An Erk’s Life, chapter 2
By Robert Hall
We were expecting a move any time now as the pilots were gaining confidence and could fly in formation without bumping into each other. The move came: it was a posting to Hornchurch in Essex, a famous World War I aerodrome to Battle of Britain days. A Hampdon aircraft arrived to take the ground crew down to Hornchurch. I volunteered to stay behind with one of each trade to see the Spitfires off. The Spits were grounded as fog came down so after the DIs I hitched home, arriving back one night to an empty hut. The rest of the lads had gone, leaving a note on my bed: they had taken care of my kit bag which was already packed, also would keep a bed and cover up for me, all I had to do was get to Hornchurch. I got the train but cannot remember how I got there without being found out. I do remember the lads who lived down south used to buy a ticket to Richmond then write on the ticket in Indian ink “via King’s Cross”, so I may have done that. Another trick was with a used ticket pick the piece which had been snipped out and with a damp cloth and an iron put it back in and alter the date with Indian ink. We were all versed in travelling on the cheap on the railways. Mother used to worry as she worked for the NER Railway, but when one is in uniform you dare taking risks, and at King’s Cross where there was always a lot of service police (usually they were a dim lot) the ploy was to go up to them and ask a question; they would be so concerned to answer your query they would forget to ask for your pass. Anyhow, I got to Hornchurch without any bother.
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On May 1st, 2020, a mother led her ducklings forth from their nest on our church grounds. They went on to safely cross Main Street (with Donnie Stoik's helping hands lifting some over the curb.
At Hornchurch the pilots were in the thick of it, flying on Channel sweeps, defending London and also volunteering for what was called a rhubarb. This entailed a pilot setting off alone, or with a partner, at dawn and attacking enemy gun posts, trains, army manoeuvres etc over the Channel. That meant of course the ground crews had to have the planes ready, see them off, and be there when they returned. So if Bill was on leave, as a Spitfire can only be airborne for about an hour one was kept busy, as a check had to be made in between flights, sometimes a battery to be replaced and the DIs. An extra fuel tank was sometimes fitted, which the pilot jettisoned. This gives another half hour’s flying, but to fix it was a tricky job. Four airmen in fitted waterproofs had to get on their hands and knees whilst the full tank was placed on their backs and they crawled underneath the aircraft and pushed up until the tank was engaged. This resulted in fuel being spilt over the airmen underneath the tank. Needless to say, one didn’t volunteer for this undertaking.
In the camp was a ruined wooden cricket pavilion from which I made wooden toys such as model tanks and forts. One model of which I was particularly proud was a model battleship. I gave this to Bill for a nephew of his. The rest I sold to pilots going on leave.
As Bill or I were always on duty, we could never spend our off-duty hours together, which was the same for the two radio telephone operators, Tom Parker and Ken Lucas, so I palled up with them so we always had someone to out with. Ken escaped from Jersey in a yacht as Jerry invaded the islands; he tried to go for aircrew but failed somewhere along the line. Tom was a Chapel lad so we took turns, one Sunday to Church and the next to Chapel. On Chapel nights the congregation would take turns to invite us back to their homes for supper; I’m afraid the Church people just ignored us. Tom could not understand why I liked the Church, but I suppose you stick with what you are brought up with. On a visit to London, Ken and I called on a vicar who lived near St Paul’s and had been a vicar at my church at home, St Barnabas for some years. He was pleased to see me and was impressed with Ken who played the church organ. The area around St Paul’s was devastated but St Paul’s at this time stood untouched amongst the ruins. On another day Tom and I arranged to meet Billy, Alice’s older brother, who was on barrage balloons in Battersea Power Station. We ended up in a pub and in those days I wouldn’t touch alcohol and wasn’t all that fond of lemonade but Billy and Tom, both about the same age and both grocers in civvie street so talking shop, got quite merry. We left Billy to go back to camp and Tom and I to the YMCA for the night. Later Alice told me in a letter that Billy was on sick leave: after he had left us he had to climb the railings at the camp and a spike had gone through his foot. The corporal reported the injury had been done while on duty, so we did him a good turn.
Sometimes I visited friends of my mother’s who lived in a flat above a shop in the main street at Chiswick. They told me if the sirens went off there was a shelter in the basement. The sirens did go off once when I was there and I declined to go to the shelter thinking in the forces and running to a shelter wasn’t the thing for the RAF. Later I was wishing I had gone. What a night it was: the building shook and the noise was incessant. The next morning I had great difficulty getting back to camp. Firemen were still busy dousing flames and there were ruins everywhere. People were still crowding the streets, the tube station still full of people in their beds. The Londoners were great people going through all this and always had a word for servicemen; Scorton should have had a bit of this, would have done them good.
Sometimes with a 48-hour pass I would cycle to Slough to visit the Whites, who were close family friends. On one occasion Mother and Alice were there on holiday which was a lovely surprise.
One day, it could have been Christmas -- as I remember we were on half strength as 50% of the flight was on leave, and it was reported that a German battleship was sailing up the channel, so everybody was busy helping to keep the planes airborne. A general duties airman, who was the office boy for Chiefy, was helping to refuel a Spitfire when he slipped and went under the wheel of a petrol bowser which ran over him. They shouted for me. When I saw him I told Chiefy to phone for an ambulance and I treated him for a suspected broken leg, tying his legs and feet together and covering him with a blanket etc. The MO arrived with the ambulance looking quite tipsy and with a cigar in his mouth. We must have interrupted his lunch break. Looking at the airman lying on the ground he ordered him to stand up. I came forward and said I believed the airman was suffering from a fracture of the femur. He asked who I was and I said “Flight electrician sir”. As his face was getting redder and redder I explained that in civvie street I had been a member of the Red Cross and I had been taught to treat for the worst. Chiefy led the officer away and told me to see to the injured airman. The airman returned to the flight some time later, still on crutches, to thank me, as he did have a broken leg.
One day, due to thick fog, I was cycling to the billets keeping the join of the border to the perimeter and the grass verge in sight. Tom was following my back wheel when suddenly Thud, my head which was bent over the handlebars hit something. It was another airman cycling in the opposite direction and now he was lying on the ground for I had given him an uppercut with my head, as he was on a service bike and mine was my own sports model. I loosened his tie and slapped his face as Tom was saying “Let’s get away, he’s an SP”. I knew he was a corporal stationed at Elm Park guard room. Anyhow, I got him on his feet, put the cycle in his hands and set him off in the right direction. For weeks I dare not use that guard room entrance and used the Hornchurch guard room which meant a long detour to the tube station.
Around this time Paddy Finnican became our Wing Commander; he was a very popular leader. He was shot down over the French coast and was never found. He was only in his twenties and was a RAF hero.
Mainly for a rest for the aircrew and for them to practise formation flying etc, we used to move to Fairlop for a while. This was a satellite camp nearby. When we returned to Hornchurch our billets were always found to be filthy although we left them immaculate. The culprits were a Polish squadron, they did not seem to have any pride in the billets. Up to now we shared the dining hall with the WAAFs but since the Polish and a Free French squadron arrived a separate dining hall was used by the WAAFS as there were numerous complaints about these foreigners’ behaviour. Another squadron, if I remember right 81 Sqdn, had returned from a goodwill mission from Russia and was allowed to wear the hammer and sickle badge on their uniform jacket.
Whilst we were here the squadron was posted overseas and we were put on overseas strength, so another electrician joined us. He was a cockney from East Ham who had an electrical dealers shop being looked after by his daughter. Once or twice on my days off I helped them with repairs etc. Taking over six weeks for everyone to get 14 days’ embarkation leave as the squadron was still on operations, we were suddenly taken off overseas posting. It was rumoured the posting was to Madagascar and in the meantime Jerry or the Vichy French had taken over. Another scare a few weeks later, again on overseas posting, no more leaves seeing we had had leaves for abroad, but somehow 81 Sqdn went; it was reported later, it was to the N. Africa landings and the ship was torpedoed. We were then taken off overseas strength and Bill was posted, leaving the cockney and me on the flight. Sometime early in 1943 the cockney was posted to Marston Moor in Yorkshire. He was really upset about this as he was getting on in years and seeing it was North I offered to go in his place. It was agreed by the CO and off I went.
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At Marston Moor they had an influx of electricians, so the Chiefy sent me to Rufforth and report to the Signals Officer, and telling me the Signals Officer had already sent six sparks back. Anyway, my face must have fitted because I got on very well with this officer. My role now was telephone engineer of the camp. I was excused all other duties but on call 24hrs for telephone duties. There were gun posts and a battle headquarters exchange being erected and had to be wired up, which was very interesting work and used up about five miles of telephone cable. I had the help of two RAF regiment airmen to do the digging and pulling the cables through the ducts underneath the runways. This also had its lighter moments. Whilst working one day on the roof of a hangar I noticed the pigeon keeper sitting outside the pigeon cote reading, so connecting my test phone rang him up and in a posh voice informed him that the CO was coming to inspect the cote. He was busy for the rest of the day sweeping out. He was in the next bed to me so while he was telling me this, of course, I laughed and he guessed it was me. Anyway, he took it in good humour and often gave me a couple of pigeons when I was going on leave.
The SO lived at Alcombe [®®spelling?] with his wife who was stationed in the signal section at Marston Moor. They often invited me to their home in the evening. He always had a pair of slippers waiting for me and called me Bob, rather than by my surname as he did in the camp. I also used to visit a sister of a neighbour of my mother’s, where I would take a bath and have a piece of tasty pie for supper. In the autumn I always took a bag of blackberries which grew around the bomb dump. She often used to go out to bingo in the evening and her daughter would tell me about her boyfriend who was in the army and stationed in India. Months later Mother told me the daughter was pregnant. An Irish labourer who was working at the aerodrome was lodging there and he was to blame, so of course he disappeared. If I had still been at Rufforth she might have tried to blame me as she knew of my family tree. Anyway, she did marry her boyfriend when he returned from India.
One night the SO shook me awake and said “Get dressed, there is a reported enemy invasion and I want the telephones connecting up at the gun posts.” He had a van outside with the telephones so off we went. I spent all night connecting the telephones with the RAF regiment asking what it was all about. The next morning it was reported that a number of German parachutists had been captured in Cambridgeshire. Years later I read a book written by Jack Higgins called The Eagle has Landed in which he stated in the foreword that at least 50% of the book is factual. “On 6th November 1943 a small force of German parachutists had been captured in Norfolk at 1am. Their intention was to capture Winston Churchill who was reputed to be staying in a nearby country house.”
In another incident three planes crashed shortly after takeoff, so all flying was cancelled and on inspecting the rest of the aircraft a supply line had been cut, so that the plane would crash in the vicinity shortly after takeoff. Again, fifty years on, I met someone on holiday and when he told me he lived in Rufforth I mentioned that I had been stationed there. He told me that when he was a boy he had seen from his bedroom window a crash in a nearby field and later had picked up the pieces of aircraft. It was known there were other crashes the same day, so an enemy agent must have been busy. I knew quite a few aircraft guards had been charged for failing to do their duties.
End of chapter 2
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