A View from the Back: The Recollections of a Fleet Air Arm Observer 1941-1946 by Tony Inman (Part 7 of 14) (Sep 43 — Jul 44)

A View from the Back: The Recollections of a Fleet Air Arm Observer 1941-1946 by Tony Inman Part 7 of 14 (Sep 43 — Jul 44)

So we went home. We had been there about a fortnight or 3 weeks. We embarked in an old net layer, a naval ship. What it had been in civvie life, God knows, but a net layer is one of those ships which lays anti-submarine nets across harbours. They had had one across Valetta. This thing was to take us as far as Algiers. I think its maximum speed was about three and half knots. Anyway we flogged off from Malta and went past Pantellaria before we could round Cape Bon and go along the North African coast, and somewhere along there we had a submarine scare. This decrepit old craft dropped a depth charge over the stern and hurried away at its full speed - I think everyone had their hands in the water paddling to make it go faster - and when the depth charge exploded it seemed like the stern of this old ship came out of the water. It let off just the one and there was no other excitement. It was so hot we slept on the deck and then after a number of days we entered Algiers harbour where we found an American cruiser squadron of 5 or 6 ships. We had to go past the leader and of course in true naval style it was "Attention on the upper deck - face to starboard". All we had was a whistle to which the Americans replied with a big fancy bugle call and a lot of these white clad fellows standing stiffly on their upper deck as we limped into harbour and came alongside, the quay — not the cruiser.

We disembarked at Algiers to be quartered in a former French Lycee where we were put in a tiered lecture-hall style classroom with no beds or anything, so we had to sleep under the desks on all different levels. The food was not unpleasant and we were fairly close to the harbour, but along the quayside were some warehouses and then - on top of the warehouses - the main road. It was like a giant step and these warehouses actually went into the cliff under the road. They were mostly fruit warehouses and inevitably was a lot of rotting fruit left about which stank. We were not there long before we embarked on a troopship. There were no cabins or beds here either, so we had some blankets and myself and Deke slept under a table somewhere.

We headed back to UK in a convoy out through the Straits of Gibraltar straight for America - I don't know how far we went into the Atlantic but it seemed like half way. With us we had numerous escorts and at least one or perhaps 2 of the old "R" class battleships - the Resolution or the Revenge, those sort of things. As we headed into some pretty rough weather we could see that the battleships, which didn't rise to the waves - they ploughed straight through them - had water coming nearly up to their bridge.

Aboard our ship were a big gang of French airforce people; I suppose they were going to UK to join up with De Gaulle’s lot, but we were on one of the upper decks and they were on the main deck so we could look down on them. It was perhaps cruelly funny to see them being seasick and being seasick over the wrong side. They would hang over the windward side, so not only did they get the sick back all over them but it went over all their mates, who were sitting down playing cards or whatever.

We arrived back in Liverpool eventually, exactly 12 weeks to the day from the time we had set sail from Falmouth, so in 12 weeks I had done 5 operational trips and been on an operational squadron long enough to qualify for the Italy Star. Qualification for the various campaign medals varied from Service to Service - I don't know how long it was for the Army, probably about a year I expect. The navy was 6 months, but for aircrew it was only 6 weeks, so if you were operational aircrew you only had to serve on the squadron for 6 weeks and that qualified you for the medal. Perhaps it was a measure of the relative casualty rates. Anyway I qualified for my medal.

Chapter 6: A Different Sort of Operation

That was my first taste of operational flying - 5 trips and didn't see a sausage, but there we are, that is how it goes with anti submarine patrols and convoy escorts. So I returned home and was sent on leave. I had been on leave a week or so when I got fearful pains in the stomach and so we sent my brother Des down to the Combined Operations Headquarters which was halfway down Constitution Hill in what had been an orphanage - the Shaftesbury Homes. The Doc came and examined me, asked if I had been abroad and said that he thought I had the "Malta Dog" which was the same as "Gippie Tummy" and "Screaming Abdabs" and all these words we used for dysentery. But he said he would come back and see me in the evening and when he came back he changed his mind and sent me to the hospital. We went down to the old Cornelia Hospital and there it was diagnosed as appendicitis and I had my appendix taken out. The sister in charge of the ward was a fair old dragon by all accounts, but her husband was away in the Navy so as a Naval officer the sun shone out of me and she treated me right royally. We had one or two funny people there. There was one chap who used be wide-awake after the nurses came round early in the morning, not like the rest of us who used to turn over and go to sleep again. He would listen to the news and then repeat it at the top of his voice to the whole of the ward. I was rather pleased when after a few days they sent me to recuperate up at Alderney Hospital. After they discharged me, the naval doctor came to see me and said he would let the Admiralty know where I was, that I was recovering from appendicitis and needed “x” weeks sick leave - this was roughly the end of September.

About a month later when I got on the scales, I had gone up from my slim 12 stone to 15 stone and I never looked back after that. I heard nothing from the Admiralty but I assumed the chap had done his stuff and they were just letting me recuperate. Time went on and I stayed at home, and I stayed home, and I stayed home. Then my conscience began to prick me because I had been home for the best part of 6 months by now, so I wrote to the Admiralty and by return I was summoned up to Queen Anne Mansions at the back of Birdcage Walk somewhere and there I was greeted by a Lt Comd who tore me off a most tremendous strip for not reporting earlier. He waved aside my excuse that the medical officer was going to get in touch, saying that I should have told them anyway. He said, “You’re not fit now - go and have a medical and then come back and see me”. I had a medical and they said I wasn't fit for operational flying; I was too fat, which I could only agree with. So back I went to be greeted with scorn because I was not fit. He wanted to send me to be a signals distribution officer somewhere which I pulled a face at, so he said “You are going to be on the staff of Captain D at Harwich, stationed at the RAF station at Ipswich where you will be Naval dog’s body for the flotilla’s practice shoots”.

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Chapter 7: With the RAF

Off I went to RAF Ipswich. It was a peacetime grass airfield belonging to a flying club, with splendid accommodation - enormous great lounge with armchairs, nice bar and comfortable rooms, very pleasant indeed. There was the chap I was relieving, and we got the transport people to take us in a 15cwt to Harwich where I was introduced to the Flotilla gunnery officer called Bruno. These trips down there were always an excuse for a glorious piss-up in the wardroom so we jugged up on gin and had some lunch and came back rather the worse for wear in the afternoon.

The RAF squadrons there were drogue towing squadrons and when the flotilla was having a shoot the gunnery officer would ring me up and say “We want to have a shoot tomorrow, we shall be off Clacton or Harwich and we shall be doing such and such a shoot”. The drogue towing aircraft were Miles Martinets, which were just a bit faster than the Miles Master, or perhaps they were a converted Master. Anyway, they were one step up from the Magister, 2 seater, and these things towed a drogue. They had a little propeller that stuck out the side and the slipstream used to wind the drogue in and out. They would fly out, stream the drogue and then another aircraft - it was usually an old Oxford, we had one or two there - would fly alongside and in the gun turret on the top would be me, complete with a note pad and a contraption of rings like an aerial gunsight. You held one end of this thing to your eye and the centre of the bullseye you aimed at the drogue and then when the guns fired you marked where the shell bursts came on this circular pattern on the chart. This was used to discover how well they had done during the shoot. Direction they could do themselves because they could see whether they were shooting in front or behind, but they could not see how far above or below it was. We did several of these things for this flotilla which was Hunt class by the look of it - I have Quorn, South Down, Egglington down here, which sounds like Hunt class destroyers, the little ones.

Some of the pilots here had already done an operational tour. A chap I used to like to fly with in the Oxfords was Bill Pavitt. He had been in Beaufighters on shipping strikes and sometimes, once we had finished the shoot and were on the way back, he would engage in dogfights with the Masters and try and fly the Oxford like it was a Beaufighter. I sometimes thought the wings would fall off but they never did. I did quite a few trips in Oxfords and Martinets and in a Barracuda they had there.

I found some digs quite close to the aerodrome and Betty came to live in Ipswich. I applied for (and was granted) L & PA — “Living and Provisioned Ashore” — and received my own ration book. I don’t suppose it was a full ration as I still had my main meal at the aerodrome. Otherwise it was just like being in Civvy Street - living with my wife in digs and going off to work every morning. The RAF even issued me with a bike! It was a pleasant existence living in Ipswich, especially living almost at home, nice people there, and that is where Betty bought a little black cat in a pet shop in town because she said she was lonely. We called him 'Dezzie'.

Being the only naval person on the RAF station I was of course known as Nelson. After some time it was decided that there would be a squad of Fleet Air Arm mechanics on the aerodrome to join the ground staff as part of what was known as the "Air Defence of Great Britain". This gang arrived and in charge were 2 POs. As I was a naval officer, the RAF attached me to them. It was one of these curious appointments, I was actually appointed to HMS Excellent Whale Island which is at Portsmouth, seconded to Captain D Harwich, seconded to RAF Station Ipswich. I was on a limb of a limb and I was put in charge of this lot. I left it to the POs; we had a parade each morning and we would take the salute and that was all right, they dished out the work and I left it to them.

We had a visit from a Rear Admiral with a double-barrelled name who was in charge of all of the RN on the East Coast and he wanted to fly over and look at various parts of his domain. So he went off, he and his flag lieutenant, and were flown all over and when they came back I met them and we went back to the Mess for drinks before dinner. There was a phone call for me while we were there, it was from the flight huts, and I learned that the flag lieutenant had been sick in the back of the aircraft. So I asked him if he had been sick and he admitted it. I told him that the rule was that if you were sick, you were sick outside, failing that you cleaned it up yourself or you paid the erks to do it for you - and the current rate in 1944 was half a crown. He paid out his money and I duly passed it onto the blokes who had had to clear out the aircraft. Then the Admiral says "I say, Sub, where do I pump ship?" So I had to think very hard for a minute and then I realised he wanted to go to the lavatory so I was able to direct him by lightning reflexes. He must have stayed the night because the next morning he said he would inspect the mechanics’ quarters. They had 2 Nissen huts on the other side of the aerodrome half in the woods, so we went round in his car and went into the first hut and it was immaculate, thank God, because I had not been able to tell anyone we were coming round. Then we went into the second hut and it looked as if a bomb had hit it, but again being very quick I said "Sorry Sir, this is the watchkeepers’ hut", because watchkeepers did not have to get up at regular times and were allowed to lie in. He looked at me and said nowt and we walked out again. I told the POs that I had been made to look a bit of a Charlie and they were very apologetic and promised to chase everybody up.

One day we were woken by the news that it was D Day and the invasion had started and about this time there was a rather loud explosion in the night and when we flew the next day they said some bomb or something had been dropped in a field nearby. We flew over and looked at this bomb crater and it transpired that it wasn't really a bomb crater - it was a flying bomb - and then the doodlebugs had started and we saw quite a lot of them going across the sky at night.

Arbroath Again

After about 3 months there I was called up for another medical. This was no better than the first, in fact I had put on a few pounds, but this time they passed me fit for operational flying and so I had to go to Arbroath for a refresher course. In those days, believe it or not, there was a train which started in Ipswich and went to Edinburgh. Why, I don't know, but it was up to Edinburgh and then change for Arbroath. Arbroath as an officer was very different from Arbroath as a rating. The food was excellent and there was so much of it we would occasionally forego a meal because we were too full. The course contained a gash lot of observers who were going back into flying after having done other things. I had been skiving, of course, and there was a chap there who had been on my observer course the first time, a Scotsman named Gardner. He had been attached to Bomber Command and had done 15-20 flights over Germany in Lancasters. There were one or two who had been sent to sea because they had not been needed as aircrew, and yet others who had commanded landing craft during the Normandy landings. Now there was a demand for Naval aircrew because they wanted to concentrate on the Pacific war which was a carrier war.

Betty stayed in Ipswich and I spent about a month in Arbroath flying in Albacores mainly, Swordfish sometimes.

I shared accommodation with 3 others: one was Alec Gardner another was called Dauncey and the other was Harry Saggs. They had one thing in common - they were all ginger. We had part of a house to live in and had to go over to the main building for food. Harry Saggs had a fearful memory and used to make lists of things to do and he had so many lists that he had to make lists of his lists. It was purgatory if he lost one because he knew he had to do something but what it was he had no idea. It was in a crash some months after that, north of Arbroath, that he broke his back.

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