Rowland Button's War Story - Chapter 1

ROWLAND BUTTON’S WAR STORY AS TOLD TO HIS GRANDAUGHTER RACHEL

Rowland William Button wrote these memories of the war ten years ago, for his granddaughter Rachel. They have been submitted with his full permission and on his behalf by Jennifer Drake, his daughter.

THE SECOND WORLD WAR

CHAPTER 1

There are many books, which record the events of the Second World War. There are books which record the happenings day by day, books which concentrate on the significant phases such as the Battle of Britain, the North African Campaign, ‘D’ Day and the invasion of Europe by the Allied Forces. We must not forget too, the invasion of Russia by Germany and the capture of most of the Far East by Japan. There are books too, which tell of their time as prisoners of war, maybe lost their lives or became very sick and ill. Every library now has many books which make interesting reading. Each war brings with it both times of danger, of excitement, of tragedy, of fear of what might happen, and of course worry about those whom we love and from whom we are parted.

For every soldier, sailor or airman who is actually in the front line of fighting and risking his life there are many others who throughout the war never heard a shot, or saw a bomb fall, or indeed been in any real danger at all. Maybe some will say nevertheless their work and effort to support the fighting troops was essential. So Rachel, this story tells you something about aspects of the war, which are not exciting enough to write into books.

The story starts in 1938 because it was in this year that is seemed that War with Germany was inevitable. The newspapers had very gloomy headlines. Our parents were obviously concerned and at school instead of playing rugger or cricket, each period was devoted to digging air raid shelters in the school grounds. It was hard work, but we were lucky because the soil was sandy. We were to cover the trenches with gorse. Looking back now I guess we were all very silly because the first bomb would have caved the sides of the trenches in — but we were proud to have dug them.

In 1939 the war came. I can remember very well how we had to make sure no light shone from our house at night. My mother made curtains of black material and my Dad made some shutters from roofing felt. Cycles and car lights had black discs on them with only a small slit in them to show the way ahead. Every one was issued with a gas mask and of course the school children were sent from their homes in London and the big cities to the country. Into my home my mum and dad welcomed two young boys from Forest Gate in East London. I was 17 then and one of the war tasks I did at first was to circulate all the notices about Air Raid Precautions around Kesgrave. Everyone thought we would soon be bombed by German aircraft, but we were not and Rachel one of the things about wartime was the boredom when nothing happened -—boredom so bad that many people invented stories — rumours — about things that never happened. Although we were not supposed to, we listened to Lord Haw-Haw, a German who broadcast propaganda in English over the radio. Soon in 1940 the Germans were to advance across France, Holland and Belgium, our own armies had to be evacuated across the English Channel from Dunkirk and the outlook was bleak. You will find facts about Dunkirk in many books.

At this time only Britain was left to fight the Germans (and Italians) and Churchill tried to encourage us and tell us we would win. You will need to read some of his speeches. Those of us not yet in the armed forces had to join the Local Defence Volunteers (LDV) or the Air Raid Precautions, the Special Police or Ambulance Services. I used to be in the OTC at school, this is now called I guess the Army Cadets, and I was soon patrolling the village with an old 1914-18 rifle sent from America. We made up ‘Molotov cocktails’. We had a gun emplacement in a ditch and we watched the night skies for spies and invaders that didn’t come to us.

As 1940 summer came, so did the German aircraft and we saw ‘dog-fights’ between the British and German planes over East Anglia. The Battle of Britain was starting. But I was not to see much more of it.

In August 1940 I was eighteen years old and old enough to join the Army so one day I went home and told my mum and dad that I had been to the recruiting office — it was at Ipswich station. A day or so later I had my medical examination which to my surprise I passed A1 and told that as I was fit for aircrew I could not join the army and would have to join the Air Force. I found myself soon in a tent at Uxbridge, had more medical exams and intelligence tests. Then an aircrew selection board to come out as a prospective wireless operator — air gunner. Not long enough legs to be a pilot but short enough to sit in a rear turret of a bomber they said. But I never did fly in a Wellington bomber over Germany! In a war you never know what is going to happen, your can never plan too far ahead.

Six weeks later I was in Blackpool. Getting to Blackpool from East Anglia by train in wartime at this time was an experience. I had never travelled far before, never been to London. I joined the London to Blackpool trains somewhere in the Midlands, maybe Rugby. It was absolutely full. I remember sitting on the mailbags. Most of the passengers were troops and I felt silly with my civilian clothes and a gas mask. But everyone was friendly and cheerful. That’s another thing about wartime — people get on with the jobs they have to do and help each other.

Blackpool, middle of the night — I was sent to a house in Derby Road for a billet — this is where I was to have ‘bed and breakfast’. It was a long walk. When I got there the lady of the house had just died so I had to walk all the way back again. To Dickson Road I was then sent, it was now about 7am and the lady there was very welcoming. There were about 14 airmen there and 7 of us slept in one big room.

Each day it was drill all morning on one of the three promenades on Blackpool sea front. We collected our airforce uniforms — and now a real service gas mask. Then in the afternoons we had lectures on radio theory and started to learn Morse. We started off at 4 words per minute and had to go faster each week until we reached 18 words per minute. Blackpool in the winter of 1940 was cold as we marched along the streets. At Christmas that year my grandfather died which brought home to me that war also separates families. My pay was two shillings (10p) a day of which I sent home one shilling to my parents to save for me. But Blackpool was a very safe place and I was far from the war which many other people were suffering.

In January I was sent to Cranwell where I was to train as an aircraft wireless operator. We were taught well and after three months or so we had flown in a Vickers Valentia and Procter aircraft and managed to get in touch with the base radio station and have it recorded in our logbooks. The Vickers Valentia is a famous old biplane and I was nearly sick in it. In the Procter aircraft you had a wireless aerial which you had to wind up and down. If you didn’t wind it in quickly enough it would catch on the hanger roof as you landed and you would lose it — a black mark to you.

At the end of all this training there was a hiccough. They didn’t want any wireless operators — air gunners. There was no aircraft for them at the time, they were in short supply. So with the war going on around us I was sent to West Drayton — from where all the aircraft at Heathrow were controlled and then on to White Waltham. At White Waltham ferry pilots used to bring in aircraft flown all the way from America to help Britain. But my job was much closer to home. All around London and in the Thames valley there were anti-aircraft guns which tried to shoot down the German planes as they attacked targets around London. These gun crews had to be trained to target their guns at the right height and direction. So with a Polish pilot flying in a Lysander aircraft we flew at different heights over the Thames Valley and I had to radio to the guncrews the height at which we were flying. But the Polish pilot spoke no English and he used to just put his fingers up, Five fingers for five thousand feet. I am sure we didn’t get it right very often, in fact now I think about it I can’t remember whether the exercises were ever really successful. Often in wartime the troops didn’t really know what was supposed to happen but this is another fact about war.

But Rachel this story is making slow progress and I must miss out a bit or two and I will skip to Christmas 1941, where was I then? At Aston Down in Gloucestershire. It was bleak and snow was falling. But it was a happy Christmas. It was a group headquarters unit —in the airforce you had squadrons of aircraft and a number of squadrons formed a group and it was commanded by group captain. I was only a leading aircraftsman and the group captain was a ‘top boss’ at least seven ranks above me. I used to work wireless and telex equipment and take and receive messages all through the day and night. The headquarters office was in a very large house called ‘ Avening Court’. Sometimes in the evenings we used to go to service clubs in the district where the local people used to gave us tea and biscuits and this was another thing about wartime, everyone was friendly and kind to the troops in their neighbourhood.

But one January night in 1942 I was on duty myself when a message came in and it said

Post 1262681 LAC Button overseas draft 2788 to report RAF Wilmslow ………. Winter Kit to scale minus one pair of boots ………

Where was I going? And why was I to lose one pair of boots?

It was all a mystery, not to be solved for many weeks. But there are a lot of secrets and mysteries in wartime.

The next chapter follows.

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.