The RAF years

The Diaries of Russell James Sparrow 1908 to 1991

I applied to join the R.A.F. on Aug. 8th 1940, had my medical in Ipswich on 25th October and went to Uxbridge for two days for another medical and efficiency tests which I duly passed. I could not be sworn in because somebody had forgotten to clear me from a reserved occupation. I went back to Uxbridge on 11th Nov. and stayed for one night just to be sworn in and become 1271516 A/C Sparrow u/t WOp/A.G. (Under training Wireless Operator/Air Gunner). Air crew were not being used up to the extent that was anticipated at that time (see cuttings in my scrap book) and subsequently it was 9th June 1941 before I received the call to proceed to Blackpool on 21st June 1941. After a cross-country rail journey I arrived at Blackpool about 6p.m. together with numerous other bodies from all over the place and we were given a meal and a place to sleep. The first few days were spent in kitting, inoculations etc including wrapping your civvy clothes into a brown paper parcel and sending them home. I soon palled up with Alf McKelly from Dumfries and Ron Impey from Luton. We were billeted in a private hotel on the north shore and were soon into the routine of sparkling brass and a mirror like finish to boots pounding the prom up to Fleetwood, P.T. etc on the beach. It took about two weeks to knock us into shape but I must say I reaped the benefit of training in the B.B. The P.T. instructors

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32 The Diaries of Russell James Sparrow 1908 to 1991

included a professional footballer, a pro.heavy weight boxer and a circus clown. We had church parades at unearthly hours and lectures on all sorts of subjects. We were issued with a small piece of white cloth, a flash, which we wore in the front of our field service caps to denote that we were aircrew u.t.(under training) and we were proud of it

Being used to early rising, a full day’s work and plenty of discipline, the life presented no hardships to me and I soon fell into line. My one stumbling block was that I was going to be learning Morse code and I found great difficulty in making my mind a complete blank in order to receive the stuff when it came dotting and dashing through the headphones. At times it seemed that it would send me crackers (when we got to Yatesbury

Bomb Damage Needham

The Diaries of Russell James Sparrow 1908 to 1991

we found that there was a ward in the camp hospital called the ‘looney bin’ where cadets who had given way under the mental strain were sent to recover.) I learned that the handicap was my age, I was nearly 33 whereas most of my companions were in the 18-25 bracket. My mind was too full of concerns for other things, such as the safety and well-being of loved ones, had I done the right thing? How was Dad coping with the business, the fear of news of bombing raids etc. However by having extra tuition on off-duty hours I managed to pass all the tests at various speeds. Then came the important day when we sat the final test which meant if you failed that you were finished as potential aircrew. The results came through and I had failed.

It would have been hard to find a more thoroughly miserable and dejected being than I was then and I went back to the billet completely shattered and prayed about it. During the evening, in a sort of trance, I went back to the ‘school’, which had been Blackpool’s Olympia; I suppose to see if I could find any kind of consolation. I was walking through the lanes of benches, each with their earphones and Morse codes, I saw my instructor, and ex-Merchant Navy W/Op. and he called me over as I thought, to offer a few words of consolation, but no, it was to apologise for having made a mistake with the markings and I had passed! It would be difficult to describe my feelings but I didn’t forget to thank God. Of course that wasn’t the end of the wretched stuff, the powers that be made sure that we wouldn’t forget and the endless pounding went on. But it did mean that the first hurdle had been taken and in due time I would proceed to Yatesbury for more Morse but better than that to learn all about wireless receivers and transmitters.

At the time we were in Blackpool, June-Sept.1941, it was still in full swing as a holiday resort and all the big time variety acts appeared at one or other of the many theatres in the town. Nearly all our drill was done on the prom. near the north pier and P.T. etc. on 33

The Diaries of Russell James Sparrow 1908 to 1991

the sands below the prom. Most of the time we had an audience of holidaymakers. On completing the course we were posted to Yatesbury in Wiltshire with 7 days leave en route. Off home I went, proudly wearing my white ‘flash’. A very happy leave. One day Mum and I went to Ipswich by ‘bus, no petrol for the car, and on the way as we were passing Claydon cement works, I noticed that there was only one chimney stack instead of two. There had been no air raid the previous day or night so it wasn’t war damage, or so I thought. It transpired that during the raid on the cement works previously mentioned a delayed action bomb had been dropped plumb down one of the stacks and during the night it had exploded and fortunately there were no injuries.

Now to Yatesbury for a course on practical wireless, Morse procedures and more Morse bashing to get us to the required standard of 18 words per minute, together with drill etc. This station had the reputation for being tough and the joy of leaving at the completion of the course was apparent on our first night there. We had settled down into our hut and were enjoying a good night’s sleep when, bang, there was a most unholy racket, the doors of the hut burst open and we woke up to behold a rare sight. The boys who had completed the course and were leaving that day, it was about 2 a.m., were parading through the section completely naked except for

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The Diaries of Russell James Sparrow 1908 to 1991

webbing equipment and the accompanying music was big dustbin lids and billy cans! However despite the reputation, and it was true, and the bleak weather, we were there from Oct. until Jan., it was an interesting course.

One of the instructors there was Sgt. Hannah, the first V.C. of the war. I went out several times with hockey and football teams to Swindon, Devizes and Marlboro’ etc. The nearest town was Calne, home of Harris bacon and pork pies, and whenever we went there we finished up in the Forces club for fresh pies and Cornish pasties. Again I managed to fix up for Mum to stay for a weekend in Calne and Dad spent one night there just before the course finished.

King George plus plenty of the top brass paid a visit on a bitterly cold day in October. The preparations were fantastic and ridiculous and hours were wasted. We even had to whitewash the stones surrounding the hut! One motto of the R.A.F. was ‘if it moves salute it, if it doesn’t, paint it’. We had been well briefed as to procedure, boots and brasses were polished to a mirror finish, overcoats would not be worn, whatever the weather, hats to be removed with waves and cheers as the Royal party passed. Our resentment to it had been building up during the preparations and when we were told that no coats would be worn despite the weather, that put the lid on it. When the great moment came we all stood like frozen statues, - and this didn’t go unnoticed I can tell you. Our particular hut had been in trouble soon after we arrived and then together with the above gained us the dubious award of 10 days Jankers. My old friend Morse was still giving me trouble and I failed the final test so instead of going home for Christmas I had to stay on for another week for another go.

However the Sparrow spirit prevailed and Mum, Jean and Mick went to Banstead (Surrey) and I pleaded my cause with a very strict and pompous Flight/Sergeant who gave me permission to leave

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The Diaries of Russell James Sparrow 1908 to 1991

camp on Christmas Eve with very strict instructions to be back by 2200 hrs on Christmas day. I hitch hiked to Banstead, had a short and sweet Christmas, and left after an early tea to catch a train to Swindon. After that I had to hoof the remaining 10 miles and arrived flaked out but only a few minutes over the deadline, and nothing was said when I handed over my pass to ‘chiefy’ the F/Sgt.

All’s well that ends well and I passed the test at the next attempt. I went home via Banstead and picked up Mum and the children for 7 days leave and to wait for further instructions re posting. Another happy leave with Doff and the children, various excursions including a pantomime at the Hippodrome and a visit to the Whiteheads who were living at Ivry Lodge near the hospital.

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My posting duly came through to Marham in Norfolk and so on 8th Jan, 1942 off I went arriving about 5 p.m. when it was dark. Among the arrivals that day two of us were u/t WOP/AG who had been sent there to get experience on an operational station. Marham was a permanent R.A.F. station with brick buildings etc. and to the delight of Ginger Pells and myself we were given, what to us was a bit of heaven after Yatesbury, a double

The Diaries of Russell James Sparrow 1908 to 1991

room, centrally heated in one of the airmen’s blocks. But, alas, it only lasted two days and we were moved back to the stone age, a Nissen hut in the middle of a farmyard at Marham Hall about 3 miles from camp. That meant catching transport at 6 a.m. if you wanted any breakfast before starting the day, and I can assure you that I didn’t miss that and most mornings had 2 breakfasts. For a lot of the time I was there it was snowing and cold and when we got back in the evening, sometimes by transport and sometimes by walking we would go off to Marham Bell for a warm up, internally and externally.

There were two squadrons on the camp, 115 (Wellingtons) and 218 (Stirlings). We were attached to 115 spending a lot of time with WOP/AGs getting first hand knowledge of what went on during an operation. We were using the wireless sets which as well as air to ground contact were used for inter-com in the planes, firing guns from the turrets and on the range, and clay pigeons and grenades. We got fairly well acquainted with lots of the crews and most of them were very helpful. I remember one in particular whose home was relatively near the aerodrome. They were returning home one night after being badly shot and having virtually reached base and the aircraft being too badly damaged to attempt a landing, the skipper headed it for The Wash, the crew jumped and this chap ‘Smithy’ landed in his own back garden! Several of those we had got to know had ‘bought it’ or ‘gone for a Burton’ before we left. Soon after we had arrived a Wimpey (Wellington) crashed killing all the crew: and all sorts of weird and wonderful things were happening all the time. I was astonished at the preparation that went on here at one of bomber commands main ‘dromes during a hectic period in air war when it was learned that Sir Archibald Sinclair, Secretary of State for War was to pay a visit. Talk about Yatesbury and the King! From the Group Captain downwards everybody was praying that no signals would come through for either squadron to go on ops, and

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The Diaries of Russell James Sparrow 1908 to 1991

it didn’t seem at all likely because the weather was so bad at the time. After having washed and almost polished the hanger floors they didn’t want a lot of badly shot up aircraft coming in to mess it all up. But lo and behold on the eve of the inspection a signal came through, 218 squadron were ‘on’ and the next morning, before the arrival of the V.I.Ps a Stirling which had been badly shot up with 3 of the crew killed did a crash landing and finished on its nose in the middle of the runway. The best laid plans etc. etc.

The Station commander was a New Zealander, a strict disciplinarian and nicknamed ‘February’ because all personnel coming before him on a charge were invariably sentenced to 28 days punishment. The C.O. of 115 squadron had a queer superstition; he wouldn’t take off until he had done a ‘doggie’ on the port side wheel of the undercarriage. It stood him in good stead for several trips but Jerry got him in the end. Our P.T. instructor was a real fanatic and for the first few weeks when we had Arctic conditions he would have us out in the snow, stripped to shorts only and after some hectic exercises we would finish by rolling in the snow. Variety was the spice of life here and in addition to the wireless hammering we also did guards, exercises with the R.A.F. Regiment, work in Stores, maintenance on the wireless in the aircraft etc. and a week on the mobile beacons at Doveham and Swaffham. We would leave camp at about 3 p.m. on a truck loaded with equipment and our food and an oil stove to cook it on in the back of the lorry returning to camp at daybreak the next morning. And boy was it cold!

Doff and I spent two very happy weekends in Lynn, on one occasion we took a ‘bus to Hunstanton via Sandringham. Kings Lynn was the place we went to if we had any time off and I spent one or two afternoons and evenings there with John Swain (a close neighbour in Needham) who was in the army and stationed close by. I think I must have been feeling fed up with having to do what we were doing instead of completing our training, my diary of 15-4-42 38

The Diaries of Russell James Sparrow 1908 to 1991

says, ‘collecting rubbish all day makes me feel as if I’d like to let the world know how potential air crew are being treated’. A voice crying in the wilderness! Or was it? On Sunday 19th I was posted to Cranford, near Framlingham for even less action. This was a radar Beacon consisting of two Nissen huts in the middle of a field and crewed by a team of eight with a Cpl. W/Op. in charge. I was on guard all that night and next morning borrowed a bike and got home in time for breakfast surprising everyone. One of the lads, a wireless technician, was a peacetime member of the B.B.C. Scottish Orchestra and we formed a small band with R.J.S. on drums and percussion. The farmer whose land we were occupying was a jolly old stick and he would invite us up to his house for a musical evening and supper. We also did some shooting with him and we entered a team for a shooting competition at Bruisyard, which I won. We were also invited to a real slap-up meal by another farmer and on two Sundays I had tea and the evening with Bunny Cousins and family. He was manager at Barclay’s Bank at Framlingham, a keen B.B. man and Cyril Whitehead’s cousin. Being on guard duty all the time with staggered hours I was able, by sacrificing a bit of sleep, to get home fairly frequently. I was also able to go and visit my distant cousins, the Bowers, who were millers in Saxmundham. En route from Cranford to Needham I stopped several times to see the Beecrofts, he was in the Royal Flying Corps with Dad and had a blacksmiths business in Earl Soham, I had breakfast with them one morning on my way back to camp. We were a self-supporting unit, one member was a cook, another a driver mechanic and we had our own small truck. Once a week we had a bath at the Queens Hotel in Framlingham. and would go there sometimes to see a film and have supper. V.I.P.s visited the site including a high ranking Division Officer and a Bishop from China. It was during my stint of duty at Cransford that the first 1000 bomber raid took place on May 30th and the second one on June 1st.

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The Diaries of Russell James Sparrow 1908 to 1991

Great news on Monday, July 6th, I was back on course. On Wednesday the 8th I went back to Marham, got my clearance and was issued with another kitbag, full of flying gear (two to lug around now!) and spent the night there. Next day I left camp at 0740 hrs. and arrived at Madley near Hereford 2200 hrs. after having tasted the joys of lugging two kitbags etc. across London during an air raid. Joining camp at the same time was my little friend from Blackpool, Ron Impey and we found ourselves in the same hut and now exalted to the noble rank of Cadet. This was a Wireless Training Flying School and we had to put into practice in the air what we had learned so far plus plenty more. Our first trip in a D.H.Dominie (6 of us at a time) was a rough one and several of the lads were sick. After I passed out on these, and I did very well, we advanced to Proctors where we were on our own, except for the pilot of course, and they gave us some very rough rides I can tell you, diving, climbing and rolling while you were trying to send messages. One minute your hand was on the Morse key and the next, when you were in a steep dive, up near the top of the kite, you could feel your tummy and the flesh on your face trying to go up through the top of your head. A trailing aerial weighted with small lead balls had to be unwound for certain exercises and one day a complaint came in from one of the farm houses, they had found an aerial wound round a bedpost, somebody had been flying low.

I booked a room for Doff at a farm house just outside the city and she came down for a weekend No time off for me I’m afraid but we were able to meet in Hereford in the evenings and on Sunday afternoon we went to Hay on the Wye and fell in love with the place. I sailed through all the tests including Morse and finished with an overall of 94%, but believe it or not, I had to do the final Morse test twice before I succeeded.

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