we got the fire out and of course had to return to Feltwell to get a replacement aircraft, it turned out that most of the big ends had come out through the side of the block. It was very comforting to find that when I went to breakfast the next morning there was a rep. from Rolls Royce waiting to find out my experience of the engine failure and he would already have inspected the engine down at the hangar. This happened both times I had a Merlin fail and it really inspired confidence, Another time I had the pupil doing steep turns when the aileron control snapped, so I changed places with the pupil and found on the approach to Feltwell that if a wing dropped, a kick on the rudders would bring it up again. There were enough spare aircraft to be able to just step out of one into another if anything went wrong.

One of my pupils in December was F/S Egglestone who was the skipper of the crew in which Jim Freestone was the Bomb Aimer. We got to know Jim and his wife. Wyn, very well when they owned a motel in Gisborne On Nov. 30th I

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was very sorry to hear that Taffy had been killed, according to Ron the aircraft he was in flew into another exploding Lanc and there were no survivors. He had really completed his tour but had decided to stay on and finish with the rest of the crew he had now joined. According to the records only 21 squadron aircraft were lost from the time we finished our tour and the end of the war and it was very sad that Taffy had to be in one of these. He is buried at the British Military Cemetery, Reichenwald Forest in Germany.

When we first took a new pupil up in a Lanc. we tried to show them just how good the aircraft really was. One of my favourite demonstrations was to find a Flying Fortress stooging along and then get behind and a bit above it, feather the two outboard motors and slide down to formate with it. You could almost read the minds of the two American pilots as you saw their white faces looking back at you, then their exhausts would pour out black smoke as they went to full throttle and rich mixture, but we were able to hang on. If they went into a steep turn we would have to unfeather and stay with them for a while, then we would turn inside and could come right round on their tail. The Fortress was known for its capacity to absorb punishment but not for its speed or its load carrying ability, a Mosquito was able to carry the same bomb load to Berlin as a Fortress.

One day at the bar in the Mess someone came up to me and said “You owe me a Drink” and when I asked why he said “For your Gong” I replied “Bullshit I haven’t got a gong” “Well” he said “You had better go and have a look in the Times”. I knew that Ron had been awarded an immediate DFC after his effort at Pont Remy but I didn’t think I had done anything out of the ordinary, in fact I thought that we had had a much easier tour than a lot of the others. But there it was in the Times “The King is graciously pleased to award the Distinguished Flying Cross to…” so and so and further down the list was my name and serial number so R.A.F. Indentity Card

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there was no mistake. It cost me drinks all round for whoever was in the bar at the time. Irish O’Connor who had flown U Uncle before us kindly offered me a spare piece of ribbon to sew on my tunic, but the cunning sod didn’t tell me it was back to front. That cost me another round of drinks to a much bigger crowd this time, because I think he had warned them. I really felt that the decoration belonged to the whole crew, or especially to Dunc, and I got it simply because I was the skipper I hope they all realised that it was as much theirs as mine.

By this time winter was approaching again and we used to get up to a bit of mischief on wet days. One of the tricks was to get a blank copy of the pilots flying assessment form (414 A) which was a gum backed form for glueing into logbooks.

If this was rolled up on a pencil and part of it licked, it made a nice solid cardboard tube which we then stuffed with cordite from some cartridges pinched out of one of the gun turrets. We would place it on the floor outside, say the navigator’s office, someone would put a match to its tail, while another of us would knock on the door, open it, and as soon as the missile went in close it and hold it shut. The cardboard tube would act like a horizontal rocket and wizz around the room half a dozen times before expiring while the occupants tried to keep out of its road. We did manage to set someone’s carpet on fire one day but most of the time it was just good clean fun. Our a flight commander, F/Lt. Smith, “Smithie”, had a bad habit of dropping his cigarette ash in the waste paper basket and some miscreant broke open some Verey cartridges putting most of the contents in Smithie’s basket. The inevitable happened and poor Smithie was seen rushing outside with the basket, luckily a metal one, hissing and smoking and emitting bright red and yellow flames.

The weather around Christmas 1944 was terrible, frozen fog everywhere, the ground icy and too much ice on the aircraft for any flying. Ron, who was now back in Littleport Hospital for more eye operations, walked all the way to Feltwell, 14 Hoare Frost on a tree

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miles, to be with us. The roads were too icy for any busses or trucks to be running and he was just about frozen when he walked into the Mess. We had a great party though on Christmas Day and then he had to walk all the way back again on Boxing Day. The same sort of weather continued for a few more days and I remember the hoar frost on the wire netting around the tennis courts was almost solid. Then we had some snow and after it thawed the airfield, which had no concrete runways, became so boggy in places that we had to move over to Newmarket.

The staff there, including the BDU didn’t seem all that pleased to see us. The airfield prior to the war, was the Newmarket Racecourse and was also grass but had runways marked out with marker boards. One day I was up with a pupil and we had a total hydraulic failure, I notified control and got the wheels down with emergency air but could not get any flap. So I did a long approach at a higher speed to compensate for no flap, and when at about 300 ft. a BDU Halifax cut in in front of me and landed. Flying Control didn’t send him round or give him a red and I was so annoyed I landed behind him, and of course with no flap I overtook him on the runway which was just wide enough for the two of us, but I bet his rear gunner gave him an earful when he saw us charging down on him. Nothing was said to me afterwards but I hope he got a blast from his boss.

We flew from there for three weeks and when the time came to go back to Feltwell we filled our bomb bays up with torn up toilet paper and then dropped it on their camp. Unfortunately I couldn’t take part as I had ended up in sick quarters with the flu, but I was able to see some of it from my window. There was bad news for us at Feltwell, all Stirlings were being withdrawn from the Heavy Conversion Units and replaced with Lancasters, so our LFS was being disbanded. As a pre-war station Feltwell had over time, accumulated a pretty good cellar and instead of leaving it for the next unit to come in, it was decided at a meeting to hold a raffle and whatever you won, you could purchase at cost. I won, amongst other things, a bottle of Duke D’Artagnan Espernay Champagne for a few shillings, 1928 Rerserve Militaire. Dunc and I drank it in our room and were not impressed, I guess we just didn’t have the acquired taste for such things. I still have the label though.

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Alec Gray It’s not snow

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Dec 1944 at Feltwell Its just Hoare Frost Pity the poor Ground Crews in this weather But it snowed for Christmas

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Where are my gloves Ron walked over from Littleport for New years Ron, Bob and Dunc a bit worse for wear

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At some time or other I had swapped my 38 revolver for a Smith and Weston 45 and and had trouble getting the right ammo for it, but at Feltwell I picked up a case of 1000 rounds of Tommy Gun ammunition, all tracer. Being a rimless case it would not extract from the cylinder but with the help of a pencil I overcame that. The Unit CO Wing/Co. Max had formed a team to take part in the No. 3 Group championships with rifle, revolver and sten so I used to put in a lot of practice down at the 25 yard range. We had to go over to another station for the final Championship and on the way stopped to get in a bit of practice on a covey of partridges out in the middle of a paddock. The others were going crack, crack with their 38s but my 45 went boom, boom and great red hot sparks would fly out at the partridges and ricochete away into the distance. We did well with our rifles but when it came to sten mine would not fire single shots but always a short burst until I could let the trigger go. Some of the sten exercise was single shots from the shoulder and some was short bursts from the hip, we did just as badly as the other teams from the hip. When it came to revolver I did pretty well but the other teams were a bit surprised to see my tracers. I had one misfire but after a complaint to the range officer, I was allowed another shot and I am pretty sure we came away with the trophy, we had a celebration on the way home anyway.

This morning while I was doing my ironing I put on a CD and amongst others tunes I listened to Jimmy Dorsey’s rendition of “Amapola”. Immediately I visualised the ante room in the Mess at Feltwell with the gramaphone grinding out “Amapola” again and again and again. In Canada it was “The Bells are Ringing for Me and my Gal” and at Ashburton it was “San Antonio Rose”. But the recollection of the ante room with it’s big leather armchairs and men relaxing reading the Times or Daily Mirror, some smoking or having a pint is very clear in my mind. But that was the end of No. 3 Lanc Finishing School and on Feb. 5th together with several of the other pilots I was posted to No. 1668 Heavy Conversion Unit at Bottesford, between Grantham and Nottingham. Luckily S/Ldr. Phillip Brentnall, our Flight Commander came with us and he was one of the best. I ended up with an Above Average assessment from the Chief Flying Instructor at Feltwell. Dunc was posted

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Early 1945, Posted to 1668 HCU Bottesford Lancs at Bottesford

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somewhere else, so were the twins and Bob Cunningham, but I can’t remember where. Dunc was the only one I met again before I came home.

When we got to Bottesford we were surprised to see that they had some Lanc 2s there as well as 1s and 3s. The Mark 2s had Hercules radial engines instead of the Merlin inlines we had been used to. Three of us pilots went up in a Mark 2 just to get the feel of one, and the Engineering Leader who came with us bet each of us in turn that we would not stay on the runway on our first takeoff. The propellers rotated in the opposite direction so the aircraft swung to starboard on take off instead of to port. Needless to say he collected three pints of beer in the mess that evening. They had a fair bit more power than what we were used to but with the drag of their radial motors, I don’t think they were really any faster, and their fuel consumption was about 25% higher. Also they were no where near as manoeuvrable as the 1s or 3s as I found out when I tried to demonstrate a corkscrew to a new pupil. Anyway I can see from my logbook that they were phased out a month after we had arrived at Bottesford and we were left with the much liked Mark 1s and 3s. The only difference between these two was that 1s had Merlin 22s or 24s made at Rolls Royce and the 3s had Packard built Merlin 28s.

The handling was just the same and the very few differences were all in the Flight Engineer’s department.

I was in B Flight and flight commander was still Phil Brentnall. He had an old Austin 10 and some nights he would pile about six of us into it and we would go off to the “Black Boy” pub at the little village of Foston, where we soon came to accepted by the locals. We could play darts or shove halfpenny and drink a pint or two before going back to the drome and I think the beer was better than in the Mess. In fact I started to drink cider in the Mess as the beer was not to my taste, Gaymers Cider and it could pack a nasty punch. It came in little half pint bottles and two of these before a meal was enough for me. The others used to throw off at me for not being to hold my liquor but when Dunc came to stay one night while on leave, I tried him out with a couple of bottles and he didn’t have any tea.

Liberator, American Bomber

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We slept in Nissen huts a couple of miles away from the airfield but they were reasonably comfortable with a little coke stove for the winter, but the showers and wash rooms were a bit of a walk away. I shared a room with Alec Gray who came from Napier and we got on well together, we were always short of fuel for our stove and made raids on the coal stores at night, having to climb a high barbed wire fence to get in and throw coal or coke out to the one on the outside.

One night in March I was to be on night flying but there was to be a party in the Mess for some reason or other so when a little bit of fog settled over the runway it was a good excuse to cancel all night flying. This just happened to be the first night for a long time that the Germans sent over some intruders and two adjoining airfields each had three shot down in the circuit. Another night we were woken up by cannon fire coming from the direction of the airfield and in the morning there were signs everywhere “Danger, unexploded bombs”. The Duty Officer at Flying Control had turned out all the lights but had forgotten the red warning lights on the hangars and also the one on the steeple of Bottesford Cathedral so the enemy aircraft shot up the hangars, damaged a couple of planes on dispersal and knocked some slates off the Cathedral roof. Also it chipped some gravestones in the churchyard, and then scattered a whole lot of butterfly bombs around the buildings. Not long after it departed a Mosquito was heard passing over at high speed and we were told later that the enemy was shot down over the Wash. I remember one night when I had sent my pupil solo on circuits and bumps when there was an air raid warning red and we had to close down. My pupil had just landed and turned off at the end of the runway when we switched off all the lights except the blue hooded glim lights around the perimeter track. For some reason or other his R.T. went off and he was still taxying around for another take off with his Nav. Lights on. He was very conspicuous and we couldn’t contact him, so I was very busy out on the front decking with an Aldis lamp frantically sending the word “Bandits” until he finally got the message, put his lights off and taxyed back to his dispersal. One morning I took up a pupil for a Road to Beauvoir Castle near Bottesford Bottesford Cathedral

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quick check before he went on a practice bombing exercise. The aircraft had already been bombed up and after one circuit I was quite happy to send him off to do his stuff. He dropped me off by the Control Tower and the bomb aimer also hopped out to check what stations his practice bombs were and to pull the safety pins. As the pilot opened the bomb doors one of the bombs dropped out and went off under the aircraft, although I had my flying helmet on I distinctly hear something whizz past my ear. Someone had forgotten to put the safety pins in and also there must have been a faulty circuit in one of the release points. Anyway I managed to wave him forward off the smoking casing on the tarmac and he went back to dispersal to get the circuits checked out. It was just as well it was only a eleven pound practice bomb.

Another night a pupil on dual circuits and bumps flew into a low hill off the end of the runway and caught on fire. I was in the Control Tower at the time and through binoculars I could see the crew running around silhouetted against the flames. The instructor got a piece of the canopy framing through his lung but survived and the rest of the crew only received minor injuries. Then there was another prang when a new instructor who had come off Halifaxes swung on takeoff and ended up hanging over the road alongside the airfield. On the side of the road there had always been a notice warning cars that they were passing near the end of a runway and I have a photo of the notice “Danger, beware of aircraft” and just beyond it the plane part way across the road. I had an engine failure on takeoff one morning but we were just airborne and it didn’t present any problems with an empty aircraft. In all the time I was flying Lancasters I only had two engine failures and each time a representative from Rolls Royce turned up to check things out and to speak to all concerned, which I thought was a very good service.

Every now and then a group of instructors would be sent off to the Central Flying School at Upavon to learn how to be proper instructors. They always came back with tales of how they were put in their place by the permanent staff there.

The instructors at Upavon would all have been superb pilots but almost all of them would have spent their whole service life in Training Command and couldn’t or wouldn’t understand the attitude of pilots who had recently completed a tour of

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One of our instructors had a swing on take off And nearly crossed the road, Read notice “Danger beware of aircraft”

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Ops, many of whom would be sporting Gongs. Although the IFF, code named Cockerel, had not been in use for at least 12 months except on Ops and then only as briefed, in Training Command you had to say over the R/T on take off “Cockerel Crowing”, and on landing “ Cockerel Strangled”. You actually did nothing with the IFF, but if you didn’t mouth those words you got a black mark. In general the pupils were treated as idiots but I suppose a bit of jealousy was understandable, nevertheless it didn’t go down well.

I had always been able to dodge my postings toathis course, mainly by being on leave when a batch were selected, but one day a group of testing officers arrived to test and categorise those of us who had not been done. From my log book I see that on Apl. 17th F/Lt. Hoyle took me for my Category Test. First of all I had to have an oral test on all aspects of instructing and one of the questions was on asymmetrical stalling, or stalling with one engine feathered. I must have answered OK, but as the questions were getting a bit tough I asked one myself, “What would happen if you stalled a Lanc with two engines feathered on the one side”. F/Lt. Hoyle stood up and said “I’m buggered if I know, we’ll go up and find out”. So that was the end of my oral test and we then did just over an hours flying test, including trial stalling. A Lanc flew reasonably well with two engines out on one side if it wasn’t too heavily loaded, although it was not possible to trim off all the load on the rudder pedals, but it would get you home if someone in the crew was able to relieve some of the foot load. When we stalled it, it rather gently dropped a wing about 30 or 40 degrees and when you let the nose go down and the speed picked up, it would almost pick that wing up by itself. All in all it was a very forgiving aircraft. I ended up getting a “B” Category instructor’s Certificate whereas I didn’t hear of anyone who went to Upavon getting anything other than a “C”.

Our Flight Commander, Phil Brentnall, who was really a superb pilot was tested by the CO of the testing flight and was made to do a three engined landing.

He had just greased it down beautifully when the testing Officer said “Overshoot”.

They had landed on one of the short runways and the correct answer would have been “It can’t be done from this position”, but Phil told us afterwards “He asked me

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Dunc’s Machine Danger Man

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for an overshoot and I bloody well gave him one”. With full flap and wheels down they staggered into the air at the end of the runway and disappeared from sight into a gully, they followed that gully down for ten minutes before they could get up enough speed to start climbing. Phil was posted away the next day and I didn’t see him again until a chance meeting in 1994, when I found that he had been posted back to a squadron, lucky beggar.

When there was a spell of bad weather and no flying we still had time to get up to a bit of mischief. All the pilots flight offices and the other trades were in a long wooden building with a corridor down the centre and the various rooms down each side would all have their little pot bellied stove going flat out if it was cold. The various bods would be seated around it reading the latest “Flight” or “Aeroplane” magazine or getting their log books up to date. We would raid the pyrotechnic store, put a few Verey Cartridges inside our tunics, then borrow a ladder and pop one cartridge down each chimney. There was generally a delay of a couple of minutes, then a dull thud but just enough to blow the lid off the stove and fill the room with foul smelling coal smoke. In the middle of the morning the NAAFI wagon would pull up to dispense “A cuppa char and a wad” which was a cup of tea and a bun.

It was a rather boring sort of existence and after some discussion with Dunc while on leave in London, we went round to Adastral House and applied to go back on another tour on Mosquitos. We didn’t mind if it was to be on the bomber version but we stressed that having done a tour on Lancs, we were in a good position to be considered for a tour on night fighters. By this time the heavy bomber streams were being escorted at night by Serate Mosquitos which had a radar capable of homing on the AI (airborne interception) transmissions of the German night fighters. Dunc was a top class navigator, I am sure we would have made a good team and Serate was decimating the German night fighters in the same way as the American escort fighters had decimated their day fighters. We never ceased to have a lot of Phil Brentnall on V E Day

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respect for the German night fighter force, but they were our enemies and were responsible for the majority of our losses. We were virtually promised a posting but it never happened even after another visit to the Postings Officer.

Towards the end of April it was becoming apparent that the war in Europe could not go on much longer, so we industriously started collecting pyrotechnics for a good party. When VE Day arrived the first thing the Powers that Be did was to immobilise all aircraft and lock the pyrotechnic stores but by then we had half a kit bag full. We had dragged a lot of dead branches and trees trunks into a big heap near our billets and emptied the kit bag into the middle. After a good party in the Mess we set our bonfire alight after dark and had as good a display as any 5th of November. Then we went off to the Black Boy and it must have been near daybreak before we got to bed. Nothing much was done for a few days and then we were back to training crews as if nothing had changed.

Then we got he opportunity of going on “Tiger Force” which was the code name for a large number of Lancs to be tropicalised and flown out to Okinawa for operations against Japan. Some of the Brits were not too keen on the idea and who could blame them, but I would guess that all the Australians and New Zealanders volunteered. We spent quite a bit of time ferrying aircraft all over the place, a lot to Kemble where there were hundreds and hundreds parked in the fields around the airfield and some down to Talbenny near Milford Haven in Wales, from where they would be flown to Canada and then to the Far East. I was flying the pick up kite and the flying control Officer at Talbenny was worried that we might not get off the short runway there. He had a Warwick prang the day before and it was still lying in the grass at the end of the runway when it couldn’t get airborne. I got the engineer to take the throttles up through the gate to show him what a real aircraft could do and we climbed away at about 30 degrees. I think there would have been close to a couple of thousand Lancs in good enough condition to go out there and if all the American Forts. And Libs. went too then the skys there would have been pretty crowded.

Near the end of June I had the opportunity of filling a Lanc. up with ground crew and taking them for a sightseeing tour around Germany. Their war had been

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one of dull routine, working out in all sorts of weather on aircraft maintenance, day and night, and this was one way of repaying them for the way they had stuck at it, some of them for five years. We flew over Amsterdam,Wesel, the Ruhr, Cologne, Coblenz, and Rotterdam. A few days later with another batch we went to Amsterdam, Emden, Wilhemshaven, Bremen, Hamburg, Hanover, Minden, Hamm, and the Ruhr. In most City Centres there was hardly a building left standing, it was very sobering to see the destruction we had caused and how the Germans stood it for so long, I don’t know.

The R.A.F. was starting to go back to a sort of peacetime routine and we were being told we were not good enough as pilots and instructors. We had to go up with two instructors in the same aircraft and criticise each other’s performance. This appeared on the notice board in the mess with the two pilots names and the exercise was called BLTB. It was some days before we found out that this was what the Chief Flying Instructor had decided to call it, “Blind leading the Blind”.

At the end of July I got several weeks leave, contacted Ron and we went up to Alastrean House, for an extended stay. We had a great time and decided to go down to Glasgow via Inverness and Fort William. However at Fort William we both became very ill and the landlady at the boarding house where we were spending the night rang a local Army hospital and they sent an ambulance to pick us up. We were duly installed in their establishment at Ballachulish on the shore of Loch Leven. I don’t think they had any other patients and they tried to kill us with kindness. We couldn’t hold down any food but they still sent us up meals on a tray including a bottle of beer, and it was Aitkens Beer from the Falkirk Brewery. Gradually we improved and Ron found out later that at Alastrean House there was a serviceman repatriated from Germany who was suffering from Cholera, and we had possibly had a brush with it. We must have been there for the best part of a week and then the first Atomic bomb was dropped on Japan. We were just discharged in time to get down to Glasgow to celebrate VJ Day, we checked in with May and Jack and set off for the centre of town for the celebrations.

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Duisberg 1945

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Kamen 1945. What was left of Synthetic oil plant at Kamen near Hamn

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Kamen 1945 again Cologne 1945

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Wellemshaven 1945 Krupps of Essen 1945

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Wesel

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Alastrean House. Ron on the Putting Green Bett outside Alastrean House in 1978 Rebuilt after a fire

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Bett walking in Alastrean House Gardens 1978 Alastrean House Gardens 1978

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McRobert’s memorial to her three sons 1978

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Location?

Lawn Bowls with Lady McRobert etc.

Alec Gray at Alastrean House

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Last Picnic near Alastrean I think it is Ron

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We ended up in Hospital at North Ballahuilish

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We were recovering from a serious stomach bug Ballahuilish

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Other Patients from a Commando Training Unit

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Loch Leven Just across Loch Leven from Glencoe Fishing for Sea Trout near Fort William

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We got down to London in time a Victory Flypast

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Fighter, Pigeons and Hoardings AV 1 in Trafalgar Square

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There was a display of German aircraft In Hyde Park JU 88, German combat aircraft ME 110, German twin-engine heavy fighter

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FW 190, German single-seat, single engine fighter aircraft Heinkel 162, German single-engine, jet-powered fighter aircraft Heinkel 162, they called it the people fighter ME 163, German rocket-powered fighter aircraft

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That was when I met Mary McLean and before I left to come home we got engaged, however it all blew up when she came out here in Sept. 1946 and I never quite knew why. But these things happen and life goes on, she eventually married Sid Parkes son, Ian, and died of cancer a few years ago.

We just carried on training crews and I heard that after they left us they were broken up, the navigator and pilot went on to Transport Command and the rest of the crew went digging potatoes. The Empire Air Training Scheme had become so big it seemed impossible to wind it down. In Sept. I was posted to Feltwell to do a Gee course, why I don’t know, and did only one exercise in a Halifax, then was posted back to 1668 HCU which had in the meantime moved to Cottesmore.

This was a pre war Station and very comfortable. On Sept. 24th I took Lancaster 3 No. PB 577 on an air test and proved to be my last flight in one, we did a few nice stall turns and as the airfield was still not in proper use we slid down out of sight of the control tower and shot between two of the hangars just as the COs car tootled across a few feet below our nose. However we didn’t get caught and that was the end of my flying career with the R.A.F.. The CO kindly gave me an assessment as a Pilot-Navigator of Above Average and one as a HB Instructor of Above Average too. My grand total hours were 918 hours 35 minutes. On Sept. 26th I went to a postings unit at Wigsley and then on to Brighton to await repatriation. Ron and Dunc had already left on the Andes and 75 Squadron which had now converted to Lincolns did a fly past over the ship as it left Southhampton.

Before I left England I wanted to get some good trout fishing gear so went into Hardy Bros in Pall Mall who were pleased to take my order but said they couldn’t supply for a year or two. However I left 70 pounds with them for 3 rods and reels plus quite a bit of other gear. Eventually it turned up in Gisborne, but the grateful Government would not release it until I had paid customs duty, despite my saying well if I had brought it with me when I came home I wouldn’t have paid duty. To add insult to injury they charged duty on what I had paid for the goods plus 25% sales tax, I think that this just about doubled the price, but anyway it was just the best gear you could get at the time. I remember the salesman at Hardy’s unable to

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understand me when I wanted fly reels big enough to take 30 yards of fly line plus 50 yards of backing, “You can’t possibly need all that” he said.

In the meantime I hung around Brighton and although I couldn’t get any official leave, I used to leave some money for a telegram and an address with the adj. who was a very understanding sort of person. On the last day of Oct. I hurried back to Brighton, packed my gear, and was sent up to Liverpool to board a ship called the Mooltan. There were quite a number of Air Force personnel on board, some wives and children and a batch of British Troops on their way out to Palestine. She was fitted out as a troopship but we were reasonably comfortable with about six of us in a cabin and it was on the Port side. By the time we got into the Mediterranean the weather was getting warmer and some evenings there was a singsong on the fantail, several piano accordions, the odd violin and hardly a dry eye anywhere.

Most of us were leaving someone behind and we were all leaving a life style we had known for years.

We tied up at Port Said and the Brits all marched ashore with their kit bags to try and keep the Palestinians and the Jews from each others throats. On the side of the ship away from the shore there was a gangway and each time someone went down a little water taxi would wizz in and pick them up. There were Egyptian Guards at the top of the gangway and we noticed that a couple of cigarettes was enough for them to turn a blind eye, so after we had seen several groups of three or four get away with it, a few from our cabin did the same. We spent several hours ashore, wandering the streets and being pestered to buy this or that, and I ended up with a few gifts to bring home, some filigree broaches, leather handbags etc. It was after dark when we headed back to the ship and the first thing we noticed was that there were now N.Z. Army guards on the gangway. I got the boatman to take us around to the porthole of our cabin and called up to one of the occupants to go down to the stern and cut loose one of the rope ladders. We all got up the ladder OK but it was no easy feat with an armful of parcels, and were able to disperse just in time to avoid the guards who came pounding along the deck on the other side.

We got back to our cabins alright and the next day we sailed back to the port of

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Taranto in Italy where we picked up a lot of N.Z. troops. There were several Italian Naval Vessels in the harbour, but there was no show of getting ashore this time and all we could do was watch the antics of some Italians in a speed boat, while looking for any familiar faces in the Kiwis coming aboard from barges. After a day of so we set off back to Port Said, past the magnificent Canal Authority Building and into the Suez Canal. I think we had to stop and tie up whenever a ship approached from the opposite direction and there were several troopships and an aircraft carrier heading back to England. As they passed we would hear a chorus of voices shouting “You’re going the wrong way” but little did they know what they were going back to. Through the porthole I took a photo of a typical Arab dhow sailing past and we certainly were feeling the heat after several years in U K. While walking around the deck one morning I almost tripped over the long legs of Ian Olliver who had been at McCullough, Butler and Spence and he had also lived next but one to our house in Stout St. He was in the Army and must have come aboard at Taranto, another Gisborneite on board was Ian Caie who had lived just across the road.

At the other end of the Canal, at Port Tewfik we picked up a lot more Kiwis from the camps in Egypt and as we sailed down the Red Sea the cabin steward fitted a scoop to the porthole to try and get a bit of breeze from the ship’s forward motion into our cabin. We were glad we were on the port side. From there we sailed across to Colombo, presumably to refuel, and then across the Indian Ocean to Freemantle. The Southern Cross appeared low on the horizon at night and we spent the days watching the flying fish scattering away from the bow and a few of us went into a moustache growing contest. Now to have a really good type of R.A.F. moustache it has to be big enough to be seen from behind and mine just about made it before I took it off on getting home. We all descended on Perth and what a beautiful city it turned out to be. A friend from Feltwell days, Hugh Fleming, and I managed to contact another ex Feltwell type, Hammond I think his name was and he drove us all around the city and suburbs and took us home for a meal. He had gone from Feltwell back onto Ops, been shot down and after spending some time as a POW, had be repatriated earlier.

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Hugh Flemming on the Promenade in Brighton A Passing hip somewhere in the Mediterranean

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Aboard the Mooltan Ditto The Mooltan tied up at Port Siad

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Carley Floats (life raft used at the time)

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The Magnificent Canal Administration Building

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Shipping everywhere British Troops carry their Kit ashore Taranto Harbour

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NZ Troops coming aboard at Taranto You want to buy something special to take home

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Passing through the Suez Canal NZ Troops come aboard at Tewfik

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They called ‘You’re going the wrong way’ Typical Arab dhow sailing past Colombo Harbour Further in

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We’ll see the Southern Cross tonight Who can grow the best Moustache Hugh Flemming and Albie Lander, Indian Ocean

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Hugh Flemming in Perth Perth from Kings Park, A beautiful city

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Myself down by the Swan River Perth, Tudor style arcade

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From there we sailed across the Great Australian Bight where the ship rolled from side to side so much you thought it wouldn’t stop, then one night we could see the Lighthouse on Farewell Spit, and when we woke up we were in Wellington Harbour, with a typical N.Z. yacht outside the porthole. This time the Politicians were taking no chances of a repeat of what happened when the Andes with Ron and Dunc on board had arrived on 24th October. The Andes had broken all records on the Southhampton, Melbourne run, 23 days and 6 hours, but it limped across the Tasman at 12 knots because the warfies had refused to work the ship on Labour weekend. The ship’s Commodre had apologised to the troops over the tannoy and OC troops had cabled the Prime Minister to no avail. When the ship eventually docked she was adorned with bedsheet banners “Welcome Home, Andes, except on Public Holidays” and Walter Nash and the Minister of Defence, Jones copped a barrage of eggs, fruit and vegetables as the ship tied up. Our welcome was much more subdued, it was only a few days till Christmas and we had been at sea for 7 weeks, but there was a band playing “God defend N.Z.”. I was soon on a train for the East Coast and I remember the girls from an Ice Cream factory running across the railway tracks and passing up all sorts of Ice Creams, the first we had seen since Canada, into our waiting hands. Then at Hastings there was Ian Ward and Foxy from the Moriarty Crew handing up early peaches to us and giving us a great welcome. By this time the railway was open to Gisborne and by evening we were pulling into the station. My parents and sisters were there and Pat Crawshaw laughed so much at my moustache that he nearly fell over. The next morning it came off.

We sail into Wellington Harbour And Home Safe and Sound

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Fishing the Moka River River above the falls

Post war

1946­-1950

Post war 1946-1950 A few days after I arrived home Helen and Allan were married and I can remember Helen being very upset because I refused to wear my uniform at the wedding. I had had enough of the Air Force for the time being and also it was to be their day and I felt I would rather be in the background. Ron and Duncan came down and stayed for the wedding and it was great to catch up with them again, they had arrived back in NZ quite a bit earlier. I am writing this in 2009 and am relying on some of my photos to prompt my memory which now is rather poor.

Helen and Allan were married in St. Andrews and the reception was held at our house 252 Stout Street, with photos on the front lawn and the Wedding Breakfast in a Marquee on the back lawn. Joan Faram was Helen’s Bridesmaid and Libby was her Flower Girl. Helen and Allan departed on their Honeymoon in a Morris 8 which was a pretty flash car in those days. After they had departed Ron, Dunc and I went over to the back of Pat Crawshaw’s with Ian Olliver (Who was in uniform!) and settled a few beers.

Ron and Dunc stayed for a few days and had a look around Gisborne and somewhere there is a photo of us sliding down a hill at Pouawa on Cabbage Tree branches which proves that we were still kids. We must have been out there for a swim. The day after I got home I went over to the Carpentry Building in Carnarvon Street and had a few beers at the staff Christmas break-up and, saw Alice Elizabeth Williams walk past as she knocked off after work. Little did I know what was to eventuate! Before I had left UK I had become engaged to a Scottish girl, Mary McLean, who was to come out to NZ in due course. We had met in Glasgow on VJ night where Ron and I had ended up and we had gone into the City Centre to enjoy the celebrations. I guess it was the realisation that life had changed, I would not be going out to Okinawa to fly against the Japs, there was a future. I had been back to Glasgow on leave several times after that and we had spent some time together.

Helen and Allen departing for their honeymoon in a Morris 8

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Allan, Helen, Libby, Joan Faram, and Groomsmen

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Beers at Pat Crawshaw’s with Pat, Ian Olliver, Ron and myself Dunc, myself and Ron, in Gisborne

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It all fell to bits when she arrived out in NZ about November 1946 and I did not really understand how or why, but these things do happen.

Pat and Margaret Crawshaw lived only a couple of houses along the road, he had a small boat and we used to set crayfish pots and gill nets off Kaiti Beach. In those days there was no such thing as crayfish exports, so there were no restrictions as to size or catch limits. It was not uncommon to get 40 or 50 crays in a pot and Pat had a copper down by his river bank where we used to cook the catch. In the net we would often catch a lot of mullet which abounded in schools off Kaiti Beach, so we had a smoke house down by the river too. We would see a school of mullet and very quietly set the net in a semi-circle outside them, then go inshore of the school and splash the oars. Soon all the corks on the net would be bobbing and there might be 30 odd mullet meshed and a few Kahawai too. Sometimes we would set a net out by the end of the reef at Kaiti Beach overnight and catch quite a lot of Blue Moki and Green Bone, which we called Butter Fish and also, other odds and ends. Once we had a large stingray tangled and as we tried to tip it out its tail and sting kept whipping into the boat. Quite often too, we would go out in his boat at night with hand pots and get a couple of sugar bags of crayfish. Another time I pulled a heavy hand pot and a shark’s tail came thrashing out of the water and its head was down in the bottom of the hand pot.

I had heard tales of deer stalking out on Mahia and through my father got the OK to go on to a property there and stay in the shearers Quarters. I borrowed a 303 from Wattie Findlay and George Judge and I set off down there in the Velie. On our first day out we went up and down over a couple of steep ridges and then sat down for a rest. Suddenly, we saw a stag lying down on the next ridge about 150 yards away. I had a couple of shots with no result and then it took off to the right and a third shot put it down. While we were trying to skin it I looked up and saw 2 hinds looking at us from the next ridge. All my shots missed them until I climbed up closer and then I put them both down. So we had heaps of meat to carry out now and the way back was up and down a couple of steep ridges. But we got most of it back and there was a good safe to put it in. I found out afterwards that the rifle was about 2 feet to the

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right at 100 yards. The next day we set off for the bush line and put up a big boar but my shot only raised a cloud of dust off its back and it kept going.

Pat Crawshaw and I, together with Wattie Gaddum and Bruce McKenzie, from Ormond went up the Putere Road from Raupunga and stayed in the shearers Quarters of a station near Mangataniwha Station. We had permission to go across the Waiau River on to the back end of Waireka Station and I shot a spiker which we carried out and Bruce and Wattie got something too. The next evening I went to the bottom of a bush valley and Pat went to the top. As I worked my way up the bush line I saw a horse throw up its head and make off, so I sneaked up quietly and, sure enough, a mob of pigs were cleaning up the carcase of a sheep. I shot the biggest one and tried to pick off another as the rest headed for the bush, without success. When I looked back to my first one it was head down and coming straight for me. I missed it twice and then got it with my third and Pat said afterwards he had never heard 3 shots so close together before. I took off the two hind legs and struggled back up to our sleeping Quarters to find that Pat had shot a cleanskin bull which we cut up and packed out the next day and came home. By this time I had joined the defence rifle club and had a SMLE, cost 5 pounds and ammo was one pound a hundred. On the range I used my father’s M L E long Tom but more about that later.

I quite often went up to the Waioeka with Ivan Foss and his father Percy and we sometimes stayed at Stairs place which was on the left just past Trafford’s place at the top of the gorge. Stairs owned the property up the Opato stream and there were quite a lot of pigs there as well as some wild cattle. The Stairs house was a tiny one and the bathroom was on the front veranda, with a tin bath open for all to see.

Their son Jackie had the most wonderful eyesight and could spot a mob of pigs long before the rest of us could. Often we would get several pigs and I remember one day when Ivan and I got to the top of a ridge, pigs were going all ways and Ivan Sheaters Quarters near Mangataniwha Station

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Spiker I shot on the back of Waireka Station

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Saturday afternoon spent shooting at the Sponge Bay Rifle Range Great bunch of chaps Myself with one of the guys from the rifle club

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got two with only one shot. Once when Ivan and I were on one ridge and Percy was on another, I saw a good pig going uphill above him. It was about 400 yards away so I thought I would let off a shot in it’s direction to let Percy know and the next thing he knew was the pig rolling down towards him stone dead.

Both Percy and Ivan were in the Defence Rifle club and they were a great bunch of guys. For the sum of two shillings and sixpence we could have a Saturday afternoon shoot, 24 rounds of ammo, enough for 10 counting shots and two sighters at one week 200 and 300 yards and the next week 500 and 600 yards which was the maximum distance for the Sponge Bay Range. There was still enough left out of the range fee to pay some High School boys as markers at the butts and sixpence left over for a sweepstake on handicap. It was a good afternoon’s fun and they were a great bunch of chaps. I used my father’s old long tom (the date stamped on it was 1899) and usually did fairly well with sometimes 45 out of 50. Then an old chap called Howard Iles, who was an armourer by trade, persuaded me to let him cut 5 inches off the end of the barrel. Immediately my scores jumped up by 3 or 4 points and over the time I managed a possible 50 at every range. As you were shooting if you were getting a string of 5 s there would often be a silence along the mound and if you got them all in there would some clapping. Really it was because you were expected to bring a two and a half keg of Gold Top to the next weekend’s shoot.

With the old time expired ammunition donated by the Army it didn’t happen all that often. All the brass cases were collected by the Range Officer and the Club used to benefit quite substantially from the sale. We sometimes went down to Wairoa to shoot against their club and the best shots in A grade would go down to Trentham for the Champs. We also had East Coast Championships, sometimes in Hawkes Bay and sometimes on our range at Sponge Bay. One year at the Champs I had 9 Bulls at 600 yards and was signalled a miss for the 10th I challenged the markers but they assured me that my round had hit the earth in front of the butts.

When Howard Iles looked up my barrel he told me that the rifling was so worn that the weapon had had it. I bought a new SMLE and got him to fit a heavy Lithgow barrel to but it was never as good as the old long tom had been.

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One year Duncan came over from Opotiki and he and Allan and I went up the Putere road to Mangataniwha Station left the Velie there and walked up the Waiau River to camp and shoot on the back of Waireka Station. The Dever family, who managed the station, were always so good in granting us permission to shoot there, the whole area at the back end of the station was all bush right through to Waikaremoana. We made camp at a creek called the Apple Trees and then headed up a ridge in the general direction of Panekiri and eventually could see part of the bluff face but could not see the lake. The top of the ridge was semi open and when two hinds ran out, I was in the lead and got them both. I have some photos of us taking the skins, and also skinning a couple of slinks, one of which I made into a lamp shade. In those days deer skins were worth quite a bit and we hardly ever failed to make enough to pay for the petrol and a few bottles of beer. But we did sometimes get a complaint from the skin dealer for too many holes or for rough skinning. We carried on up this ridge and then decided to swing around to the right and down into the valley which would eventually take us back to our campsite. On the way down the creek we came to a fair sized waterfall which meant quite a detour, but I noticed a papa slip at the side of it had been crossed by deer and that there was a slight impression of a track across it. So I sat down on this little mark, dug my heels and was inching my way across when I spotted a hind and a fawn on some grass at the bottom of the falls. I unslung my rifle and took a shot but the recoil lifted my heels and away I went. My shorts slid up and I went all the way down on my bare bum and to make it worse I had missed the hind. I hobbled my way eventually back to the campsite where the others turned up about an hour later. I spent a very uncomfortable night in my sleeping bag, we walked down the river next day and drove back to Gisborne, where I spent about half an hour with Dr. Alan Gunn taking gravel out of my backside. I also went out pig hunting with the Hodgsons. We crossed the Waioeka at Oponae and drove up a track to the right to an abandoned farm having to clear away a slip on the way and ended up with a few pigs. Duncan’s father was a solicitor in Opotiki but you would not have thought so on weekends, the whole family would go hunting and they

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Allan and Dunc looking out over the back of the Waireka Station Myself and Allen

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used a couple of fox terriers as finders. Mr. Hodgson’s business partner, Mr. Potts was a well known botanist and they all spent time collecting specimens from places like the top of Hikurangi or Honakawa. Near Opotiki there is a reserve named after him. The Hodgsons lived in a big house near the river in Opotiki and when we visited them the chooks would come flying out the back door, the dogs would be enjoying a bone under the kitchen table and there would be a pea rifle leaning against the washhouse door. All the kids had nicknames, there was Horse, Hen, Tarby, Pud and Dunc was Moses. The youngest, Bill was just Bill, and the eldest who became a solicitor post war, was a Fleet Arm Pilot with umpteen types flown in his logbook. They were a great family.

Dunc went to Otago Uni to train as a dentist and later became an orthodontist, he was married in either 46 or 47 and Ron and I went down to Timaru for the wedding. We stayed in Ashburton with Helen and Allan and I think we went to Timaru by train. Dunc’s wife, Flo, had been a school teacher near Opotiki and used to go pig hunting with the Hodgsons and that is how they met. Her family farmed near Timaru and appeared to be quite well off. I have just looked at the photos I took at their wedding and it is amazing how the memories come flooding back.

On the way down we stopped in Wellington and I bought a quarter plate folding film camera which is still around somewhere. But most of what I took were on the little Baby Ikonta which I had bought in Canada which took 16 on a 127 film.

A few days before I had left UK I went into Farlows Sports Shop in Pall Mall and ordered 2 Trout Rods 3 piece 10ft 6in, 2 Model Perfect Fly Reels and a Thread Line Rod and Reel to be sent out to me in NZ There would be quite a delay as they had not even started manufacturing. I had a hard job convincing them that the reels had to be big enough to take a fly line and 50yds of backing, they couldn’t understand why that was necessary. It all was to cost 70 pounds and that seemed Dunc and wife Flot

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pretty good to me. Anyway 1947 a large wooden case turned up but Customs wanted about 50 pounds sales tax before I could take delivery. When I complained they worked it out for me, they doubled the 70 pounds added a retailers margin on and Sales Tax was 20% on all of that. When I said that if I could have brought them in my luggage and paid nothing I was told that was my hard luck.

During 1947 I brought back from UK the balance of my Air Force pay as the usual exchange rate of 25 shillings NZ to the pound sterling was about to end and I invested this in Dad’s business thus becoming a partner. This enabled some additional plant to be obtained, and also allowed me to build up my Capital as we shared any profits equally. Also this helped us to buy Section TS 309 which was at 373 Gladstone Road. It had a lot of old buildings on it and one of these was converted into a new office and a new staff block was built further back. On the other side of the section was a house where the first doctor to come to Gisborne had lived. This was converted into a workshop where Reg Humphries did the French polishing of much of the furniture he produced. Another small building was occupied by an old pensioner and when he died we made into a store for the colour oxides used in the tile shed.

Other photos from about this time show some of us up at Waikaremoana, there was George Judge, Colin Hardacre and Frank Ashurst who worked for Reg Watchman at Odlins. Colin had been at Mc. B & S before I left, had become a Corsair Pilot and came from Te Karaka, and I heard he almost took the roof of the Te Karaaka Pub when he went back there with his Corsair. We had a lot of fun, got a few deer and pigs, and I can recollect leaving home bay early one morning in one of the hired 16ft. clinker boats with the waves big enough for the prop to be coming out of the water as the boat pitched over the waves. Pat Crawshaw and I caught fish in the Tiniroto lake and also up the Ruakituri and they were pretty good fish too.

George Judge, Frank Ashhurst, and Colin Hardacre at Lake Waikaremoana in one of the hired 16ft clinker boat

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In March 1946 I went down to Wellington to get my discharge from the RNZAF and was posted to the Reserve with my total service time being just over 4 years. I had already started working at Aitkens Concrete and as far as I can remember began in the terrazzo dept under the charge of Fred Bayram who was also foreman of the whole Concrete Dept. In my spare time I started building a boat in the Carpenters shop, just a small one but suitable for fishing and crayfishing. It was probably the Christmas of 1946 that we all went camping back at Waihapokopoko were we had been many times pre war, Helen and Allan came too and also Walter Findlay but I don’t think my boat was finished at this time.

But we still had a good time and I bet we had plenty of fish and crayfish. At the mouth of the Motu River the Kahawai used to school in vast numbers and we and many others would try and catch some as they came into the river mouth. Further out you could see the Kingfish slashing into the schools and masses of spray being thrown up. There was no problem in camping along the sides of the road and camps were dotted along under the Pohutukawas. Fishing off the rocks was reasonably good and we usually managed to get enough to eat and sometimes a few to smoke. Also we still got milk and veges from the locals but I heard that Tom Delamere who I had know before, had been killed early in the War. While we were camped there Ron Mayhill and John Mason who had been on the same course at Ashburton came around on motor bikes and stayed a day. Ron eventually married John’s sister Kath. It was a loverly place to camp, near the sea, alongside a bush stream where we could set a jelly in a basin it was so cool and the locals were so nice.

Then later in 1947 I started going out with Bett who still worked in the office with Aunty Clare and on the night of 11th Sept, 1947 we announced our engagement after we had all been to an investiture at the Opera House where I had my gong pinned on by the Govenor General, Sir Bernard Fergusson. My life was now back John Mason and Ron Mayhill on their motor bikes

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Our camp at Waihapokpoko near Omaio 1948 Helen, Allan, Walter, Dad, and Bett.

My Dad was also a keen fisherman

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on track. By this time I had worked in some of the other depts. at Carnarvon Street and was out doing roof tiling under the tiling foreman, Harry Haynes. There were a lot of State Houses being built all over the country and Gisborne got its share.

It was a good sort of life, driving the truck load of tiles to park alongside a new house and throwing them up one by one to the roof where they were stacked in 9s and then laid out. Then the hips, ridges and valleys would be cut and on wet days we worked inside the roof tying every second tile down with a wire tie. We also did quite a bit of tiling in the country a lot of it on rehab blocks which were mainly larger farms cut up and being balloted for returned servicemen. We were working on a roof at Rere when the Cook County building inspector came by and shouted Stop the Job, Get Down Off that Roof, you have not got a Building Permit. Along came the farmer and said Get Back On That Roof and a few other choice words and the two of them proceeded to have a ding dong argument below us. The Building Inspector took off in high dudgeon to town to get the authorities and the owner laughed and said “He doesn’t know where the boundary is. It is in the middle of that river just there, we are in the Waikohu County and of course I have a Permit.” Life was full of surprises.

In the winter of 1948 Poverty Bay had what was probably the worst flood, the Waipaoa River burst its banks and almost the whole of the flats were covered.

I took a photo from Kaiti Hill and there is just a sheet of water from Stanley Road right round to the Waipaoa River mouth. Thousands of sheep were drowned and after a few days the authorities called for volunteers to pick them up and take them to the Works to be rendered down for blood and bone. Aussie had shown me how the Power Board had designed sets of cleat chains for their trucks and I had had some made for our tile truck so we set off with a gang of helpers out to Makauri.

We had to wear heavy gloves to avoid getting blood poisoning from prickles and it took two strong men to lift a mud sodden ewe on to the trucks. You have got no Roof tiling in the country

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idea how heavy they were. Then it was off to the Works to dump them and back for another load. Some of the fence lines were just solid with dead sheep and there were houses with roofs blown off and debris everywhere.

One Saturday I went with Pat, Bruce McKenzie and Wattie Gaddum out to Whangara in Watties truck. We took some fishing gear, a net and a couple of hand pots and drove down on to the beach by the Church. We then drove along the beach to the Pakarae River mouth and as the tide was right out we crossed over and went out on to the rocks. We had some craybait and I put my two pots into the water which at that place was only 5 or 6 feet deep. I could see the bait under the water but in a couple of minutes it disappeared and when I pulled the first pot a great mass of huge crayfish came up. Most of them fell off but we ended up with 3 or 4 only. We only had two sugarbags and these filled straight away so someone went back to the truck for some sacks. It was not long before all the bait was gone so we decided to set a net in the river, sleep on the beach for the night and would be able to catch the low tide in the early morning. There were a couple of Kahawai and a mullet or two next morning so we went crayfishing again. I was pulling the pots and filling the sugar bags, Pat was helping me and the other two were emptying the bags into sacks on the beach. Soon my hands were too scratched to pick the crays up but luckily I had sand shoes on and could ease them into the sugar bags. The crays were the biggest they ever get and it needed two hands to hold one. We ended up with everything filled, seven sacks and two sugar bags. By the time we crossed the river and got the truck loaded the tide was too far in to go back along the beach so we drove up B5 to the road, finding our way through the gates as we went. When we got back to Pat’s place we cooked them all in the copper and my share to take home was as many as I could get to stay on a wheelbarrow. The family dined pretty well for a few days, we had crayfish salad, curried crayfish. crayfish omelette and anything else we could think of.

View from Kaiti Hill of the 1948 flooding

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We started going out in 1947

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Alice Elizabeth Williams outside the Aitkens Concrete Office where she worked Myself outside Aitkens Concrete Office

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Pat Crawshaw and Roy Judson with a hired Kauri Clinker at Lake Waikaremoana Myself with fish from the Lake, mostly 14 or 16 inches long

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Some photos taken about this time show Pat and Roy Judson with fish at the Lake and we were still using the hired boats then They were beautiful Kauri Clinker built and most of them were 14 or 16 feet long, the longer ones were better, easier for the little outboards we used then to push, the one I had was a 1.5 hp Johnstone and it used to take me about 2 hours to get from Home Bay to the Korokoro, refuelling once on the way. We sometimes went down at night and found it no trouble and only had to use a torch when we got into the river entrance.

Bett and I were married in Holy Trinity on Sept. 2nd1948 and the reception and photos were at Lowe’s Reception Rooms in Gladstone Road. Earlier in the morning, Ron, who was my best man, and I had set off for Pouawa to leave the Caravan there and only got as far as Sponge Bay turnoff when we ran a wheel bearing. We crept back into town and took it to H S Motors to be fixed but they must have been in the know because they said we can’t possibly look at it today. But they did and Ron and I only had time to take it as far as Steele Road and rushed back to change and get to the Church on Time. We spent the first night at Pouawa and the next morning cleaned all the confetti out of the car and got as far as Hick’s Bay. We then spent a few days at Waihapokopoko and headed for Rotorua. While going round a corner near Whakatane we blew a rear tyre on one side and broke the back axle on the other, I don’t know which happened first. The car and caravan were jack-knifed on the corner so Bett had to stay to direct traffic while I walked to the nearest house to phone for help. So we had to get a breakdown for the car and another car to take the caravan into the Whakatane Camp Ground where we spent quite a few days and walked most of the streets in Whakatane.

We eventually got to Rotorua and then to Taupo where we stayed in the Camp Ground by the outlet for a while. Then we started off for Napier but about 20 miles out of Taupo a service car came round the corner on my side of the road and we went into the ditch which broke one of the stub axles on the caravan. A second service car pulled up the driver said he saw it all and would sort out the other driver when he got to Taupo. With his help and some of the passengers we got our vehicles clear of the corner and parked safely. It was just as well it was a

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pumice road because I was able to dig under the caravan, then unbolt the axle and strap it on the carrier of the car. Then back into Taupo to get it welded. By the time we got back and got the outfit together again it was getting late so we stopped at the Rangataiki Pub, which was then just by the river, for the night. It turned out that the proprietor had been an Officer at the Air force Station in Gisborne but I had never met him.

Next day we set off for Napier but when we got to the steep part of the big hill we ended up behind a large timber truck and he was going so slowly and we couldn’t pass so we had to stop. The Terraplane car only had three forward gears and first was too high geared to be able to get started again on the steep slope so with Bett guiding I had to back down about half a mile to where it was a bit flatter. I said we will give the truck plenty of time to get to the top before we get going again so we gave him about 20 minutes and by jack-knifing across the road we managed to get on our way again. However the truck was still not at the top but luckily we caught him up in a spot where we were able to pass,we got to the summit and stopped for a very welcome cup of tea. So eventually we got back to Gisborne and were able to move in to the nearly completed house which my father was building at 314 Stout Street which has since been renumbered to 124. My dad had earlier bought the section from Bill Bignall for 365 pounds, I had drawn the plans and the house had been under construction for some time.

At that time due to post war shortages of building materials it was permissible to only have a floor area of 1050 sq. feet and there were other restrictions too but he managed to get the OK to put down the flooring for the upper storey which we were able to develop later. This was conditional on using Red Beech for the flooring which was not recommended but eventually turned out to be quite good, but very hard to sand down. The cost of the house was 1800 pounds and we had a rehab loan from State Advances at 3% for sixteen and two third years. We also had a furniture loan from them as well but I can’t remember how much it was for and I think part of it was a suspensory loan which was written off after a period if you kept up the payments.

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Our Wedding Day. Bert, Maureen, myself, Bett, Anne and Ron

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Our Wedding Day, Sept. 2nd 1948 Waihapokopoko 1948 Jack knifed on the corner, broken rear axle Our car was towed back to Whakatane for repairs

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Rotorua Bath House Trout pools in Rotorua

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Lake Tarawera with Mt Tarawera in the background In the ditch with a broken stub axle on the caravan Mt Turangakumu summit between Taupo and Napier

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137- Spuds on the front lawn Our house under construction at what is now 124 Stout Street House from the rear

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So we started to settle in, dug up the front lawn and planted it in spuds so as to get it ready for a lawn later on, there were 3 peach trees across the back of the house from when it was part of Bignalls. There had been a huge Makrocapa tree in the front and several other trees too so these were cut up ready for the fire and the smaller branches for the copper. We rotary hoed up behind the house for a vege garden and Dad and I altered the slope of the first terrace so as to make it easier to mow. We also planted up the bottom lawn with a grapefruit, apricot, two apples, a Satsuma plum, two better types of peaches and a couple of walnut trees. We also had a couple of orange trees by the summerhouse.

At Christmas time we went up to Mokau in the Velie with a trailer and camped under the apple trees with the Crawshaws. Mum and dad had been over to Australia on a holiday and had brought back a 16mm Kodak Movie camera and Mrs Crawshaw was very reluctant to be photographed, but we all had a good time. Once we went down to Hoparuahine in two boats. Pat’s motor broke down so we had to tow them back. In those days outboards were very temperamental things and took a bit of keeping going. One day Pat and I decided to go up the Mokau River above the falls and for a while only saw the odd very small fish but then in the first decent pool there was a rainbow hen of about 8 pounds but it wasn’t interested. Then about half a mile further up I spotted a redish streak in a bit of fast water and it turned out to be a large jack. It took my fly straight away and set off downstream with me following, I had to pass my rod under logs both above and below water and finally got it out. It was about 10 pounds and then on the way downstream I managed to get the hen as well. They were both only in fair condition and would have been partly recovering from spawning. It did not worry me to have taken them both and it would have been a relief for any small fish in the stream.

Myself with Cushla Crawshaw on the Lake

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Camping under the Apple Trees at Mokau. Cushla Crawshaw, Richard Crawshaw, Brian Crawshaw, Anne and myself in the background

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At Mokau with the Cushla Crawshaw, Anne and Bett Breaking Camp at Mokau, our Velie

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Rainbow Trout caught up the Mokau River above the falls When Pats motor broke down we towed them back from Hoparuahine

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Bev and Doug had been married a few weeks before Bett and me and when Lyn was born Doug was still teaching up at Tauwhareparae, Ivan Foss and I drove up there to pick him up. However he had already left but Ivan and I got into trouble with some farmer when we ran into a mob of his turkeys on the road on the way back. He phoned down the road and we were stopped by another chap who was, I think, disappointed to find we did not have a boot full of turkeys.

One weekend Dad and I were camped at Hopuruahine fishing and and another of the rifle club, George Wotton was camped nearby. I had my little boat there and we decided to go over towards Tikitiki where there were sometimes mobs of pigs. George and I climbed up some of the partly cleared area and as we topped a ridge all hell broke loose. There were pigs going all ways, George to my left shot one on my right and I shot one on his left and we both shot one in front of us. We carted out two of them plus the hams off the third and when I took them to our butcher’s for cool storage they were in such good condition that he wouldn’t believe they were wild ones. Another time in the same area Brian Crawshaw and I with Bett and Anne were looking for pigs and we had Pat’s little pump action .22 (highly illegal in the National Park) and we saw the ranger’s boat coming down from Home Bay towards Hopuruahine. I thought I bet he has got the glasses on us and when he went around the point I ran up to the ridge and sure enough he had come ashore and was heading up towards us. We all jumped in the boat and headed back towards Mokau and soon he was following us.

We took the rifle apart and Bett had the butt up her strides and Anne had the barrel. Luckily we had Pat’s bigger motor on the boat and he must have realised he was loosing us, so he turned away and headed back to Hopuruahine.

All returned servicemen were entitled to a free rail warrant for two anywhere in the country and the time limit for mine was just about up, so Bett and I went down to Wellington and across to Lyttleton on the ferry. I think Visiting Dunc and Flo in Dunedin.

Flo, Dunc, Bett, and myself

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we were picked up by Helen and Allan and stayed with them in Ashburton, they took us to Akaroa and other places too. I think this would have been in 1949 and then we went to Dunedin where we stayed with Dunc. and Flo, then to Kingston and Queenstown with a trip up Lake Wakatipu on the Earnslaw to the head of the lake and went for a drive up the Routeburn valley. I can’t remember where else we went but it was a good trip and we saw a bit of the country we hadn’t seen before.

It would have been in 1950 that Bett went up to Whatawhiwhi to help Bev before Barry was born and she stayed up there for 3 weeks. It was quite an isolated settlement and school and was only accessible at low tide as there was no road and you had to drive along the beach.

By this time we had a Morris LC 3 truck and had a rough sort of caravan on the back. We set off for Wanganui and visited the Moriartys, then to Taupo to try out the fishing there. We stopped at Tokaanu and hired a little boat to fish the famous delta,caught a few fish but didn’t appreciate the antics of some of the other fishermen there. The wind had come up and we had a hard row to get back to the boat hire place and then drove around to Jellico Point on the eastern shore. In those days it was just open camping and we had a couple of good days there and got enough fish too. I tried out the first colour film available called Dufay Colour and the results were quite spectacular but you could only view them by holding them up to the light. You could not project them and of course colour prints were not even thought of. But 55 years later when I tried to scan them I found it possible to get a print out. Of course the film had not been looked after and had a bad bloom on it.

Not long ago I found out that a salesman by the name of Sidney Cotton, an Australian, had flown around Germany in a Lockheed Electra selling this patent film and he had secretly taken a lot of film of German industrial areas. He was also the inventor of the Sidcot Flying Suit which we used extensively during the war.

Back to the colour film, I have dumped the film but it is possible to see something on the scans which are on the computer.

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Bev with Lyn born April 1949 Bev and Doug on their wedding day 1948

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Whiatawhiwhi, 1950

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Bett helping out with Lyn First ever Colour Photo, Dufay Colour. At Jelico Point Taupo

David and Fran playing on the front lawn of 124 Stout St.

Post war

1951­-1955

Post war 1951­-1955 Around about March 1950 Bett found she was pregnant and by December she was finding the heat hard to put up with, but David was finally born on 4th January 1951. She had carried him at least two weeks past his due date and he weighed in at 11 lbs 4oz. I was working on a roof opposite where the shops are now at Elgin and my father came up to tell me that her ordeal was finally over. I went down to see them, torn shirt and all and Bett said the staff at the maternity home in Childers Road had nicknamed him “The Policeman” his feet were so big compared to the other babies there. Previously I had been into Odlins to buy some dowelling and Reg Watchman straight away said that is basinet size. He was right, I was making a basinet and I think it is still going today for Bevan and Kelly’s baby. Well they were soon home and looking at some of the old photos I think David was the most photographed child in Gisborne.

Christmas 1951 saw us camping up at Waihapokopoko with the Schollums and we set up a pretty good camp on the landward side of the road. We lived in the camper on the back of the Morris truck and the Schollums had a pretty good tent set up. We must have taken the little boat up there and had plenty of fish etc and had a smoke tent going quite a bit too. Mostly Schnapper but there would have been other kinds too. By this time David was walking well and I can remember he and Maria, I think, crawling into the smoke tent. The water in the Waihapokopoko stream was still pure enough to drink and Bett and Shirl used to wash the nappies down at the stream mouth by the beach. It was not until years later that we had tummy trouble and then we found that as the number of campers increased, some of them were going above the water point and bathing and washing clothes in the stream. We still got our share of crayfish and there were rock oysters to be had on the rocks. I tried to make a set pot out of supplejack but found it harder than I thought and it was not very successful. But a good time was had by all. We had a tent fly set up in case of rain and I think we ran a pretty good camp with a long drop surrounded by scrim and a good rubbish hole for scraps which was topped up with soil as needed.

David John Aitken, born January 4th 1951

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Bett and David on the front step of our home at 124 Stout St. Myself and David on the front step In the backyard, notice all the nappies on the line The most photographed child in Gisborne

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Camping with the Schollums. Carol, Bett, David, Christine, Shirl, Maria, and Ron

We lived in the camper on the back of the Morris and had a fly set up.

Bett and Shirl in the truck

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Waihapokopoko Christmas 1951 David was walking pretty well

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About his time I went up to Te Wera with Brian Crawshaw and probably Hugh as well while Pat was there on business. We went on up to the bush line and while having lunch heard some pig noise. We shot a sow with suckers and decided to carry some of them out in our shirts but when we ran into a mob on the way out it was hard to shoot with a little pig running around your waist. When we got them back to town we couldn’t get them to feed at all until someone shoved a nose into Richards porridge which he hadn’t eaten. After that it was no trouble and Pat took them to a friends place over Kaiti where they were raised to porkers and we all got a share of the result. Later in 1951 I had my appendix out but there were no complications and I got over it quickly.

Mum and Dad moved from 252 Stout Street to 110 Fox Street, they actually swapped houses with one of the Morris’s from the Melbourne Cash. It was a very nice house, plenty of room and they had a good vege garden going in no time.

There was a good grape vine and a lovely Black Delicious Apple as well as other fruit trees. Aussie and I built the foundation for a glass house out of chipped bricks and Dad soon had the whole thing up and running with masses of begonias etc.

Then on 15th July 1952 Fran turned up. A bit underweight compared to David but still well above average. She was born at Lister hospital around Riverside Road just past where Russell Street starts. At first the nurse there wouldn’t let me in, she thought I looked too young to be Bett’s husband but we soon got it sorted out. David was now in a cot so Fran occupied the basinet. David gave the cot a hard time bouncing up and down in it but it must have been well made.

It was about this time that Bett and I went to a 75 Sq. reunion in Wellington, but didn’t enjoy it as much as some of the later ones we went to. Most of the time in Wellington was spent in the pub where we stayed, but it was good to see one or two of the boys I knew. We flew down and back in a D C 3 and I have some spectacular shots of clouds on the way back.

Dads Glasshouse at 110 Fox St. Frances Anne Aitken born July 15th 1952

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David and Fran on the front lawn Bett and Fran in the backyard Fran & David in the Pram

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Flying back from Wellington in aDC3 Spectacular photograph of clouds Clouds on the flight back

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The four of us on the front step Fran in the highchair

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Fran and myself David and Fran with Dad David and Fran playing on veranda at Bett’s parents Playing on the front lawn at 124 Stout St.

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Waiherere playground. Carol Schollum, Christine Schollum, David, Maria Schollum, Unsure, Ray Ballantyne, Fran, Roger Ballantyne, Maureen Ballantyne

Playing in the pool at Waiherere playground

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I think we must have given camping holidays a miss this year as I can find no photos to jog the memory. There are though, some of masses of kids at Waiherere with Ballantynes, Schollums and Aitkens amounting to at least 9.

By this time Helen and Allan had come back to Gisborne with Allan becoming woodwork teacher at Illminster. They of course, had Prue and I think Lindsay turned up at about now. They bought a house in Russel Street not far from Mollie and Wattie’s.

In the early 1950s I had been developing an idea for making what we eventually called a full cavity block which was really two blocks held together by wires and I had worked out a system of reinforcing walls made of these blocks. I was later granted a patent on this system. We started making some of these blocks on our pneumatic-hydraulic flue block machine but it was very slow and the pallets the blocks were made on hand to the same shape as the block. Also at that time the NZ Standard for blocks was 18 inches by 9 inches so as to fit in with the brick standard of 9 inches. This was changing though as Winstones had imported Besser machines from the States who used a 16 X 8 standard. The old NZ size was based on the British size, hollow blocks were made on machines like the Trianco and they weighed over 50 lbs. In an American Concrete magazine I saw an ad. for a Fleming machine which worked on a turnover principle and worked out that it could make our full cavity block on a plain pallet. The obvious advantage was of course that you could make any shape of block on the one set of pallets. There had to be plain blocks, corner blocks, half blocks and different width of blocks.

So I ordered a hand operated machine which was rated at 100 blocks per hour and when an import licence was approved we built a new shed out of the old 18 X 9 blocks. The machine arrived in August 1954 at a cost of 601 pounds and we set a hopper above it, a paddle mixer in a pit, and a cleated belt elevator to fill the hopper. A weighbatcher on rails brought the aggregates in from A Full Cavity block

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outside and there was a store on each side for the bags of cement. After getting a price for making sets of racks I bought a welder and steel, did a half day course on welding and made my own. Most of them held together and repairs were easy. The pallets were just 18 inch length pieces of 10 X 2 timber, planed and oiled and we had a transporter to shift the racks. The belt elevator didn’t do a good job so we replaced it with a skip hoist run by an electric chain block.

All was ready for a start up and I said to Cooper Rickard, our foreman, just think Coop at the end of an hour we will have a hundred blocks. We intended to make ordinary hollow blocks to start with, but at the end of the hour we only had about 15 or 20 and most of those were falling to bits anyway. But we gradually worked through the problems and after a couple of months I was getting up near the hundred and Cooper was getting a bit over it. We took turns at working the machine, in between other jobs and had another worker to remove the blocks into the racks and shift the racks with the transporter. The blocks were taken outside the next day and put under a sprinkler. When we got on to the full cavity blocks it was a bit slower and after a year or so we had improved the hollow blocks so much that we were able to phase the cavity blocks out. We had moulds for 8 inch, 4 inch and another mould and vibrator to make two 6 inch blocks at a time.

It was hard to get anyone to lay the blocks so I set up a block laying dept. as well and turnover started to improve. Masonry sales were two thousand pounds in 1955, four thousand the next and by 1964 were almost twenty thousand.

Full Cavity blocks Hollow blocks

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Note to reader: Despite John being unable to recall, possible photographs of camping in c.1953 at Waihapokopoko are displayed for your interest.

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Kay was born on 18th December 1954 and was also up to scratch weight wise. Their Plunket books would be around somewhere but I can’t find them so I can’t quote actual figures. Pat came up and looked after the other kids while I took Bett up to maternity. Dr. Alan Gunn was Bett’s doctor and, as usual, he turned up at Cook Hospital too late for the birth. He rang me at home and told me I had another son and all was well. I put it in the paper and when I went up to see Bett that night we seemed to be talking at cross purposes until she got me sorted out. I think Dr. Gunn was wounded at Dunkirk and about this time he was using drugs a bit. He was a very good doctor though but he died far too young. By this time the Schollums had switched from girls to boys and I am fairly sure that camping was on hold for Christmas 1954.

In 1955 I bought a Agfa Silette 35 mm camera from Graham Kinge who then was working at Bryans Pharmacy in Peel St. It was not a very expensive camera but it sure did have a good lens and as we were just starting to get Kodachrome film (colour film) in 35mm, I am still impressed by the sharpness of some of the photos A shot taken at Waihapokopoko in 1955 shows a group of 16, all the Schollums, Kerrs, Aitkens and Ballantynes (except Maureen) and of course myself. This time we were camped pretty much in the same place but on the seaward side of the road.

Plenty of fish and crayfish again this year. I think all the men went up to the Te Kaha pub, probably on my birthday where I remember Doug showing remarkable skill on a one wheel bike which had been causing a lot of crashes on the concrete yard. We did not get a very good reception back at camp and all the girls took off the next day for the same location and we had the job of looking after all the kids.

No fish the next day. We usually got up early in the morning to go fishing, getting back about mid morning, and one morning after fishing, Bruce, who was taking a bit of a rest on his stretcher, got a bucket of water tipped over him for not doing what he was asked to. That part of the Bay of Plenty was a very popular holiday spot, most of the camping was free camping along the sides of the road. Caravaning was becoming the vogue and there was a procession of cars pulling caravans with a little aluminium boat on top of the car.

Kay Elizabeth Aitken born 18th December 1954

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Fran, Kay and David on the back step of 124 Stout St. Our family of 5, myself, Fran, Bett, Kay, and David in the back yard

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Good Morning Everyone, David, Fran, Kay and Bett Kay Elizabeth Aitken

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Christmas 1954. Barry, Fran, David and Lyn Ditto Fran and Lyn Kerr David

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All the Schollums, Kerrs, Aitkens and Ballantynes (except Maureen) and of course myself, Waihapokopoko 1955

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Our camp Fran and David Kay

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Waihapokopoko in colour 1955 On the back steps of our truck.

David, Fran, Kay and Bett

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Block production was increasing and the first house was being built at Wainui by Barrie Currie for himself. I took our little Fergusson front end loader out there to help Barrie pouring the beam block around the top.

Also it must have been in 1955 that we camped at Mokau with the Kerrs and Schollums and while we were there Ron Mayhill turned up in his little Austin A30.

Betts Mum and Dad came too and I can remember taking some of them out in a boat when we came to a standstill quite a way out in the lake. We had run on to a submerged rock and after a shifting the passengers about managed to get off without any damage. Mick was on board and couldn’t swim so we had to be careful.

Pat, Roy Judson and I built ourselves a Hut a bit upriver at the Korokoro, the framework was Manuka poles, the walls were made of Findlay’s flour sacks dipped in cement slurry, and the roof was netting covered with malthoid. Pat and I salvaged a tin chimney from another abandoned camp and there were four bunks made from chain mesh netting. The floor was covered with coconut fibre matting and there was a large bench for a table. If the lake level was high we could take a boat up the stream to very near the hut. We had a lot of fun there and, there were some grassy areas near where deer came out sometimes in the early mornings and evenings. I colour washed the walls a dull green to make it inconspicuous and all went well until in later years they built the round the lake track, which went right past the hut. When the lake was low we had to leave the boat below the waterfall and had a little jetty there.

Sometimes we went down the lake in the little boat at night and even on the darkest night could get right to the mouth of the Korokoro without using a torch.

Barrie Currie’s house at Wainui The Hut Pat Crawshaw, Roy Judson and I built at the Korokoro

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Our camp at Mokau with the Kerrs and Schollums and Ron Mayhill

Barry Kerr, David, Lyn Kerr, Roger Ballantyne, Kay, Bett and Fran at the back of our truck, with Ron Mayhill’s little Austin A30 in the background

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Our family 1955

Panikiri Bluff. Bett, David, Kay and Fran

Post war

1956­-1960

Post war 1956­-1960 It was about 1956 or 1957 that I contracted polio and spent 3 weeks up in the hospital, then a little while after I came out Bett and I went up to Mokau with the caravan on the back of the Morris truck. One day we walked quite a long way around the left shore and at one stage frightened an opossum which took off out into the lake. I managed to cast a fly over it and hauled it back in again and let it go. We walked a long way around that shore, had a swim and dried out on a flat rock. The fishing around Mokau was very hard and from memory we only got one brown. But on the way home we stopped at the outlet and couldn’t go wrong. In about an hour we caught at least 5 nice rainbows as one of our photos shows. I was very lucky and hardly suffered any ill effects from polio but others who were in the same ward didn’t come out as well. They set up an isolation ward which was a mixed sex ward and it took a bit of getting used to. The nursing staff were good but I think one or two of them contracted polio too.

On one trip to the Korokoro the lake was exceptionally low, the river was just a trickle and we had to leave the boats right down on the beach. The bay out from the river mouth was a mass of stumps sticking well out of the water, and the rock out in the middle of the bay was quite a big island. While we were there a gang of rabbiters came through with a pack of little dogs and got quite a few along the shoreline. We had rabbit stew that night. Pat had a boat called Katleen with an Oliver outboard on the back and this was before the days of planing hulls so it took a fair while to go from home bay to the Korokoro. Later Pat sold the boat and Roy Judson did not approve so he build himself another camp down towards Waiopaoa as well as a boat of his own. Pat also had a flash new boat built, a very nice planing hull which could get down to the Korokoro in about half an hour.

If we were successful in shooting a deer we would usually skin it out as far as the hind quarters, then take them off at the ball joint Myself outside the Korokoro hut with deer hindquarters hung around my neck

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and wrap the skin around between the haunches and hang the lot around your neck. This left both hands free to shoot again if the occasion arose. I had bought a little M L E cavalry carbine from Barwicks for 5 pounds, it had a 5 round magazine and the bolt head was flattened so it could fit in a cavalry scabbard. I got Wattie Findlay to solder in a piece of a shilling as a foresight and to build up the backsight as well, then if it was nearly dark I would rub the foresight with a bit of sand to make it show up well. It had a very short barrel and was fine for bush shooting which was what we did most of the time.

We now had a little Morris Minor Van and the Velie was relegated to working in the concrete yard loading in aggregates to the mixer. We used to pull a little trailer with the boat upside down on top when we went up to the lake. We stayed in one of the old roadman’s camps at Mokau, they were just a wooden floor with a tent erected on top, they had a tin chimney and the framing supported a wooden door.

Over the top of the tent was an iron roof so the whole thing was pretty waterproof although it was covered in creepers which had overgrown it. Not long after we arrived we had launched the boat and unfortunately as we slid it down the bank we managed to hit a stump which put a small hole in the boat’s bottom. We did a repair job on it with a piece of waterproof sheeting glued on with egg white. It all worked out O K and we went for several trips on the lake, once down to Hopuruahine where I caught the best conditioned Brown I have ever caught.

It would have been about this time that we altered the interior of the house, building restrictions had been relaxed a bit so we put in three bedrooms, a toilet upstairs and the stairs were fitted and took a small piece out of the downstairs spare bedroom. The upstairs flooring had been laid when the house was originally built.

I also put in a small darkroom not much bigger than a cupboard so I could do my own processing at home a lot more easily than blacking out the kitchen.

The best conditioned Brown I have ever caught

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Bett and myself with the five Rainbows we caught at the Outlet Bett swimming in the Lake Bett in the caravan doorway at Mokau

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Outside the hut at Korokoro, Ron Crawshaw, myself, Fred, Pat Crawshaw and Brian Crawshaw The lake was low that trip The Bay near Korokoro, Pat’s boat Katleen

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Our Morris Minor Van, trailer and boat ready for the Lake outside Bett’s parents 110 Lytton Rd

Fran, David, Kay and Bett infront of an old roadman’s camp in Mokau

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David, Fran, Kay and Bett with our boat

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It was probably Christmas 1957 that we camped out at Turihau with the Schollums, we had quite a good camp set up just below the road almost right on the point. We had the small boat and had plenty of crayfish and the occasional snapper and David caught a Moki off the beach. We had taken our cat, Ginger, out with us and when we packed up to come home he had gone missing. I think he had gone to sleep on one of the wheels of the van and when I started up he took off. We searched everywhere with no luck but the next day Smokie Fairlie who had been camped nearby came along with a box and inside was Ginger. We also had been to Waikaremoana about this time and stayed in one of the huts at Home Bay with the Schollums. The kids loved feeding the ducks around the camp and from the photos I see that we had some lovely weather.

We also went up the Tarndale road to Wairangi Station and stayed with Frank and Olwen where the kids all had a ride on the horse, Corson, who had the reputation of having dumped their grandfather in the days when he was younger.

I think Bett and the kids stayed up there longer. Ron Schollum and I went to the lake and stayed in the old hut at Te Puna. The hut was made of split Totara slabs and was probably built years before when some of the local Maori had a farm there.

There was quite a bit of cleared land there and was a popular place for deer. We managed to get our share and a few fish too but the bay was dotted with stumps sticking right out of the water and I can remember going for a swim to get my line and a fish clear of the stumps. Ron had a slightly embarrassing photo of me returning to shore with my fish.

A group of us had formed a sailplane club in Gisborne and one weekend some of us set out for New Plymouth in our 5 ton truck to pick up a T31 glider. We drove all Friday night and arrived at Bellblock airfield at about 6 am on Saturday. The first person we met was Claude Baigent who had worked at McCullough Butler and Spence when I was there in 1941, and although he was colour blind he had baffled the experts and had served as a pilot in the RNZAF, so much so that he now had his own top dressing business. He made us all very welcome, organised a cup of tea and played a few tricks on us as well. Soon the members of the local gliding club

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from whom we were buying the T31 arrived and would not let us take delivery until we had flown the machine. Soon their Instructor arrived and after a couple of tows and circuits I went solo and another club member, Clem Brownie who was to be our other Instructor went solo as well. Then we stripped the machine down, loaded it on to a frame which we had borrowed from the Gisborne rowing club and set off back home. We also had a 44 gal. drum of petrol on the back of the truck so could refuel as needed. We were all pretty tired by the time we arrived about 8 am on Sunday morning but had taken turns at driving. We stored the glider down at Watties until we had a club up and running and had purchased an old Tiger Moth for a tow plane. We ended up with a pretty strong club and Clem and I took turns at instructing and most of our members went solo. The performance of our glider was pretty basic and there did not seem to be enough interest for a syndicate to purchase a higher performance machine so interest started to wane.

Maintenance on the Tiger Moth, which had been a top dresser eventually got the better of the club so we had to sell the T 31 but made enough to settle all our debts.

The purchasers flew in and towed the machine away by air but I can’t remember where they came from. One of our pupils had one afternoon run out of air and landed in a paddock out by the Jolly Stockman, it was my weekend off but as Clem was a fairly big man they came to get me and we replaced our regular tug pilot with Andy King who was very qualified to fly the Tiger Moth. They all held the glider and tiger back until Andy had full revs on and let go. He took off towards two trees and although he fitted between them, the glider wouldn’t, but I managed to scrape over the top and all was well so we ended back at the drome.

Ron was born in March 1958, my Dad died in that year too. He had a series of strokes, could not speak and was difficult to manage. We had a nurse to stay with Mum and Mollie, Helen and I used to take turns to stay there at night as the nurse couldn’t manage on her own. Then his doctor had him sent up to the hospital and we found out that they were keeping him in a straight jacket. He was then referred to Kingseat Hospital near Papakura and Allan and I drove up there with him. Only about a week later I got a ring to go up there quickly and Mollie and I drove up

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at night with Mum, but we were too late as he had died before we got there. We turned round and started driving back and Wattie and Allan met us in the gorge.

Dad and I were partners in the business and the day after he died the Bank froze all the bank accounts, causing no end of problems. If it hadn’t been for the help of Harry Chrisp in getting a quick loan I would have been in serious trouble. It was a lesson to be remembered and I decided to form the business into a Limited Liability Company so that sort of thing couldn’t happen again. He had previously transferred some of his capital in the business to me, but I R D would not allow it, but nevertheless he left it to me in his will with a life interest for Mum. Mollie and Helen were left the rest of his assets so they weren’t left out. It was a big funeral and there were masses and masses of flowers on the grave at the cemetery.

About this time I had bought a1928 Morris Isis car from H S Motors and Bett learned to drive it while she was heavily pregnant with Ron. I think the traffic cop who took her for her licence was pretty pleased to get out. It would have been a pretty flash car in it’s day, it had an overhead valve six cylinder motor, hydraulic brakes and was built on a Dodge body as Lord Nuffield found he could import American bodies into U K cheaper than he could make them. It would have been what today you would call a limited edition. It had a three speed gearbox and the gears were so worn that you could change up and double declutch down without using the clutch pedal if you got it just right. We had it for years and I eventually sold it to one of the men at work who ran it out of oil otherwise it would be still going today.

Reg Watchman had had a prang with his Chev. Coupe and while we were away somewhere I lent him the Isis to tide him over. When he returned it he went to fill it up but said he had to stop the attendant when the pump got to 17 gallons. It had red leather upholstery and map cases on the back of the two front seats For Christmas 1958 we went to Mokau with the Schollums again and some of the photos show Mokau bay full of big stumps sticking about 10 feet out of the water. The weather must have been pretty good as all the kids went swimming.

Earlier in the same year we had gone to home bay with the Kerrs and I have a photo of Doug tickling a trout out of Frank Smiths creek.

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Christmas 1957 camping at Turihau with the Schollums Turihau, David with our cat Ginger, Kay, Bett and Fran

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Turihau with the Ballantyne and Von Ee families Kay, Fran, David with the Moki he caught off the beach , and Maria Schollum

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At Home Bay feeding the ducks, Kay, myself, David and Fran

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Wairangi Station, David, Bett and Fran Bett (and Ron) with Kay riding Corson Fran, Kay and David with the T 31 glider Ron Duncan Aitken, born 21st March 1958

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Myself, Kay, David, Anne, Ron, Bett and Fran on the front steps of 124 Stout St.

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Ron playing in the backyard Kay, David, Ron, Paul Evans, and Fran Ron fixing the toilet

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At the Lake with the Schollums 1957, Shirl, Collette, Ron Schollum, Kay, Bett and John Schollum

Shirl Schollum with Ron, Fran, Maria with Collette Schollum, Kay and John Schollum

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Christmas 1958, Mokau bay full of stumps. Fran and Maria Schollum Doug Kerr tickling a trout out of Frank Smiths creek

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It would have been about this time that John Thorburn rang and asked if I would be interested in a leasehold site at Whangara, the Church there wanted to lease four sections out to provide some money for the maintenance of the church. I jumped at the chance, Mrs Irvine who rented the cottage next to the joinery shop in Carnarvon Street had just died so we decided to partly demolish the cottage and take it out to Whangara. This would make a much better entrance to the concrete dept back in the middle of the block. With the help of Ron Schollum, Bruce Ballantyne and Aussie we took of the iron roof and found a another roof of yellow pine shingles underneath, full of dust, skeletons of rats and all sorts things. We also took off the back part of the house which was not in good condition, turned the front part around and dug a hole under it to back in my truck. There was more of it overhanging the back of the truck than on the deck so we wrapped the front bumper with lead sheeting and put a load of concrete blocks inside up by the cab. The load was too wide to fit over the bridge by the Whangara Pub but I had made arrangements with the Ministry of Works that I could cross over while they were dismantling a double Bayly Truss from one side to place it half on each side.

There would then be enough width for us to get across. We had to be there sharp at 10 am on a Sunday morning and duly arrived after collecting a telephone line or two at Wainui. All went well until we got half way across and then found that the handrails were buckled inwards and we were stuck. With all the M O W team pushing and me jumping the clutch we got across but shed a few weatherboards in the process. We got to the site and when I put the hoist up a little to see better the whole load slid of so that is where it stayed. We jacked it up, put a series of piles underneath and then put the roof back on again. The floor in the back part which we had demolished was not too bad so we set that up and framed new walls around it. Then we covered the whole thing with building paper and netting and plastered it, added a little chimney and a front porch and steps etc. I took out the old water tank from Carnarvon St. and plastered it but it only had an outside tap. Later I got another larger tank, 2nd hand, and we piped this into the sink. There was a power pole right on our boundary so we had lights and power points.

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Whangara church c.1959

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The house on the back of the Aitken’s Concrete truck. David, myself, Aussie and Bruce Ballantyne

Crossing the Bridge by Whangara Pub. The building becoming stuck

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Our Whangara Batch 1959 Playing with the Crayfish pots, David, Kay, Ron and Fran

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Doug Kerr, Kay, myself, Aussie, Gillian Williams, Catherine, Bev, and Joan

New Years, with a spit roast goat

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Bruce was a tower of strength at this time, he had a contract to demolish the Maori Affairs building and had masses of match lining to spare so we lined out the interior with this. With the addition of some bunks and some old furniture it was ready for Christmas. The first trip out to the end of the island in the little boat yielded some kahawai, snapper, porae and some cod and there were plenty of crayfish too. For New Year we all had a spit roasted goat for supper (pretty raw) and around the fire were the Thorburns, Monks, Smees, Hustons and others. We were a very friendly and close knit community and the locals all came round first footing early on New Year’s Day. We had a big table made out of a big piece of Kauri which had been left in a building Reg Humphreys rented from us and was left there when he died. It was only about half an hours drive from town and I was able to easily go in and out to work while the rest of the family stayed there for the school holidays. Eventually Bruce and Maureen were able to freehold a nearby section and build a batch on it. I must had enough spare time to go to the lake too, as one photo shows a bunch of 9 trout on the kitchen sink including a ten pound brown from lake Kaitawa.

In September 1960 I flew down to Christchurch and bought a second hand Coventry Conveyencer Forklift from Vibrepack there and had it sent up to Gisborne by ship. This gave us much better capacity in the block plant as the previous one, an Aerolift was limited to one ton. The Aero lift was the second forklift in Gisborne, the only other one was down at the Harbour, also a Conveyencer. That, I think takes me to the end of 1960.

Nine trout from the Lake, on the kitchen bench

David and myself Duck shooting 1957

Post war

1961­-1969

Post war 1961­-1969 In the early 1960s I started building a planing hull boat to a Carl Augustin design, it was 14 feet long and I bought a 35 h.p. Perkins outboard to power it. From Dickie Jeffcoate I got the plan of a steel trailer to cart it on and when it was finished we all set off for the lake with Aussie, Joan and Kathryn to try it out. After some initial problem we got it going and spent a couple of days going round the edge, had a picnic in a bay past Mission Bay and all in all were very pleased with the results.

We also used it a lot at Whangara but sometimes it was hard to get out through the surf. Now we had a boat which was safe for us to fish Monowai rock and we started getting the odd Hapuka. Fred Hall who ran his crayfish boat from Tatapouri had given the marks for Kell’s Rock but Aussie and I could never find it. Then one day we saw Fred going up the coast in his boat, chased him and he came aboard while his crewman carried on towards Tolaga. When we got to Kells, Fred realised that one of his marks, a patch of bush, had been cut down so we worked new ones and chased his boat up the coast and put him back on board.

We then went out to our new found spot and came home with nine good sized Hapuka.

Then in 1961 Carolyn was born and having the batch it was easy for us to have really good holidays there without a lot of travelling. The whole family could stay there for four or five weeks and I could come in to work during the week. There were only a few families staying there but we were a very friendly community and always got on well with the locals. We often walked up to Gable End where there were plenty of paua and in the bay, there was an old tripot where in the early days the locals had had a whaling station. Unfortunately in later years some idiot shot holes in it and it was ruined. One afternoon I was going back out there and following a car when I remembered that it’s number plate was the one I had heard on the radio that morning as being stolen. I stopped at the Whangara Store and rang the Police and the driver was caught at Tolaga Bay. The vehicle had belonged to John Primrose’s mother.

Our new Boat and trailer on our way to the lake, parked outside Alice and Mick’s at 110 Lytton Rd

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Picnic near Mission Bay, Joan, Aussie and Catherine Aitken, Fran, David, Ron, Bett and Kay

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We spent many happy holidays there, David and his mates learnt to surf and we always had plenty of fish and crayfish. In fact we used to have curried crayfish, crayfish omelette, crayfish with salad and any other way we could think of. The kids could have their friends to stay and Ron and Kath Mayhill came down one year with their family and stayed. But one year there was a very bad storm, we had the boat tied down on the beach and a boat belonging to Claude Monk was blown over several times and damaged. We found out next day that Fred Hall was missing, he had been on his way down from Tolaga when the storm struck.

We made up a search party and all walked the beaches to Gable End but all we found was bits of wreckage from his boat and it was assumed that he had hit the Turihaua Reef but the hull of his boat was never found. We climbed up over Gable End and down to the shore on the other side and followed it to Puatai where there was an old church and one remaining house. There was nobody home there but apparently an old Maori lady lived there but did not like visitors and she had gone bush as we approached. We then climbed up to the road to a farm house and rang through to Mrs Leach’s house for someone to pick us up by car. Where we had come down to the coast north of Gable End we had some lunch and noticed a small strange looking mound which on inspection turned out to be a great heap of brandy and whiskey bottles. There had also been a whaling station there.

The Halls originally had a residence and a crayfishing business on the Pouawa side of Turihaua point but it had been demolished in a tidal wave and Fred had been given a small bit of land near the Tatapouri Pub to set himself up again. They were a great fishing family and when they returned from the war some of them had set up a fishing business at Waihau Bay and Fred had stayed near Gisborne. Fred had been in the Air Force and had been a Torbeau pilot up in the north of Scotland, and was on the same operation as Jack Brightwell when Jack was killed just a few days before the war in Europe ended. He had been a good friend and we had made several large coppers for him for cooking his crayfish where he sold them to travellers passing along the coast.

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Carolyn Julia Aitken, born 19th June 1961 David, Diane Lawry, Fran, Kay, Gillian, Ron, and Caro, and Maggie our pet magpie

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Caro’s christening, Betts mother and father, Bett, Caro and Mother

Back: Tom Lawry, Mick (Bett’s father), Anne, Fay, Doug, Bev Middle: Lyn with Caro, Marie Lawry with Michael (Caro’s Godmother), Bett with Philippa, Alice (Bett’s mother) with Grant, Gillian, Mother, Aunty Anne Stacey Front: Ron, Nigel Lawry, David, Barry, Kay, Jillian Lawry

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Our Family. Myself, Caro, Bett, Fran, Ron, Kay, and David

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Tripot at Gables End old whaling station Standing: Catherine, Fran with Caro, Bett and Maureen Squatting: Raymond Ballantyne, probably Roger Ballantyne, Wendy and Susan Ballantyne, Ron and Kay

We often took the boat out, sometimes it was hard to get the boat out over the surf

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The Mayhills visited. Ron Mayhill, Kay, Caro, Philppa Mayhill, Janice Mayhill, Kath Mayhill, Ron, David, and Geoffrey Mayhill David Surfing A very friendly community

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Myself, Ron and Bob Smith with the catch of the day, Tuna.

David and Ron cooking crayfish

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The block business was going pretty well, we had gradually phased out the full cavity block as it was realised that hollow block walls could be satisfactorily waterproofed with the new paints which were coming on the market and we were making mostly 8 inch blocks. It was quite interesting for me to work out what other products could be made on the Fleming machine and we made small piles, garden edge blocks and many others. I had also imported an egg laying block machine and we could make bigger piles and eventually chimney sections on this quite satisfactorily and in much bigger quantities than pouring them in moulds one at a time. We now had quite a good set up in this Gladstone Road, Carnarvon Street area and we had just put up a large shed to store our stockpile of blocks out of the weather. I had bought some railway irons from the NZ Railways and Les Spicer had welded them up into trusses at a fraction of the cost of ordinary steel trusses.

Pat Crawshaw came to me with a proposition that if I would sell the centre of the block, about one and a half acres, and one section through into Gladstone Road to the Cook County Council, they would be able to sell their land in Childers Road to the NZ Road Services, the Road Services would be able to sell their land in Grey Street to the Post Office and the Post Office would be able to sell the old Ormond Motors site in Peel Street to the proposed new H.B.Williams Library. He would be able to get me a new site in Awapuni Road. I did not really want to shift and the Council could not force us to but they said if we ever had a fire, we would not get permits to rebuild. The section in Awapuni Road belonged to Walter Black and I knew he would not sell it to me because he and Dad did not get on well after Dad started making pumice concrete chimneys. Walter had owned the local brickworks and would not sell bricks to any builder who put a concrete chimney instead of a brick one. So I bought it in the name of Prestress Gisborne Limited which Michael von Ee and I had set up but then decided not to go ahead with manufacturing Prestressed Concrete. Pat was later able to get me more land down there from the Carrington Family and I think we had D1,D2,D3 and D4 which were about one acre each so we decided to make the shift and progressively give possession to the Cook County.

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Awapuni Road site 1965, Awapuni School in the background Awapuni Road site Block Plant

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The land was undulating sand hills but Monks Contracting levelled it out nicely with a large scraper, although it was very easy to get the trucks bogged in the loose sand. I broke an axle there one evening when I was spreading road metal to get a track in. I planted the whole thing with lupins but until they got established the wind would shift sand from one end to the other. We slowly got it sorted out, I designed what I thought would be a suitable block plant and after about two years trying we finally got a licence to import a Columbia Block Machine from the states. We had been unable to keep up with the demand for blocks and had to buy a lot from Firths in Hastings and have them railed up. We got the foundations poured but our block layers were so busy mainly down at Watties that Bett and I started the blocklaying ourselves on the weekends. She mixed the mortar and I laid the first couple of layers of blocks. Then our gang were able to come in and lay more blocks. Laurie Martin had poured the foundations and his gang poured the columns. When the walls were up he hoisted up the trusses and put the roof on.

Before pouring the floor we had put in very heavy and deep concrete pads for the future bins to be supported on, and put in the pit for the mixer we were going to get in the future. We installed the new block machine, put in underground power to our own transformer and set up the old weighbatcher on rails and the old mixer.

We were back in business, the Columbia Machine, a rebuilt Model 8 was far superior to the Flemming and we started to shift our stockpile down from Gladstone road to the new site. I left home about 3 a m one morning, drove up to Papakura to Lees Brothers and bought one of their fork lift trucks so we had the Conveyencer at Gladstone Road and the Lees at Awapuni Road with our truck shuttling back and forth. I had to get back from Papakura in time to get through the Gorge before 5 p m as they were working on widening the road and they closed it every night till 7 a m. next morning. That would have been in 1965 I think and it is a credit to Lees Brothers that that fork lift has only recently been retired. It had a Ford 4 cylinder diesel motor and when it was getting a bit worn David and I drove up to Ford Motors in Auckland in our Falcon pickup one Saturday morning, picked up a new motor and drove back so the local Ford Co could have it fitted by the following

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Monday. The only thing wrong with the original was that the hardening on the cam shaft was wearing so Gis. Motors rebuilt the motor and we sealed it and kept it as a spare. It came into use several times as we bought another forklift of the same model later and could do a quick engine change any time it was necessary.

Some of the photos about this time are of some bantams we kept in a small run on the back lawn and they were so tame that the kids could pick them up. The only trouble was that when they had chicks the weka would grab the chicks through the wire netting of the pen and take off with them for lunch. Weka were very plentiful then until a virus wiped most of them out in later years. In the botanical gardens there was a pen where they kept a lot as they were caught and tried to introduce them back into other parts of NZ I heard it said that one bird only took three weeks to come back to Gisborne from the Waikato where it had been released. There were quite a few living along the river bank and every evening you could hear them calling around the hills in Whataupoko.

Aussie and I went up to the lake and spent a few days in Parminter’s hut which was where the Waiopaoa hut was later built. It was a comfortable little hut with 4 bunks a wooden floor and a good chimney. We got the odd deer quite a few fish and smoked some of them in the top of the chimney. Also at that time there was no restriction on catching some of the eels in the lake and most of them were four or five feet long and pretty heavy. They were very fat and smoked beautifully We also spent much of our spare time at Whangara and now that we could go straight to Kell’s rock we were never short of fish and neither were any of the other residents there. At a pinch I think we were able to sleep about 10 in the batch and often had a lot of visitors. We got fairly expert at getting the boat out through the surf but did occasionally come to grief. Getting it back on the trailer before the wheels sank into the sand was a problem but we used to tie the anchor rope to the car and back to the trailer. then the car would drive away and the rope got thinner and thinner before the trailer would take off leaving us chasing it up the beach towards the batches. We now had a Morris Oxford car, very roomy and only 1600 cc but it was really a very good car and served us very well.

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Kay, Caro, and Ron in the backyard with our bantams

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Aussie with two trout at the laket Myself with a large brown caught at the lake

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Aussie outside Parminter’s hut overlooking the lake Myself inside Parminter’s hut Aussie inside Parminter’s hut

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About 1965 a fair sized vessel, the Makuata came ashore at Whangara when it had sprung a leak on it’s way down the coast. It had originally been an Island trading vessel and in due course they brought a tug, the Otapere down from Auckland to tow it off. There was a great crowd on the beach at high tide and with the tug weaving back and forth outside the surf suddenly there was a little lurch in the Makuata, then another and she steadily was dragged out to sea. The next day I took a photo of her tied up in the harbour.

Chopper Summersby who owned Orange Grove Motels put forward the idea of building a set of Motels at Hicks Bay and we got the job of building the block fire walls between units.

I used to drive up there on the weekends with a five ton load of blocks and started to build up a stockpile along side the motel foundations and covered them with polythene. It was not worth taking the blocklayers up there until one row of motels was ready. I used to call into Rock Products shingle plant at the bridge by Ruatoria and Jack Alderton would load me up with fine shingle for the return journey. Sometimes one or two of the kids would come with me. Then when the job was ready we all went up and Chopper had a house there where we could stay. Some of the blocklaying staff had come from the coast so it was no trouble to persuade them to go. We would take the odd day off and go fishing and once we went out for the day with Dick Huston who was crayfishing up there on his boat the “Christina”. We went from Hicks Bay up to Cape Runaway and it was very enjoyable too. Another time I took two of the staff out on to Matakaoa Point for the night and when I picked them up next morning they had over half a sack of blind eels which were regarded as a great delicacy. We The next day at the Gisborne Wharf, the tug Otapere in the foreground and Makuata in the back

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The Makuata came ashore at Whangara

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David at the Hicks Bay Motel sight Ron on the back as I refill for the return journey to Gisborne

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came back to Gisborne that day and we had to stop here and there to give this old couple or that, a couple of blind eels for there tea.

I had started building a new boat, I had got a set of plans from USA for the design, a Garvey, and it turned out to be a very good one although perhaps not very elegant looking. I got John Hall of Glennies to build the bare hull for me. It was longitudinally framed and I did all the finishing out with flotation under the floor and room for two outboards. It turned out to be very stable in a following sea and that was where some of the other designs would broach badly. It was nearly finished when David and I had a bit of a disaster with the Augustin. We had been out fishing at Kells Rock and had caught about 9 or 10 Hapuka when we decided it was about time to go back to Whangara. It had been blowing a bit of a southerly but the sea was not too bad but when we went to start the Perkins it would fire once but would not run. We tried all sorts of tinkering but no go so we decided to head back on the spare motor which was only a one and a half h.p. Johnstone. It soon became apparent that the wind was still too strong for us to make Whangara. so I thought we would head for Gable Bay. However, as we got near it was too hard to pick the entrance so we headed in towards a beach a bit to the south. As we approached the shore a wave picked us up by the stern and as the bow went under the boat pitchpoled and went straight over, stern over bow. I ended up in the water but there was no sign of David until he suddenly came up on the other side of the boat and said he had surfaced under the boat and there were all sorts of things floating around like fuel tanks, fishing gear and all. Anyway, the boat beat us ashore upside down, we flipped it over and the screen was gone. We baled it out, took off the motors and put them up on the cliff and pulled the boat as far up as we could. Then we picked up a couple of Hapuka each from those floating around at the edge of the water and headed back along the beach towards Whangara. In the meantime Bett had got worried, she had phoned Trevor Charles from the Leach’s place and he had sent a plane out but they had not seen us. She was about to pack up and head back to town when someone yelled out that there were two figures running along the beach. Of course, we were soundly told off but I think every one was pleased to see us.

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This is Maroro II built in 1974/5, launched late 1975. There were several boats built with the same hull

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Next day we got Buster Love to help us and with a couple of pack horses went round to the boat, pulled it higher up the bank and packed out the two motors and some of the gear back to Whangara. The South British Insurance Co. were very good and paid for reconditioning the motors and gear. Luckily the other boat was almost ready, and we soon had it going. A week or so after the disaster we went around to that bay and I did some repairs to the hull and two weeks later Aussie and I took a wheelbarrow with two spare motors around and I sailed the boat back to Whangara while Aussie brought back the barrow. I think it was one of these weekends that David went on a Duck Shooting trip to Wairangi Stn with the Ferris’ and Fred Milligan. He was so impressed with the sport that he said we must have a go at this so that is what we did the next season.

I had applied for, and been granted, a Fishing Licence and my registered number was GS 26. It was pretty easy to get a licence in those days, especially as it was only for line fishing. I had a large ice box and we sometimes would go to Whangara for the weekend and on Monday morning I would take the fish into East Coast Fisheries which was right next door to the Block Plant in Awapuni Road. It only took two years to earn enough to pay for the boat and motors.

During this time the fishing enterprise had been making a tax loss so my Accountant said it was a good time to give up commercial fishing! The fishing in those days was pretty good and I well remember Bett and I going out to Kell’s Rock, dropping three lines with ten hooks on each, and pulling up the first line - ten Hapuka, on the next nine and on the third seven and a Tarakihi. We were back on our way home after twenty minutes with as much fish as the boat could handle, probably four hundred pounds of fish.

Other times I would go out with Jimmy Leach who just loved fishing. One morning I found him sitting on the front step at about 2 a.m. waiting for the dawn and for me to join him with the boat. Many times we would go out together to A boat full of hapuka

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Kay and myself making some repairs to the hull The Albacore shipwrecked. Buster Love helped out with his packhorses Fran and Kay riding the packhorses back at Whangara

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catch fish for a do at the Marae. One day we had been trolling north of the Arial Rocks and as we went south I had to stop to clean the plugs which had oiled up and Jim put a line over as I did so. He caught a couple of good Snapper, so we tossed the anchor over and soon were pulling up Hapuka two at a time and they were big ones too. When we had all I reckoned we could carry we headed back to the beach but when we got there, there was a big sea running and the boat was too heavy to plane so we had to wait till we saw a couple of smaller waves coming and head in.

We made it with only a little water coming in but when we hit the beach Jim took off. He apparently got on the phone because shortly the locals started coming down to the beach, some of them riding over the hill, all to collect some of our catch.

Then one morning John Thorburn rang me to ask if I knew that Jim Leach had been shot and killed at Whangara together with one of his daughters. Apparently his son in law who was not one of the locals had an argument with his wife and threatened them with a rifle and Jim was shot through the window as he was on the phone to the police. Then he came to the front door and shot the daughter. He took off and headed inland but the Police caught up with him somewhere up the Waimata Valley. After that we sort of lost interest in the bach and eventually sold it to Allan Brown. Later on when Honi Taumanu retired and came to live in town, the other locals out there decided to demolish the baches and I think only the one owned by Bob Smith was left. They were all on the Church property and of course there was no title for any of them. The son in law who had shot Jim was a Nga Puhi from up north and was not popular with the locals but what happened to him in the end I do not know.

We bought a caravan, a Crusader, and used it for many trips both to Whitianga Bay and to the Lake and really enjoyed its use. On one occasion we camped at the Western side of Whitianga in a new spot and I think this was before we had the Augustin but we always had plenty of fish. It was a good little spot to camp and the land owner had put in a toilet and shower block. We launched our little boat from a tiny beach in a place when I first came up with my parents in the late 1920s. There had been a whale boat parked in a little hollow. Also when we had come up in those

442 John Keillor Aitken

days there was a tri-pot for rendering down whale blubber around the other side of the point towards the mouth of the Motu River. When we camped at Mokau with the caravan we had quite a big camp and Darcy came up with us and caught his first trout.

Our first dog, Lass, was with us some of the times we went up into the Bay of Plenty and she turned out to be very good. We also used to take the caravan up to the mouth of the Waiapu River as Cooper Rickard had told me there were plenty of ducks there. There would be David, Darcy, Fred and sometimes Garry Herries used to come too. It was right when we were told there were plenty of ducks, there were rafts of them sitting out in the sea. But we soon got a maimai set up near the mouth and had some pretty good shooting at times. Other times we shot a bit further up the river where the ducks had their resting places and did pretty well. One year we took up a tractor tyre in which we had made a bottom and I floated down the river in this while the others set up a maimai down by the mouth. There were plenty of ducks along the banks but as I got close they would move further up the bank or else the tyre would spin round just as I was getting in range. I think I only got two for the whole day floating down the river to the mouth. There were also quite a few pheasants on the hill and in the gorse thickets along the river bed. But we had a very comfortable camp on the beach where there was a long drop toilet and there was the remains of an old coal range near by where we could boil up a kerosene tin of water for plucking the ducks. We had a fridge in the caravan and could chill the ducks down in batches and then store them in chilly bins. We all went up there for several years and had a good time wet or fine.

One time when we were fishing out at Kells Rock we hooked a large Bronze Whaler and when I went to take a photo of it from the cabin roof it sent a large splash all over me and that camera was never any good from then on.

Carro with Lass

Post war 1961­-1969 443

Caro, myself, Kay, Ron, Darcy Edwards, and Fran Our caravan camped a Mokau

444 John Keillor Aitken

Setting out for the day, myself, Robin Mill, Fred Milligan, and David David, Ron and Fred at Huiarua Darcy Edwards and David in the backyard

Post war 1961­-1969 445

On the front Step 124 Stout St, Caro, Ron, myself, Kay, David, Fran, Darcy Edwards, and Lass the dog.

Archive: Service Record

Name:

John Keillor Aitken

Service No:

NZ 421488

Rank:

Flight Lieutenant w,e,f 28/5/44

Service:

New Zealand Canada United Kingdom

Operations:

France Germany Poland

Awards:

Distinguished Flying Cross 1944 1939-45 Star France & Germany Star Defence Medal War Medal 1939-45 N.Z.War Service Medal

Archives 447

Archive: Family Trees

James Aitken

Allan Aitken b 1811

Jane Watt b 1819

George Keillor Aitken b 12.11.1858

Elizabeth Watt

William Aitken b 1828

John James Foster b 1793

Juliana Mathews b 1829

Juliana Jane Aitken b 24.12.1856

James Fredrick Foster 1st

James Fredrick Foster 2nd b 1851

George William Aitken b 25.11.1880 Julie Aitken b

Margaret (Mollie) Aitken b

Helen Aitken b

David John b 04.01.51

Frances Anne b 15.07.52

Kay Elizabeth b 18.12.54

Direct line of ancestry

Unknown

Elizabeth Pitkin

Emmeline Matilda Ormes b 1857

Ellen Foster b 16.05.1885 John Keillor Aitken b 31.12.22

Alice Elizabeth Williams b 10.08.28

Ronald Duncan b 21.03.58

Carolyn Julia b 19.06.61

Archives 449

David John Aitken b 04.01.51 Thomas Lane

Sarah Elizabeth b 11.11.82

Toby David b 28.05.08

Tim Thorburn

Hunter Neil b 10.02.15

Laura Susanne b 23.09.85

Trudy Fraser b 04.01.57

William de Gruchy

Scarlett Joan b 13.01.13

Olivia Helen b 24.05.09

Kelly Gillam

Callum John b 05.12.78

Milly Elizibeth b 05.02.13

Katrina Boardman

Darcy Edwards b 24.12.49

Wade William b 04.11.80

Ryan Francis b 31.12.82

Jake Alexander b 23.04.14

Hilary Theresa b 02.10.86

Karl Green

Linda Richardson

Keira Lisa b 16.09.14

Kay Elizabeth Aitken b 18.12.54 Alice Emily b 14.5.85

Israel Dagg

Jackson Ian b 21.11.14

Frances Anne Aitken b 15.07.52 Bevan Patrick b 08.06.77

Daisy Helena b 14.12.87

Philip Gould b 07.10.53

Mark Robbers

Hadyn John b 23.04.90

Elizabeth Helen b 02.11.14 Alison Barclay b 05.04.58 Grace Ellen b 13.09.88

Ronald Duncan Aitken b 21.03.58

Dorne Humphreys b 24.09.62

Alexander George b 31.03.90

Taylor John b 11.01.96

Carolyn Julia Aitken b 19.06.61 Ruby Ellen b 03.12.91

Decendents as of 2015

Archive: Family Connections John mentions the following people and families. Anne Williams kindly provided a brief description on who they were to John and how they fitted into his and his families life.

Ellen and George Aitken John’s parents. Lived at 252 Stout St, renumbered later as 94 Stout St. Julia Aitken John’s sister who died of diphtheria aged about 9yr.

Mollie and Wattie Findlay John’s eldest sister Mollie (Margaret) married Walter Findlay.

They had five children: Walter, Margaret (died of diphtheria), Libby (Elisabeth), John and Judy Helen and Allan Aitken John’s sister Helen married her first cousin Allan.

They had two children: Prudence and Lindsay Joan and Aussie Aitken Aussie (Alan), born in Australia and came to Gisborne as a small child. John and Aussie were very close friends, Aussie being only a couple of years younger.

They had one daughter: Catherine Pat and Margaret Crawshaw Lived two doors up from John’s parents house. Pat owned a real estate business in Gisborne. The Crawshaws included John in many of their activities – hunting, fishing, trips to Lake Waikaremoana, etc.

They had five children: Brian – just a few years younger than John, they remained close friends , Hugh, Cushla, Ron and Richard

Archives 451

Ron Mayhill Ron and John met during the war when they formed their Lancaster crew – Ron was the bomb aimer in their crew. They remained close friends throughout John’s life. Ron wrote a book on their war experiences called ‘Bombs on Target’. He married Kath, who became a close friend to Bett and John.

Duncan Hodgson Duncan and John met during the war when they formed their Lancaster crew – Duncan was the navigator in their crew. They remained close friends throughout Duncan’s life. He married Flo, who became a close friend to Bett and John.

Alice and Mick Williams Bett’s parents who lived at 110 Lytton Rd They had four children: Bev, Anne, Bett and Bert Bev and Doug Kerr Bett’s elder sister who married Doug Kerr. The families holidayed together.

They had two children: Diana Lynleigh (Lyn) and Barry Anne Williams Bett’s twin sister who spent many holidays with the family.

Fay and Bert Williams Bett’s brother who married Fay Howell.

They had three children: Gillian, Grant and Phillippa

452 John Keillor Aitken

Shirl and Ron Schollum Ron married Shirley Hudson, Bett’s cousin. They holidayed with John, Bett and family many times when the children were young and remained close friends all their lives.

They had seven children: Carol, Christine, Maria, John, Collette, Andrew and Stephen Olwen and Frank Fitzgerald Olwen was Bett’s cousin. Olwen and Frank hosted the family on many occasions at Wairangi Station. After Frank died Olwen became an Anglican Minister and took both Bett’s and John’s funeral services.

Maureen and Bruce Ballantyne Bruce married Maureen Hudson, Bett’s cousin and Shirl Schollum’s sister.

They holidayed with John, Bett and family many times when the children were young, and then both families had a bach at Whangara, so spent Christmas holidays together. John and Maureen formed a close bond after Bett and Bruce had died and remained very close until John’s death.

They had six children: Raymond, Roger, Peter, Susan, Wendy and Tracey

Archives 453

Archive: MAps Matakaoa Point

Hicks Bay Horseshoe Bay

Cape Runaway Waihau Bay Te Araroa

Te Kaha Waihapokopoko Whitianga Bay

Omaio

Maraenui Hill

Mo

tu

Riv

er

r

ve

Ri

pu aia W Ruatoria

Mt Hikurangi Waipiro Bay

tu

Mo

OPOTIKI

Tikitiki Tikitiki

ad

Ro

Waioeka Gorge

ale

d

n Tar

ad

Tokomaru Bay

Ro

Tauwhareparae

Oponae

Te Karaka

Ha aR

Tahunga

r

ive

Lake Waikaremoana

Ru

ak

itu

ri R

ive

r

aR

ive

r

iver

Tiniroto Lake Tiniroto

Wharerata Waiherere Mangapoiki

Waiau River

WAIROA Raupunga

East Cape, New Zealand

Tolaga Bay Puatai Bay

Gable End Pouawa Turihau Tatapouri Makauri Makaorori Makaraka Wainui GISBORNE Tuahine Point Sponge Bay Whangara

aro

ng

Rere

ao

rae R

Urewera National Park

Wa ip

Paka

Whatatutu

Waimata Val le

y

Huanui Station

Mahia

Archives 455

LAKE WAIKAREITI

Aniwaniwa

ine

ah

ru

Mo

pu

Ho

kau

Urewera National Park

Mission Bay

Rakaiaho Bay

The

Wairau Moana

Tappers Island Te Waoiroa Bay Korokoro Campsite Waiopaoa Hut

Nar

row

s

ay

eB

m Ho

Jetty Camp

LAKE WAIKAREMOANA

Panakiri Bluff Outlet

ONEPOTO

Kaitawa

TUAI

Lake Waikaremoana, Urewera National Park, New Zealand

456 John Keillor Aitken

Waipapakauri

Whatawhiwhi

PACIFIC OCEAN

Whenuapai

AUCKLAND Papakura

TASMAN SEA

Whakatane Rotorua Taupo Lake Taupo Tokaanu New Plymouth

Ruatoria Opotiki

Urewera

Gisborne Rangitaiki Wairoa Napier

Whanganui Ohakea Linton Palmerston North

WELLINGTON Rongatai

Rakaia River Harewood Lyttelton s Akaroa p l Ashburton A Dromore n er Albury Pleasant Point uth Gleniti Timaru o S Hororata

Lake Wakatipu

Queenstown

Dunedin Taieri

New Zealand

Archives 457

YU

NW

BRITISH COLUMBIA

NU

HUDSON BAY

CANADA

ALBERTA

MANITOBA

Red Pass Rockies Edmonton Junction Jasper National Park Blue River Penhold Calgary Lake Minnewanka Eagle Lake Banff Shepard

SK LB

Winnipeg

Vancouver

ND

MT

WA

NB

MN WI

SD

OR

ID

MI Niagara Falls

WY IA

NE NV San Francisco

IL

UNITED STATES

UT

CO

KS

IN

OH WV

MO OK

AZ

NM

MEXICO

TN

AR

NC SC

MS TX

AL LA

PE Montreal ME Halifax VT NOVA SCOTIA Toronto NH NEW YORK MA CT RI PA New York NJ MD DE VA

KY

CALIFORNIA

NORTH PACIFIC OCEAN

QUEBEC

ONTARIO

GA FL

Canada and the United States

NORTH ATLANTIC OCEAN

458 John Keillor Aitken

Inverness Alastrean House Aberdeen Banchory Aboyne

Boultenstone Balmoral Castle Fort William Loch Leven

Gare Loch

NORTH SEA

Tarbet Cottesmore

Falkirk Glasgow Edinburgh

Methwold Littleport Feltwell Mepal Witchford Waterbeach Newmarket Chedburgh

SCOTLAND

Oakley Westcott Thame Oxford Watchfield LONDON Lincolns Castle Combe Slough Ramsbury Wimbledon Yatton Keynell Brookwood Bath Andover Upavon

Kemble

ENGLAND

NORTHERN IRELAND

IRISH SEA Liverpool

Wigsley Lincoln Nottingham The Wash Cromwell Derby Grantham Norfolk Bottesford Cottesmore Coast Feltwell Mepal

IRELAND

Woodbridge

WALES Milford Haven Severn Estuary

Bristol Bath

Oxford

LONDON

Manston Hawkinge

Membury

St Ives

United Kingdom

Brighton

FRANCE

Archives 459

SWEDEN

BALTIC SEA

COPENGAGEN

DENMARK

NORTH SEA

Gulf of Danzig Koningsberg Gdynia

Kiel Wilhelmshaven Emden Mepal

UNITED KINGDOM

AMSTERDAM

LONDON

Calais Boulogne-sur-Mer Rimeux Channel Islands Le Havre Villers-Bocage

BELGIUM

Le Nieppe Fort d'Englos Valenciennes Hamel Abbeville Biennais

Caen

Beauvoir

Minden Rotterdam Wesel Duisburg

PARIS

Normandy Region

Stettin

Bremen

HOLLAND

The Hague

Hamburg

Hamm Kamen Essen Ruhr Cologne

Hanover Brunswick BERLIN

GERMANY

Koblenz Frankfurt Rüsselsheim Mannheim

Chalons-sur-Marne Strasbourg

POLAND

CZECH REPUBLIC

Stuttgart

Orléans

SLOVAKIA AUSTRIA

Nantes

Gironde Estuary

BAY OF BISCAY

FRANCE

HUNGARY

SWITZERLAND SLOVENIA CROATIA

Bec d'Ambès Bordeaux

ITALY

SERBIA

Western Europe

Archives 463