OUR FATHER'S WAR
By
Julie Thomas
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Julie Thomas on Smashwords
Our Father's War
Copyright © 2011 by Julie Thomas
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This book has been created as a tribute to my late father, Flight Lft. Hal Thomas, who was a foundation member of 485 New Zealand Spitfire Squadron. He joined the Air Force as a reservist in 1939 and was called up when war was declared, sent to a training camp in Blenheim and taught to fly. He was on war course No. 4.
In August 1940 he set sail for England aboard HMS Akaroa and he wrote of his experiences along the way. Through the rest of 1940 and all of 1941 he sent letters home from England. At the end of 1941 he was posted to the Middle East. When he was eventually brought home in late 1943 there were only three others of his No. 4 course left alive.
After his death in 1991 I found a box containing over a hundred and fifty letters, both from him and to him, from his family, dating from his school days in the 1930s to the late 1950s. I have long been fascinated by the descriptions in the war letters and have decided to share them. They are one young man’s view of WWII, from the air and on the ground in his own words.
CHAPTER ONE
INTRODUCTION: HAROLD LANE THOMAS
Hal Thomas was born on October 7th 1917 in Cambridge. He was the eldest son of Harold Tahana Thomas and May Thomas (nee Matthews). My Grandpa was an amazing man; he was the 7th of 14 children and was born in a tent in Houhora in the far north of the North Island of New Zealand in 1891. He was delivered by a Maori midwife, her husband was a Chieftain called Tahana, hence the middle name. He left school at the age of 12 and worked as a carpet seller for a major Auckland retailer, Smith and Caughey, travelling around the countryside on horseback. He married his sweetheart, May Matthews, who worked in the glove department of Smith and Caughey. When he went to WWI in the Army as a private, she was pregnant. She moved to Cambridge (two hours south of Auckland) and stayed with friends to have her first born, a son. She named him Harold after his absent father and Lane, after the couple she was staying with, Lane Taylor. Grandpa was invalided home after recovering from a mustard gas attack and met his son, who was by then 18 months old. He brought him shoes (which I still have) big enough to fit a 6 month old. At the time of these letters Grandpa was the head of a chain of furniture stores called The Maple Furnishing Company, which he had started himself. He was heavily involved in the Rotary movement and in 1959/60 he was World President of Rotary International. He died at 101 in 1992 and outlived his eldest son by a year.
Dad was educated at Mt Albert Grammar and Waitaki Boys High. He played rugby and tennis and was good at English. He won a nationwide essay competition with an essay on trees. He went to University in Wellington and nearly had a BCom when WWII was declared. He was a reservist so was called up immediately and he joined the Air Force. He trained at Woodburn in Blenheim, war course No. 4 with 20 other men, and then sailed for England. After converting to Spitfires he was posted to 258 squadron for a matter of weeks, before being chosen as one of 16 pilots to make up the foundation of the R.A.F.'s "new baby", 485 New Zealand Spitfire Squadron, in March 1941. They flew new machines purchased by the people of New Zealand and his was called "Mission Bay" after the Auckland suburb where he grew up. The letters and later writings describe what that part of his war service was like. There is an obvious contrast between the two because of censorship, but he was able to explain to his parents what a squadron was and he also talks of specific losses. In late 1941 he left England, again by ship, sailed around the Cape of Good Hope, spent a few days in Durban and then boarded the New Amsterdam for the Middle East. His first four months were spent in Sheikh Othman, Aden, instructing and being the adjutant to the station C.O., and then another four doing staff duties in Cairo and flying with 233 Wing in the Western Desert and 1411 Met Flight out of Heliopolis in Egypt.
His last year, from August 1942 to August 1943, was spent as Flight Commander for 123 Squadron in South Persia (now Iran) and the Western Desert. The fascinating thing for me is that I never knew about this year. All the conversations I have ever heard about my Dad's war were about the eight months with 485 and since his death, Mum and I have gone to annual 485 reunions. He was extremely proud of having been a foundation member. But when I started to really read the letters chronologically and to examine the lists and comments he had made in preparation for writing his own memoires, I discovered a "hidden war". Twelve months of service he never spoke about. And I believe there are two main reasons for that. The censorship from the Middle East was savage. Any mention of what he was actually doing and the letters, sporadic enough to start with, simply didn't get through. The Squadron was posted all over the desert, South Persia and Cyrenaica, and often mail was not forwarded. He went months without hearing from home and at one point he describes letter writing as "futile". He wrote home when he was on leave, from places such as Alexandria and Cairo, a long letter on two weeks leave in Palestine and Syria, and the impression created was that his Middle Eastern service was one long holiday. I found a letter from Grandpa back to him that says that he knows the truth; that the air war rages in that part of the world and he knows there is "much left unsaid."
Secondly, sadly, the reality is, no one asked. Dad was a modest man and, when he came home, he did nothing to correct the misconception his letters had created. He didn’t talk about 123 Squadron, apart from one newspaper interview for The Auckland Star, which thankfully Nana kept. In fact there are many tattered and faded newspaper clippings and, apart from the foundation 485 ones, they are all about other flyers, except for one piece of journalistic gold dust.
He came home and met my mother, Thelma Browne (a Cambridge born, farm girl, who was a W.A.A.F in the RNZAF stationed in Rotorua) six weeks later. Three months after that they were married and it lasted 48 years until his death in July 1991. They had three sons and a daughter, who between them produced eight granddaughters and two grandsons. There are (to date) seven great-granddaughters and six great-grandsons.
Of the people mentioned in the letters, some were important in all our lives. My eldest brother was named Richard, after Dickie Bullen, whom you will read about later. 'Pip' is the wonderful late Phillip Coney (the father of well know cricketer, Jeremy Coney). He and Dad started school the same day at the age of 5 and were close friends all their lives. They roomed together in Wellington, trained at Woodburn together, travelled to England together and stayed in touch throughout the war. Pip flew bombers and Dad flew Spits. After the war Pip, Val and their kids were a part of our lives. When Dad died Pip sent a letter to Mum and said he couldn’t come north to the funeral, not because Dad meant too little, but because he meant too much.
John Frecklington, or "Freck" as we knew him, was Dad's constant companion in the Middle East. He was a sheep farmer from Fielding and a lovely man; he came home earlier than Dad because he was injured. Gus Taylor was Fergus Taylor, the dentist, a large part of our lives when I was growing up. His eldest son, Digby, was a yachtsman and his daughter, Libby, was a year behind me at school. Peggy Coote and Clive Hulme (VC) were both distant cousins of Dad's. Peggy's parents lived just out of Oxford and she was a nurse. Clive was awarded the VC in Crete. Bill Crawford-Compton stayed in the RAF after the war, married an English girl and rose to the rank of Air Vice Marshall. I remember his glamorous wife wore wigs and he had bright blue eyes, a broken nose, a laughing smile and he brought me books. He was the most charismatic man I ever met as a child. When I started going to the UK their home in Yapton was my bolt hole and they looked after me, as friends of my Grandparents had looked after Dad during the war. They were due to come to NZ again and Dad was playing golf when Bill's relative called to say he'd died in Jersey. When Dad came home I had to tell him. I remember him going out into the conservatory and sitting by himself, to remember.
CHAPTER TWO
Prologue: Night Flying in a Spitfire
Four pilots were assigned for night operations during fighter nights and flew to Church Fenton which was a night operational station. When enemy aircraft were plotted, one pilot was scrambled and we normally drew lots for order of take-off. The flight could last two hours and two operations would be the normal maximum per night. The fighter nights were arranged during a period of raids on Hull and on three consecutive nights the city was on fire as raids were mounted each night.
On the first night Bill Middleton flew the first take-off and he was scrambled at about 2100 hours. Just as we heard his engine open up for take-off the phone rang and the controller asked us to stop him taking off as a Whitley aircraft had crash landed on the runway with a full bomb load. We were not able to stop Bill and we waited for the impact should he hit the Whitley. He was just airborne when we heard the crash and his aircraft ploughed into the bomber, scattering bombs and petrol as his Spitfire broke its back. We jumped on to the fire wagon and arrived at the scene at the same time as the ambulance. Fortunately there was no fire and Bill was conscious. He was taken to York Hospital and only suffered a broken knee cap. He rejoined the squadron two weeks later and was shot down over the channel on his second operational flight.
My turn came two nights later and I was sent off at about the same time. The runway lights were very dim and visible only under 250 feet. There was no margin to line up the nose of the aircraft and the most difficult problem to overcome was the exhaust flame on each side of the cockpit. The Spitfire was totally unsuited for night flying because of the high nose, lack of visibility forward when landing and the fragile undercarriage.
I entered cloud immediately on take-off and climbed on instruments through 6000 feet of what seemed like thick black cotton wool. On breaking out of the cloud I was overcome by a feeling of loneliness that is hard to describe. Beneath me was a white sea of cloud and above, a clear sky with a brilliant moon and stars. The only other sign of human existence was apparent in my shadow tracing my flight path across the sea of clouds. I climbed to 20,000 feet and levelled off at a point 100 miles out over the North Sea. The controller called me up on the radio and gave me a compass heading to fly to intercept what he described as 90 plus Bandits (enemy aircraft). At this range from the nearest German airfield they could only be bombers heading for a raid on one of the major cities in the Northern part of England. The only hope of seeing them would be to pick up the red exhaust gases from their engines as we had not got interception radar, as carried by later aircraft designed for night operations. It is not possible to describe the feeling of being completely cut off from any contact with another person; the sheer overpowering feeling of absolute solitude was an experience I will never forget. I imagine Charles Lindbergh felt the same way when crossing the Atlantic on his solo flight. He faced thirty-three hours compared to my two hours, although I had 90 plus enemy aircraft in my vicinity that would see my exhaust flames well before I could pick up theirs. They carried special fittings to reduce the glare. Our later fighters were fitted with “fish tail” covers on the exhaust outlets to achieve the same thing.
In the event I was not able to locate the bombers and was ordered to return to base. During the next half hour I was completely in the hands of the controller who would provide me with the necessary course in order to avoid balloons which were concentrated in the industrial areas. I was given a course to fly which would bring me over a location 30 miles from the aerodrome. Should my radio become unserviceable, I was under orders to fly due west until I estimated I was across the coastline and bail out. That was a prospect which was regarded with concern by every pilot, bailing out at night was more frightening than bailing out in daylight. However the alternative didn’t exist as the whole countryside was blacked out, navigation wasn’t possible without a navigator (as carried by bombers) and the danger of hitting balloons was very real. The controller directed me to the map location where a truck was positioned with a flashing light, turned on when I was overhead at 3000 feet. The beacon flashed in Morse, two letters at set intervals. Every evening the truck was driven to a different location and the flashing letters were changed. In that manner enemy aircraft were not able to locate the aerodrome should they pick up the lights flashing.
Five minutes of flying a known course at a given speed would bring me over the aerodrome at 2000 feet, and then the controller gave me a course to fly and reduce my speed and height, to line me up on a lighting system. This would produce a tunnel down which I would fly to approach the runway. The lights on the runway were visible only below 250 feet and I’d be over the place before I could see the flare path to land on. The tunnel, known as the Drem Landing System, consisted of several 40 gallon drums holding lights, spaced in an inverted cone pattern and at a fixed distance apart for a mile from the runway. I was flying down wind at the mouth of the tunnel (at its widest point) and once they were turned on, I turned across wind and knew that I had to fly directly down the tunnel, losing height at 300 feet for each light. I had lined up at 1500 feet and, as there were four lights on each side, I should be at 300 feet on the aerodrome boundary. At that time the dim lamps of runway lights would be turned on and I could land. Should enemy aircraft be in the vicinity when we arrived over the aerodrome, the lights would not be turned on and we would be instructed to climb to 5000 feet and bail out. The success of such a delicate operation, bringing a single engined fighter home from a spot, 20,000 feet up and 100 miles out to sea, is dependent on the pilot having complete confidence in the ability of the controller to provide the correct courses. These came from the plots of the aircraft given to him by the plotting stations using radar.
The absolute loneliness of the pilot of a single engined fighter at night is something experienced by very few during the war. The daylight flights were always flown in squadrons and in sections of at least two. Other pilots were visible and we could talk to each other by radio. Bomber crews had company during the night flights and this was a very real factor in providing confidence in each other and allowing them to face danger. Later night fighters were two engined and carried two airmen, a pilot and a navigator/radar wireless operator.
The operations described above were, to me, some of the most incredible experiences of my five years of flying in the war, I still look back with astonishment. I flew for 500 miles at night, in complete black-out, up to 20,000 feet and returned to an aerodrome which was also in complete darkness and landed on a runway with a flame path visible only under 250 feet. Added to the above problems was the fact that the Spitfire was never meant to be landed at night because of its design, whereas the Hurricane, with perfect forward vision and a strong wide undercarriage, was made for night flying. But we flew what we had to, where we had to, with what we had.
CHAPTER THREE
All at Sea
I’m sending this diary back to New Zealand by a steward who will post it for me in Auckland sometime before Christmas; that’s if the old Akaroa is not held up enroute and makes it safely back. I have no doubt that most of my previous letters home were censored but this missive should be safe enough so I will try to describe our trip in some detail.
August 10th 1940
The Akaroa left Lyttleton at 6am, this morning, Sunday August 10th 1940 and it was with mixed feelings that we watched the shores of New Zealand disappear over the horizon. For many it was a sudden moment of truth, saying goodbye to weeping loved ones and not knowing if, or when, we would see them again. There was not a great deal said during that last hour as we stood on the deck in the chilly mist and rain, all eyes glued to the fast receding hills of Lyttleton harbour. Although we are excited by the adventure that lies ahead and keen to get on with the job awaiting us in England, we all feel that the greatest thrill of all will be the day when our homeland is sighted again on the horizon. I have settled in very well and am delighted to find several of the chaps I went to school and Varsity with are here. Some are bound for Spitfires, some for Lancasters and some for Fleet Air Arm.
August 17th 1940
The ship was ploughing through a storm for the first five days and the Captain told us that such weather invariably puts 75% of the passengers to bed. However not one pilot was ill and there was no sign of a meal missed, much to the steward’s amazement. There was a severe system of fines for missing meals at our table and that may have had something to do with our outstanding sea legs! Shipboard life is a doddle compared to the exhausting eight months we’ve spent in camp at Blenheim, months of continuous flying and difficult exams, and we all agree that this is probably why the time at sea passes very slowly. We may have needed a bit of a rest but we’re also fit young men on our way to fight a war. I spend much time up on the bridge and have taken several shots at the sun with a sextant; this marine navigation is as fascinating as our own aerial branch of the subject.
August 21st 1940
Pip, Bob and I were in the chart room just before Pitcairn Island appeared this morning and it was a memorable sight to see this little rock, just a mile square, appear right over the nose of the ship after steaming for eleven days and covering 3500 long miles. What can I say about Pitcairn? I sent a letter home just for the novelty of using the Pitcairn envelope I’d purchased from a native for seven pence. The island is a desolate spot with little apparent vegetation, although the oranges grown there are simply delicious. The natives barter their carved wooden ornaments, fruit, walking sticks and other goods for money or anything you’ll exchange with them. I bought a curious walking stick for Grandpa and some oranges. We all found it most amusing to see natives paddling out to the ship wearing pullovers and scarves made of Air Force Blue and knitted by none other than Mrs Caldwell and her lady friends in Blenheim. She used to give all the pilots pullovers and scarves and of course the boys who’ve gone ahead of us by this route have apparently traded their surplus woollies for fruit.
We left an Englishman and his wife and young child there. He is going to be a temporary Commissioner for six months and we certainly felt sorry for his wife as she was lowered over the side of the ship in a sling to begin an exile on that bleak spot. The sea was a magnificent royal blue, as a result of the depth, about five miles apparently, and this combined with a glorious tropical sunset did provide an unforgettable vision as we sailed away.
August 25th 1940
After leaving Pitcairn the weather has settled and becomes hotter each day. There is a sudden abundance of flying fish and they make a remarkable show on a calm sea. The arrival of brilliant sunshine has heralded the long awaited start of sunbathing and swimming in our fine tiled pool. In fact, the sunshine is slowly turning me a chocolate brown colour! We are also playing a great deal of deck tennis (at which Pip and I remain undefeated champions) deck bowls, golf and other games. Each day is our own apart from a half hour of physical training in the morning and we spend extra time in the gymnasium and doing some turns around the deck, a complete circuit of the promenade deck equals a mile. I also do a tremendous amount of reading, as the ship has a first class library, and Pip, Bob and a Wellington lad and I play contract bridge every night. I have acquired a certain amount of skill and find it a most enjoyable game. We’ve had three movie nights which were very well attended and hope for more. The Akaroa is a wonderful sea boat and a most comfortable vessel. I have a great cabin with all conveniences and I’m treated in the best manner by a most attentive steward. We feast on a continuous supply of ice-creams and pineapples and agree it is, so far, a most remarkable trip.
August 31st 1940
We sighted land early this morning and spent the rest of the day running up the gulf. It was a wonderful sight to see the lights of Panama in the twilight as we sailed past the town. We were so close we could see the people dancing in the hotels! Balboa is really an American suburb of Panama and it was here, in the muddy entrance to the canal that we tied up. It was very disappointing not being allowed ashore, the New Zealand Government apparently being afraid of trouble, although the American Consul had arranged for us to be escorted around the town. A local American sent four barrels of light American beer to the boat and we had a lively party tonight. We have a Maori boy with a wonderful singing voice and quite a few guitars, as a result there was a great deal of singing, much to the delight of many of the Americans who came down to hear our songs and witness our attempts at the Haka. The heat is intense and we were all bathed in sweat due to the beer we consumed. I have to say I couldn’t live in the tropics and I spend my nights sleeping on deck in a deck chair. I don't think there is much more news except that the trip is going very well and we are still sailing along in calm seas and brilliant sunshine which is slowly turning me a chocolate brown colour. We are all enjoying the trip immensely and everyone is in the best of health.
September 1st 1940
We entered the canal at 11am and began one of the most interesting days of the trip to date. In the early stages the place had a deceptively quiet appearance, however I know that it’s one of the most heavily fortified areas in the world and as we passed forts of American soldiers, one having a complement of 5000 men, and heard large bomber planes roaring overhead, I realised that the place was a hive of activity. Forty American marines boarded our ship and searched for cameras etc. and also made sure that not so much as a matchbox was thrown overboard enroute. I counted thirty ships passing each other in the canal in a trip of 40 miles that took 8 hours. When we reached Colon we were met by an American battleship, searched again and the marines disembarked. We saw the Rotorua beside us and were delighted to think that our Panama mail would be on its way home to loved ones. Colon is the port at this end and the Americans have their own city adjacent, named Cristobel. We are staying here only long enough to take on 30 Frenchmen who mutinied a few days ago. Apparently their Captain is a Nazi and when France fell he issued orders to sail the ship to a French port and demobilize. But the crew, being staunch patriots, cut his throat and proceeded to Colon and placed themselves in the hands of the British Consul. They’re now going home to join General de Gaulle whom they hail as the saviour of France. I look forward to brushing up on my French!
September 3rd 1940
We are very lucky so far in the way of seeing a bit of the world. Today we spent a day ashore at Willemstad on the island of Curacao. You may have seen the Fitzpatrick travelogue of the place, a most romantic old town. Originally Spanish, the island was British in the days of Morgan, the old buccaneer, and is now Dutch. The town itself is a cosmopolitan place, with thriving native markets, which I imagine are very similar to those in Singapore. Pip, Bob and I hired a taxi and drove for eighty miles around the island for a gilder each. It was an interesting drive, although the heat was atrocious. We noticed that when the driver got moving his speedometer was reading 115 much to our astonishment. However we realised later that it was graduated in kilometres and actually he was doing about 70 m.p.h. The Dutch homes are magnificent, built of red brick and have lovely gardens. Dozens of small boats sail over from Venezuela, about 30 miles away, and sell fruit and trinkets at the open markets. Altogether we spent a most enjoyable day and arrived back at the boat laden with coconuts, oranges and headaches from the sun.
September 5th 1940
I am proud to report I have made excellent progress with the Frenchmen and have talked for hours with them. Tonight we passed through the channel between Haiti and Puerto Rico. I’m told this is a favourite spot for raiders to lie in wait. With a complete black-out being mandatory and everyone very quiet, we felt fairly safe. First of all an American destroyer stopped us and this caused tremendous excitement as none of us knew that she was a neutral ship until she was right alongside. An hour later I was sleeping on deck and awoke to see a ship loom up out of the dark. It had no markings and flew no flags. We immediately reversed course and went at full speed in the opposite direction. She chased us for about an hour but we got away finally. Nobody knows what that ship was, although the fact that she chased us indicated a raider.
September 8th 1940
Early this morning we arrived at Bermuda and anchored in the Roadstead, seven miles from the township of Hamilton. Everyone is very exited as we get shore leave here!
September 11th 1940
The days in Bermuda will live in my memory for many years. The local people felt that they were not doing much for the war and consequently took this opportunity to entertain us on a scale so lavish that it was almost embarrassing. Of course there were no American tourists in town so they threw open their huge nine story hotels to us, we lived in suites worth about 50 shillings a day for nothing. The island itself is simply beautiful, there is no other word to describe it, and they’ve set themselves up to develop a peaceful, old-world atmosphere, banning any motor traffic. All good things must come to an end and tomorrow we set sail for our final destination, and war.
September 12th 1940
At 6am we left in a convoy of 14 ships, escorted by an armed merchant ship about the size of the Monterey. There’s not a great deal of danger at this stage although very strict blackout rules are in place.
September 17th 1940
The convoy from Halifax joined us today. It was a magnificent spectacle to see this convoy of 30 ships appear on the horizon and when they joined us there were about 44 ships, all proceeding in even lines about 300 yards apart. Occasionally an unidentified ship appears and everyone watches eagerly as our escort dashes out to investigate it with guns all manned. She has five 6 inch guns and is a veritable fortress.
September 20th 1940
We’ve commenced doing four hour watches on top of the bridge for submarines; it‘s so tiring, scanning the sea constantly! Every course of pilots that has gone to England since May has been attacked by submarines; in the convoy that arrived a month ago four ships were lost. The convoy we just missed by a few hours in Bermuda was attacked three days ahead of us and two ships went down. We had been steering the same course but immediately changed to give that spot a wide berth. Having said that, the Skipper told us that there were eight subs operating in our new area, accordingly today was slated to be the most dangerous day and we were all prepared for the alarm during the attack times, 3am to 6am and 5pm to 7pm. When the alarm did go off we all arrived at our stations in time as we’ve done dozens of lifeboat drills and we’re more than ready. However it was discovered that a large black whale had been sighted at 500 yards and it looked just like a sub. We have the boats permanently slung over the side and wear life belts all day wherever we are.
September 22nd 1940
At present we’re a long way north of the usual Atlantic trade route and are on the latitude of the north of Scotland. Accordingly the climate is much cooler and most of the boys sleep fully clothed. Everyone has a little bag packed with personal possessions which we’re allowed to take with us into the boats. A huge Sunderland flying boat arrived overhead at about 7am today. It immediately commenced circling over the convoy. We also have a most welcome addition in an escort of light destroyers and a cruiser. At 11am the first sub was sighted by the flying boat and we could see her signalling and circling over the spot about a mile and a half astern. Three destroyers rushed at top speed to this spot and immediately three depth charges were dropped. Even at this range we could feel the ship shake so I can imagine the sub would be rather shaken. We expected to see a ship go up in smoke at any minute at that stage! I don’t know whether they sunk that sub or not, although I should imagine so. Two more were sighted by the flying boat and depth charges were brought into action.
September 23rd 1940
Last night all the ships stopped from midnight until 5am and this gave the destroyers a chance to use their sound detectors, it felt very strange. This morning a Hudson bomber roared overhead and stayed with us for a few hours. We’ve also commenced machine gun watches which will be maintained around the clock.
September 27th 1940
It’s now 9am and we’re running down the channel between Ireland and Scotland. The strait is only about 13 miles wide here as we’re about opposite the Clyde River. Last night was our last night at sea and we celebrated in traditional style with all the unpopular passengers being dunked in the baths. When I awoke this morning and saw good old Ireland on one side and Scotland on the other I experienced a real thrill and when we arrive in England it will be an unforgettable experience.
September 27th 1940
We duly arrived in the Lough Belfast at 11am this morning and anchored about nine miles from Belfast. Ireland looked exactly as I had always imagined it, very green and dotted with small farms about five acres in size and neatly marked off by hedgerows. Apparently they’ve had trouble in Northern Ireland with British troops so we’re not allowed to land in Belfast. Nevertheless we’re very relieved to be here as four ships from our convoy, which had gone straight to Liverpool last night, were bombed and sunk in the middle of the Irish Sea! We’ve come to Belfast because our gear for repelling magnetic mines is out of order and has to be repaired before we cross the dangerous Irish Sea. Right beside us in the Lough I can see a ship which was sunk a week ago by a magnetic mine and only her masts are showing above the water. It’s a sobering reminder! Apparently German bombers raided Belfast last night and dropped dozens of magnetic mines by parachute into the harbour. Hurricane fighters and RAF bombers roar overhead all the time. Liverpool has been bombed every night for about a week now and of course we’re expecting a raid over us at any time.
September 29th 1940
We sailed this afternoon and commenced the most dangerous part of the whole trip as the sea is full of magnetic mines and submarines. At the moment we’re listening to a description from the radio of the raid going on over Liverpool. We should arrive there in about six hours. However we’ll stop outside the harbour until daylight and hope to get in during the day. I did the first anti-aircraft watch tonight for two hours with two of our boys and it was very exciting, two planes roared overhead and fortunately turned out to be our own. We will get up at about 3am tomorrow morning to watch Liverpool; they say the anti-aircraft fire is like a fireworks display. We should be able to hear it anytime now. I have just been out on deck and we’re passing the Isle of Man. The ship is proceeding at full speed and zig-zagging all the time, while there is not a light to be seen or a sound to be heard anywhere. Living under conditions such as this and being so far away from home has given me a new perspective on life. I realise that the family circle and home mean so much more than fighting and the sooner this war is over the better. All the New Zealand boys are the same and the topic of conversation has often reverted to the subject of what we shall do “when we get home”, but for now there is a job to do, a deadly serious job.
8am September 30th 1940
So this is England! We’ve arrived in Liverpool and what a sight, flames and smoke are belching into the sky with thousands of balloons in the air above. They had a terrible raid here early this morning, a ship alongside us was blown to pieces in the harbour and we could hear the men screaming. Soon we’ll be going ashore, all of us so glad to be here safely and have the last week over. Ahead of me are my first RAF station, the mighty Spitfire, and a chance, at last, to play my part in the defence of this Grand Island.
CHAPTER FOUR
OCTOBER-DECEMBER 1940, EXPLORING ENGLAND AND LEARNING TO FLY A SPITFIRE
C/- NZ House, The Strand, London October 14th
It is time I wrote home again as we have now been in England for two weeks and of course have been living in a constant whirl attempting to see such a lot in a short time. To return to the beginning, we arrived at Liverpool on Sept 30th and spent the morning having a look around that city, including a ride through the famous Mersey Tunnel, a most amazing place. We entrained for London at 2pm and had a glorious trip down through the park-like English countryside which at the moment is a mass of golden colours. In fact, it was the same as I had always imagined England would look, very like Cambridge in autumn.
The run through London was a bit of a shock, the contrast between the beautiful parks and the tenement slums being almost unbelievable. I realised how fortunate we New Zealanders are when I saw how these Londoners live in the East End and other crowded areas. We duly arrived at Euston Station and drove in the darkness to our camp which is 18 miles from London, arriving at about 10pm. This station is merely a transfer camp and we wait here until we're posted to our squadron. It is built in a beautiful old park and is very comfortable. Of course, being New Zealanders we are left to do as we like (the English lads are far more regimented) and spent the first two days settling in and wandering around the local village. We have learned one thing, namely that a commission is really useless compared with a sergeant pilot. Our pilot officers have no time off and do duties all day, their mess fees are so high they are broke all the time and they all regard us with envy. However I suppose it will be good to get a commission eventually as it leads to promotion.
We departed on leave Oct 2nd and immediately went to London to see some of the old sights we have always wanted to see before it is too late. Pip, Bob and I stayed at the Strand Palace Hotel, a palatial place and enjoyed our first evening in London dancing in the ballroom there. New Zealanders are treated wonderfully over here and of course our wings seem to be able to get us anywhere. We had invitations to country houses and similar places but decided to stay longer in London. We dined in that famous old inn "Cheshire Cheese" in Fleet Street where I met a NZ lad, Neil Blundell, from Wellington whom I know well. I have met dozens of New Zealanders here already, many of them chaps I trained with. Sunday, we spent driving miles and miles in cars and buses seeing Downing Street, Houses of Parliament etc. and included a trip to the East End, an experience which simply shocked us. I cannot understand why people are allowed to live in these conditions. It is horrifying to see these cramped little streets with rows of tenements; they do not seem in keeping with the rest of London.
That night we left for Edinburgh on a free travelling warrant and arrived there early next morning. We stayed at a lovely old hotel in Princes Street, that "most famous street in the world." The day was spent seeing the sights of this ancient city and every minute of that day was a thrill. We went to the historic castle on the hill above Princes Street and saw the room where James 1st was born and other similar places. The war memorial here is the most beautiful in the world and is certainly a sight never to be forgotten. We strolled down the historic mile of Edinburgh, the oldest part of the city and saw John Knox's house. Holyrood Palace is at the end of this street and there we saw Mary Queen of Scot's bedroom and where Rizzio was murdered. Later we were invited to the Varsity and drove out to the Firth of Forth Bridge which seemed nearly as big as the Sydney Bridge.
The next day we went to Glasgow early in the morning, an hour in the train, and arrived there in rain, our first since arrival. We went to a club for New Zealanders and they were delighted to see us. They immediately set out to show us what Scotch hospitality is like. We were driven to the Municipal building and shown around, it is magnificent. The Lord Provost (or Lord Mayor as we know him) met us there and shouted us drinks in his private office and chatted for half an hour. He gave us an edition of Robert Burns poems each, a leather bound volume on flying and fighting tactics in the air, cigarettes etc. and then rang for his private secretary. He instructed him to spend the day with us and use the mayoral car. We went to a flash club for lunch and drinks at the expense of the Lord Provost and drove around Glasgow. Later we went to the theatre, also at the expense of the Lord Provost. We returned to Edinburgh that night after an unforgettable experience. This old chap is a Socialist, a former miner's son, who became editor of the Glasgow Herald, one of the best papers in the world. He wields immense power with his paper and is regarded as the man in Glasgow, an amazing personality, P.J. Dollan. He said that the Scotch people would do anything for New Zealanders; they seem to regard it as remarkable that we should come 13,000 miles to fight for them and we are looked on as heroes there. Accordingly we are all going to try to be posted to a squadron in Glasgow or Edinburgh when we commence flying and I hope I can go there.
After three memorable days in the land of Sir Walter Scott, a man who seems to be the patron saint and greatest Scot to have ever lived in the eyes of the Scotch (I noted that, Dad, as he is your favourite poet), we returned to London and had another day wandering around the city. After two days in camp we were given another weekend off and this time Ian Reid, Pip, myself and another Auckland Varsity lad went to Oxford. We drove from our camp, a distance of about 40 miles and arrived early on the Saturday afternoon.
This amazing city is all I expected and I enjoyed every minute of the stay, especially wandering around the colleges. I met some NZ pilots and observers there whom I had known in NZ. We went to a dance that night and later a Wellington chap took us to a party given by some of the students in the rooms of a young Lord. They were all Lords, Dukes and Honourables and were certainly a very queer lot of undergraduates. Their accents were ridiculous, their hair was a foot long and they seemed to be absolutely bored with the war. I think Ian and I would have been involved in a fight if we had stayed much longer. How these parasites escaped conscription is a mystery; however they wouldn't have been any good in an Army. I am afraid I do not approve of aristocrats if these chaps are representative; still, it was an experience meeting them. We wandered around the colleges after the party, it was a very still, clear, and starry night and these ancient buildings looked wonderful in the moonlight. The next day was spent seeing Magdalene and Balliue Colleges, the river, deer parks and other sights of Oxford. We returned to camp last night and at present are awaiting news of further training as we are all keen to commence flying again.
We spend the evenings here in a real old-fashioned English way; we stroll down to the local village inn and have a tankard of ale with the local pensioners. They play darts with us and smoke pipes and it is a real treat to hear them discuss old Hitler. These old chaps might be a bit gruff but they are true English and are worth a dozen of those nincompoops we met at Oxford. We certainly realise to the full that there is a war on here and the sights that I have seen lately merely fill me with a desire to get into the air as soon as possible and try to do something in the cause of Old England. The spirit of these English people is simply wonderful, the way they keep going while suffering in a way our own people cannot appreciate, is really remarkable. Since arriving in England I feel proud and honoured to think that I am playing a part in fighting for such a wonderful people. I am sure that if the boys at home could only realise what is happening here and what is at stake, they would take a more active interest in this war. Well, I hope this letter arrives in NZ, I will send a covering note in case. I am fighting fit and weigh 11st 8lbs after the boat trip. Thanks for birthday greetings, had a great 23rd birthday in Edinburgh, we all celebrated it. I hope you are all well at home, love to all, Hal.
C/- NZ House, The Strand, London, Nov 4th
I think it is time I wrote home again and answered the two letters I received last week. They were written on 2nd October and 9th October respectively and the first one took 18 days, the second one only taking 11 days to arrive in England per clipper and Atlantic plane. Naturally I was very pleased to have such recent news of home and the boys were rather envious of me, as their letters can take about 8 weeks by sea. I was glad to hear that you had received my Bermuda mail and other letters. I also sent presents from Bermuda for you, Mum, Dorothy and Pat, I trust that they have duly arrived by now.
Well since I last wrote to you I have been posted to a training school in Chester, Cheshire, or actually just over the border in Wales. (ED: No. 57 Operational Training Unit at Hawarden) It is rather strange that my first home in Britain should be in the country of my ancestors. Although I have to say the climate here is simply shocking, there is no other word for it. We have fogs so thick that you can't see your nose and incessant rain and we are fed up with it. We were posted to this station on October 20th and spent the day travelling up here by train from London. That is always a pleasure as I think the English countryside in autumn is delightful.
We spent that night in Chester and drove the 3 miles out to the camp the next day. Actually this is a new station and of course things are rather disorganised, however we soon settled down. For the first week we enjoyed fairly good weather and managed to do quite a lot of flying. These new machines are delightful to fly after our old planes in NZ and we were enjoying ourselves immensely. About a week ago the weather broke and since then we have been attending lectures and going to town every day, rather boring. My Flight Commander is a NZ man by the name of Kain and strangely enough he fought in the same squadron as Cobber Kain, his namesake and fellow countryman. He is a great chap and gives the NZ boys a good time; we often go to town with him and finish up at a party. We also have two NZ instructors in our flight and actually "B" flight at this school is a real NZ outfit. The NZ boys have done very well in the RAF and that fact, combined with the name given to our troops for good behaviour in the last war, has made things very easy for us during our stay in England so far. It is certainly a real advantage to be received so well everywhere when so far from home. We have an English instructor in our flight who has the record number of machines to his credit during the war so far and he is now enjoying a well deserved rest. Naturally we are all making the most of benefiting from his experience in aerial battles and we're very fortunate to have a man like him to teach us all the methods of attack. I'm sure that when the weather clears again I am going to enjoy flying here and, of course, we are all keen to get to a squadron and get our training finished with.
Chester, itself, is a pretty town on the River Dee and is one of the oldest towns in England, being built originally by the Romans. The Cathedral is a grand old place and apparently is famous for its old vaults and cloisters. We manage to find plenty of fun here and go into town almost every night attending dances, parties and the theatre. I met a NZ girl who is acting in a travelling revue company which is playing here. She introduced me to all the company and they were exactly like the "Good Companions", you remember that book, Dad.
Mr Jordan came out to see us the other day and asked if he could do anything for us, of course all the boys wanted money from home. I don't think he can do much about that. Our long leave when we arrived bankrupted everyone and left me rather low in cash as well. Bob is still in hospital and Pip and Ian are at another school in Berkshire, however I have four other NZ boys here with me. Well, must close now and I look forward to another letter by clipper very much. Love to all, Hal.
C/- NZ House, The Strand, London, December 1st
It is time I wrote home again and as I have a free Sunday afternoon I will take the opportunity to catch up on my mail. I was very pleased to receive mail from home two days ago, written from Rotorua in October. I can just imagine how pleasant the weather would be at this time of the year and what a contrast it would present to this English winter which has now arrived with a vengeance. This climate certainly leaves a great deal to be desired and I cannot understand how anyone could ever become accustomed to this continual rain, wind and acres of mud. However there is another side to the picture and I have seen the English countryside in the autumn when it is simply beautiful and I am told that spring and summer are even better.
Most of our lads are considering applying for a transfer to the East and I am seriously thinking of it myself as the conditions in the RAF in the Mediterranean are much more like our own climate. There is also more doing at the moment in that direction, although our own branch of the RAF is really doing a lot of work in England as you have no doubt read in the papers. We were due to finish our training here at Chester three weeks ago, but the weather has been so bad, our course has been delayed. I am due to leave for a squadron any day now and am very keen to be able to do something at last after 12 months of training. It's a year on the 18th of December since I first went into camp at Woodburn and last month I flew my first solo in a Spitfire.
Last week I was given 48 hours leave and Campbell White, one of the NZ boys in that Blenheim photo, and myself went down to Stoke-on-Trent, about 40 miles away from here, and saw the Corns family. I had a letter of introduction to them from Mr Hardley. They were simply staggering in their hospitality. Mr Corn spent the day showing us around his huge tile factories which were very interesting and then took us home for a meal of pheasants and wine, served by numerous servants in true English style. Cam and I had a marvellous dinner and spent the most enjoyable time at their home that we have had, so far, in England. We each had breakfast served to us in bed the next morning and altogether relaxed after six weeks of camp life. This break made us realise how wonderful it is to stay in a home occasionally and to really appreciate the comfort that we used to take for granted, just to see a family sitting around the fire cheered us both up more than anything else has for weeks. In fact, living under conditions such as I have been lately and being so far away from home has given me a new perspective on life. I realise that the family unit and home mean so much more than flying and fighting and even travelling, that the sooner this war is finished the better. All the NZ boys are the same and the main topic of conversation is what we will do "when we get home." However, on the other hand we all realise how lucky we are to be in the RAF and so far we have enjoyed every minute of flying in these super aeroplanes we are now using
It seems hard to realise that Xmas is so near, the Corns have invited me there and I think, if leave is available, I shall go and enjoy a real old English Xmas. They have a beautiful home and are really fine people. I received my birthday cake, Mum, many thanks, it was very good and was consumed by about 20 pilots with all due ceremony. I also received a welcome parcel from the Travel Club in Auckland. I will write and thank them. Love to all at home, Hal
C/- NZ House, The Strand, London, December 30th
It is time I wrote home again and as I am on leave at the moment I will take the opportunity. I received letters from you and Pat last week, posted Nov 23rd per Clipper and was pleased to have such recent news from home.
At the moment I am enjoying four days leave before going to a squadron and really commencing work. If it hadn't been for the weather I should have been posted weeks ago. I decided to come to London as such opportunities are few and far between and at the moment I am sitting in the Overseas League rooms. I always stay at this club, it is beautifully furnished and in the middle of town, just off Piccadilly, St. James Street. We are honorary members (Lord Nuffield pays 2/- a day for each of us for bed and breakfast).and there are always parties and dances at night attended by the best of London's many beautiful girls. As you can imagine I enjoy it here and, more than anything else, I spend most of my free time rambling around old places that I have always dreamed of seeing.
I am alone this time as the other NZ lads didn’t have leave just now. I'm going to see Pip and Ian if possible; they are near here on bombers. It is three months since I saw those boys. Bob is on his own at another 'drome', also on bombers. They are due to start operations over Germany very soon. Garry and I were the lucky ones going to Spitfires and I still can't believe my good fortune, you simply have no idea what the new planes are like.
To return to London, I spent this morning seeing the "Great Dictator", don't miss that picture, it is a grand show and Chaplin is as good as ever. I am also going to see "Gone With the Wind", running here in Leicester Square, as it is supposed to be a great picture. I went to a party last night, another one tonight and tomorrow being New Year's Eve, of course, there will be great celebrations. We kept on flying during Xmas to complete our training and flew Xmas morning. A heavy fog came down at noon, we finished up at the drome and then three of us went to Liverpool, only half an hour by road. We had Xmas dinner in a large restaurant there and went to a pantomime at the Empire. That evening we met the girls in the show and had a wonderful Xmas party, arriving back at the drome at 9am the next day. The party was in a lovely private home and I was very glad to have the chance of spending some of Xmas day in a home. We went back to Liverpool the next night and saw the show girls again, they were a grand crowd. Luckily we have absolute freedom when not flying and usually stay at a hotel in Liverpool whenever we feel like a change from camp, as long as we report for flying when wanted, they don't care where we are.
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