Memories of Frank Yates Chapter 12

Memories of Frank Yates CHAPTER 12

Before continuing with my story, I have become conscious of the fact that I have not mentioned personal hygiene; bathing and laundry. The Army authorities were as diligent as our mums had been in these matters. Firstly, bathing, on the various RAF stations arrangements were always made for us to use the very good ablution facilities. Otherwise baths were organised; for instance, on the course, mentioned in chapter 27, I went, with the infantry hosts, in a truck, to the public slipper baths in Hull. Later, in Whitehaven, transport took us to the pithead baths. No shortage of hot water there! Later on, during the invasion of Europe, there were mobile bath units, ensuring that even front line soldiers could keep reasonably clean.
Laundry; A laundry service was provided by the Army, arrangements being made with local civilian laundries. About once a fortnight, while in the UK, we would get a label and string to make a bundle of our dirty things and remarkably, they always came back nicely ironed and intact. If several laundries were used, each one added their own particular laundry mark to the garments so that, after a time, one’s underpants had as many hieroglyphics as the Rosetta Stone!
Remarkably, mobile laundry units were also provided in the field.

The next airfield to be graced with our presence was Driffield, ten miles inland from Bridlington, in a part of the country not unknown to me! On the German “Adler Tag” (Eagle Day), August 15th. 1940, Goering made his big effort to wipe out RAF opposition, to make invasion a possibility. While airfields in the south and east were being attacked, by fighters from France, a force of about 60 Junkers 88.s was despatched from Norway, in two waves. Although 10 were destroyed about 40 of them found their way to Driffield, the most easterly of the British airfields, and bombed and strafed, unopposed. Four of the five hangers were destroyed and great damage caused to the other buildings. So bad was the damage that Driffield did not reopen until the following January, 1941, the RAF leaving dummy Whitleys about, whilst the rebuilding was going on, to make the Germans think that the station was still operational.
The gun site was equipped with a predictor and a generator, instead of the mains supply. During the autumn there were, in fact, three different generators, a Douglas, powered by a twin cylinder 4 stroke motor cycle engine, a Scott, with a 2 stroke engine, and finally a Coventry Climax 4 cylinder, side valve engine, an engine used in fire pumps and cars. Perhaps we were a test bed for generators?
The site was close to the Driffield—Malton railway line, and when returning from a night out in Driffield, we would walk up the line, saving a long walk round to the RAF station entrance. Walking a railway line is frustrating, the sleepers are too close together for a comfortable pace and two of them are too far apart for a comfortable long stride. The other option is to walk on the ballast, which is hard on the feet!
During this early stay at Driffield, our Troop sergeant, an old soldier, stole the troop funds, money provided for local purchases etc. I will call him Sergeant Jones. He was arrested and taken to Battery HQ, which was in the Manor House at a village called Lowthorpe, a couple of miles away, on the Bridlington road. If a soldier is under close arrest, he must be escorted by someone of equal rank. In this case, the escort was me! There was not the slightest likelihood of him doing a bunk, so it was not a difficult job, just boring. We had long conversations; we played cards and even walked into Driffield, in the mornings, for a cup of coffee! I think that we were kept waiting for about ten days, before the General Court Martial was convened and he told me that he was certain that he would get off. It seems that when he had been in Egypt, before the war, some character had sold a large amount of army petrol to the natives. He told me that the thief had, under the appropriate section of King’s Regulations, been charged with stealing x hundred gallons but showed that the actual amount was only y hundred gallons. Because the charge sheet had got the facts wrong he had been cleared. While I was taking in this astonishing story, Sgt Jones told me he had been charged with stealing £47 and some change, whereas he had stolen £45 only and because of the difference, they must dismiss the charge. By this time, I was completely bemused, but wished him all the best. He told the same story to his defending officer, and I could see that he was just as surprised as I!
When the Court convened, there were a full Colonel, a major and the Judge Advocate, who was there to see that the proceedings were conducted within the Law. We marched in, and came smartly to attention before the court. The president told us to stand at ease and asked the prosecuting officer, a captain, to read the charge. He then looked at me, and the rest of the court followed his gaze, as he said to me “Do you plead Guilty or Not Guilty”? When I realised that he was addressing me, I croaked something like; “It’s him, Sir, not me”, pointing a thumb in Sgt. Jones’s direction!
Once they had got the right man, they found him guilty, which was hardly a surprise, and he was remanded in custody for sentencing. It seemed that the court decided the sentence, but it was not disclosed until a Brigade Commander had reviewed it. So another 4 days, cooped up with my charge, and then we went in front of the Battery commander who read out the sentence; Ninety six days, hard labour, in a civilian prison and reduced to the ranks” He was visibly shaken. The very next day we were put in a PU van, the prisoner, (minus his stripes), and I sitting in the back, behind the driver. I suggested to the Battery captain that, as we were going to Leeds, might I be permitted a night at home in Sheffield, as I had been cooped up all this time. Very reluctantly, he agreed, but pointed out that I would come back on the following day, at my own expense!
On then, to Armley Prison in Leeds, they opened a little door, in the main gate, and let us in. It was a very grim, grey place and, having got a signed receipt for the prisoner, I told the van driver to drop me off at the City station and to go back to Lowthorpe with the “Receipt” So I managed a night at home and Peggy and I went dancing in the evening. Dancing was the most popular form of leisure, throughout the war and wherever one was stationed, there would be a dance organised nearby. Dear reader, the thought might occur to you, that army boots were somewhat incongruous when doing a slow foxtrot! In fact, they would be banned on most dance floors. The solution was simple; most servicemen bought a pair of patent leather dance shoes, removed the gas mask from inside its case and replaced it with the shoes and other desirables such as a complete timetable for one, or more, of the big four railway companies. It was mandatory to carry a gas mask, at all times, even for civilians, but, in the very unlikely event of a gas attack, there would have been a lot of people caught napping, or should I say, “Unmasked!
Back to Driffield, we had two stoves on the gun site, the cookhouse burning coal and coke was used in the living hut. They made two untidy heaps and I thought that it would be a good idea to have three bunkers, for coal coke and generator petrol. I put the proposition to Capt. Robertson, who was delighted and got me some bricks and cement and stuff, but, unfortunately, I had no spirit level and no bricklaying experience, just enthusiasm. None of the four walls was vertical and when the Troop commander came round he took one look at them and said “For God’s sake don’t whitewash them”! Later on, when I was away from the site for a week, I was chastened to find that someone had rebuilt them with vertical walls in my absence: At least, it stopped all the ribbing that I had been suffering!
At about this time, I was promoted from Lance sergeant to Full sergeant, which meant a little more money and I could stick a little gun badge over my stripes.
Regiment had a bright idea for practical firing training and appointed Capt. Robertson to run a firing site at Skipsea, south of Bridlington and he came along to the gun site to tell me that I was to be his assistant. Skipsea was a pre war caravan site, now empty, because of regulations prohibiting unauthorised visitors to the east Coast. We had a khaki painted Austin 10 and drove out, on firing mornings to Skipsea, where we would meet a gun crew together with an officer, They would arrive, with a tractor towing the gun from their site, some where in East Yorkshire.. Arrangements had been made with RAF Catfoss, which provided tow planes for the RAF firing ranges off the coast. We were in telephone touch with the Catfoss people and when the drogue turned up, towed by a Blenheim, they would engage the target, under our supervision. The whole business was over by lunchtime and we would find our way to Bridlington where we always had lunch at the Regal cinema on the Promenade. On a couple of occasions, we stayed in Brid until the evening and went to the dance held at the new Grand Pavilion The captain would get a bit fed up as we walked about in Brid, because, as every hotel and boarding house was full of WAAFs in training, he had to return about 500 salutes an hour!
This was a fairly congenial lifestyle but we soon were billeted at Catfoss for accommodation and rations. This sprawling airfield, near Brandesburton, on the Hull to Bridlington road was a twin engine training station using the rather outdated Bristol Blenhiem.

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