• 

• 

My brother went through the whole war and returned and that’s why I joined. He’s the influence, that’s why I joined the Air Force.

He was with the Bank of Montreal but he spent all his money taking flying lessons and earned his pilot’s licence. When war broke out, they said, well everybody wants to be a pilot. So instead of pilot Norbert ended up as a Wireless Air Gunner. He said, well I’ll take Wireless Air Gunner then, but he was a pilot officially. That’s the way it goes.

Norbert was on Wellingtons, they had only two engines. We used the Wellington for training. But the Lancaster was a four-engine. But he was with the Royal Air Force and that was the plane they used.

We didn’t have our own Canadian Air Force at the beginning – the Battle of Britain time, (July 10, 1940-Oct. 31, 1940). He was one of the earlier people that went over.

He had some terrific experiences, like being shot down over the North Sea. Some fishermen picked them up with fishnets. They survived that way. He was back flying, a week later he was back on doing bombing.

My brother came home in 1942 because he did his operations in 1940 and 1941. He toured Canada for the war effort, encouraging others to join. Then he went overseas again.

Norbert would stay at the Rothschild estate in Paris when he’d go there. The Royal Air Force was using it. He had finished his tour of operations and survived it.

He was stationed at Biggin Hill aerodrome, an RAF base in south-east London in Jan. 1945. At Biggin Hill he was on a mail delivery service and they travelled all over the world. He went to Morocco and Gibraltor and they’d deliver mail to wherever the troops were. That was quite a job for him. He loved the Air Force; he wanted to stay in the force. Mine was just a temporary thing – I wasn’t even excited about flying. It was like sitting on a bus or something except you’re up in the air.

Norbert had gone to his father as soon as the news came out that Hitler had invaded Poland. He wanted to tell his father that he was joining the Royal Air Force. He knew a lot of Polish Canadians and was incensed that Hitler had marched into Poland. Hitler had gone into Poland on Sept. 1st, 1939, on Sept. 3rd, 1939 Britain declared war on Germany.

In 1939 Norbert was working for the Bank of Montreal. He had taken flying lessons and earned his pilot’s licence, which was why he chose to join the Royal Air Force.

In 1945, just after the war ended, Norbert was at home before he went for his second to last flight to bring supplies for a humanitarian mission in Europe. His family drove him to the airport and he told them that after this mission he had one more flight to do, then he would be back home for good. On this flight, Norbert was back in Germany to fly medicine to Poland.

The plane crashed in the mountains in Germany and there were no survivors.

The following image is from the article “Mission to Warsaw” by Hugh Halliday about the tragic flight to Poland. The article is in the “Observair, Ottawa Chapter Newsletter, Canadian Aviation Historical Society, Volume 49, Number 4, April 2012”. The article was given to me by Mr. Keith Walker, a member of the Canadian Aviation Historical Society. Keith took a photo of the memorial plaque for me.

The article can also be read at: https://legionmagazine.com/en/2011/12/penicillin-for-poland-a-tale-of-two-plaques-air-forcepart-48/

• 

• 

“The Memorial Cross is an award that has been granted since 1919 to the loved ones of Canadian armed forces personnel who died in service or whose death was attributed to their service. It is granted by the Government of Canada and is frequently referred to as the Silver Cross. In the past it has only been given to mothers and widows.
The Memorial Cross, the gift of Canada, was issued as a memento of personal loss and sacrifice on the part of widows and mothers of Canadian sailors, soldiers and airmen who died for their country during the war. In the centre, within a wreath of laurel, is the royal cypher of the reigning monarch GVIR for King George the Sixth. The reverse of the Cross is engraved with the name and service number of the individual commemorated.”
Quote from: http://www.veterans.gc.ca/eng/remembrance/medals-decorations/memorial-cross

Pete Wilsher looks young in his picture but he was 2 years older than I was. He joined about the same time I did, in 1942.
Pete was part of the crowd that I knew then – he was a tremendous fellow! He was a friend and neighbour of mine from Dorval. He went to Lachine High School. Pete was an all-round athlete, a good athlete. He played every sport, football, hockey; he played everything! He was the fellow who showed me how to throw a football. He was also a good scholar. When I was ten or eleven years old he was one of the Quebec high school representatives in the 1930’s to go to Germany. He was a good student to go to Germany if you can imagine in the 1930s and then go back as a bomber pilot.

Frederick H. Wilsher
Born at Campbellford, Ontario on June 18, 1918, F.H.
Wilsher is the son of Mr. F.W. Wilsher and Mrs. Wilsher, nee Ethel Nancarrow.
He received his education at the Lachine High School
and first worked for the Shawinigan Water and Power
Co. during the summer of 1939, at Rapide Blanc. He was shift operator at the Joliette Substation, when he left for Active Service with the Royal Canadian Air Force on April 11, 1942.
His favourite sports are golf, tennis and swimming.

He joined about the same time I did, in 1942.

Sometimes I think he hung out with me because he liked my sister Frances, but she only went out with him once and that was it. It’s not fair to say that, I know, but I do wonder. Pete was closer in age to my brother but they were never that friendly.

I flew a few operations with him, he was a pilot; we were in the Lion squadron at the same time. He was a changed man from the man I knew before. There was so much stress knowing that he had to protect his crew of seven, and himself; to fly out on a mission and come back in one piece. We all had our duties to perform, but we were just passengers. It’s a terrible responsibility for the pilot and the navigator.

I flew four operations with Pete because his gunner wasn’t well or something. Then I was transferred to another squadron and he was transferred and that’s where he was killed. I don’t know exactly what happened. Being a young pilot in that too, it put a lot of stress on him.

Pete only learned how to fly before going overseas. He had to go through pilot training near St. Hubert. He graduated from pilot school in Quebec–I forget where the pilots’ school was here. When he went overseas after he had his pilot’s licence with the R.C.A.F. he had to go through more training because he flew first in small planes to twin-engine planes then on to the big airplanes like the Lancaster; that was the final step in his training. Then go onto a squadron. A fighter pilot would go through all that training but instead of going into a bomber squadron they’d go into a fighter squadron. Pete-instead of training as a fighter pilot he was trained as a bomber pilot. A lot of them wanted to be fighter pilots because there’s a lot less responsibility. You’re on a plane and you’re on your own. In a bomber, the pilot has responsibility for all those people. Looking back they were young too–he was only about two or three years older than me. I was on my own in the back, with little responsibility, except to watch for enemy aircraft and record anything that was unusual over the bombing areas. He had the responsibility of all seven of the crew–really it was an awful responsibility for a young man–it was nerve-wracking. The first pilot I had was an older man and he was a real disciplinarian–but he was killed too. Some of the pilots were already in the R.A.F. before the war and some were bush pilots–they’d been flying for years in different types of aircraft up north but Pete had no flying experience. The air force helped to decide what a person should do. There were certain criteria for a pilot.

Pete was transferred from our bomber squadron to the ones that dropped the flares, eh? What did they call it? The Pathfinders Group. The Pathfinder squadron used to go in, in advance to the blacked-out cities. The cities were blacked out because they knew we were coming at night. Prior to going into bombing they went in and dropped flares. They would have to fly low to place the flares. Pretty dangerous–flares in a big city! Maybe half an hour before us and these flares lit up the whole city. The Pathfinders flew Mosquitoes, a very fast plane made of wood. The Mosquito planes were also used as bombers doing a milk run, early every morning into Berlin.

Pete Wilsher was transferred to the 405 Vancouver Squadron, the only R.C.A.F. Squadron to be selected to be part of the R.A.F.’s Path Finder Group.

He died on December 29, 1944, with the rest of the crew in a Lancaster of the 405 Squadron. They went out on a bombing run as part of No. 6 Bomber Command instead of No. 8 Pathfinder Force. Following is the operations report of Pete Wilsher’s last flight:

“On the night of the 29th/30th Canadian squadrons despatched 64 Lancasters as part of a force of 335 heavies attacking the Hydrierwerk Scholven A. G. with No. 6 Group supplying 48 and the Vancouver Pathfinders another sixteen. This synthetic oil plant, situated north of Buer and 7½ miles northwest of Gelsenkirchen, had an annual capacity of 350,000 tons of oil products. Target indicators were well concentrated and bombing was accurate. One particularly large explosion shot flames up through the low 10/10ths cloud and a column of thick black smoke rose two miles in the air. The main concentration fell on the north-east section of the plant, inflicting severe damage to the main storage tanks and, in addition to fresh damage to the cooling plant and railway tracks, results of the visit were evident throughout the whole establishment. Defences were moderate, consisting of heavy flak and a few enemy fighters, but R.C.A.F. losses were heavy as three crews of long experience did not return. F/Os F. H. Wilsher, G. G. Fox, J. M. Phillips and H. R. Dryer, P/Os E.R. Kaesmodel, D. J. MacFarlane and A. W. Haley and Sgt. T. R. Harrigan of the Vancouver Squadron made up one crew. The other two were from the Moose Squadron. P/O R. F. Adam, captain of one, had WOs L. P. Wakely, F. S. Dennis and R. G. Rogers, FSs J. C. Rhind and H. C. Tarzwell and Sgt. R. E. Eratt (R.A.F.) with him, while the other was manned by F/Os R. A. McVicar and V. A. Sorrenti, FSs C. R. Conley, W. G. E. Morgan, T. J. Maloney and W. R. McLeod and Sgt. J. Feldman.”
Quote from pages 89, 90 of the R.C.A.F Overseas, The Sixth Year, Vol. 3

While I was compiling Charlie’s WWII experience I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t find any trace of Peter Wilshire in the archival records. Then in May 2015, Charles wanted Norbert’s service record. From the Archives Canada website, I downloaded Norbert Roche’s R.A.F./R.C.A.F. service record, all four hundred and sixty-two pages. In the file is a letter from Wing Commander Gunn in response to a letter from Charlie’s father in the nineteen-fifties about Pete Wilshire. The commander answered back that the only Wilshire from Dorval in the Royal Canadian Air Force was named Frederick Wilsher. Wilsher is an ancient name that spans way back in time from Germany into Great Britain and there are many variations of the name. Charles and his family had always known him as Peter Wilshire but his name was really Frederick Harold Wilsher. Charles thinks that for some reason while at Lachine High School Frederick had re-named himself, Peter. Peter’s father was also named Frederick. Peter’s last name was wrong, there were news clippings from the nineteen forties that give his name as Wilshire and the City of Dorval re-named a street to Wilshire in his memory. I don’t know why the city didn’t double-check the spelling. Charles told me that Pete’s parents died in the nineteen fifties, exactly how and when is unknown. The city document says: “from the name of an Aviator who died during the last War.”

The City of Dorval Archives gave me a document about street name changes in 1955. There was a street re-named Wilshire Avenue, in honour of Pete Wilshire (Frederick Wilsher), which still exists today. It was a surprise to also find out that another street was re-named Roche Avenue, in memory of Charles’s older brother Norbert. Roche Avenue no longer exists, if it existed at all. The Dorval archivist couldn’t find the original street, named Jolicoeur, or Roche Avenue.

I checked the Government records of the war dead for Pete’s file but so far they have no online service record or genealogy for him. He is listed on the Canadian Virtual War Memorial. Peter/Frederick has no known grave so his name is on the Runnymede Memorial, Surrey, United Kingdom; panel 248
Before the Pathfinders were formed bombers often had problems locating targets. Daylight bombing by sight was hampered by bad weather, flak from the Germans, who eventually developed radar, or the bombers were seen in advance before they could reach their target. Early on the R.A.F. did have an optical instrument called ‘Course Setting Bomb Sight’.

In 1940 R.A.F. Bomber Command decided to try night bombing. The problems were the same, perhaps even worse since cities adopted blackouts. About one aircraft out of ten came close to bombing their chosen target. The German Luftwaffe was also unable to hone in on a specific target. The Luftwaffe solved the problem first by having a select group use radio aids. This trained group would drop flares, allowing the bombers that followed them to see the target. The British developed their own specialized group called the Pathfinders.

At first with the Pathfinder Group, it was still a hit and miss operation. Finally, bombing aids were developed like Gee, Oboe and H2S Radar. It still took the Pathfinders some time to refine their technique. The group then split into three specialized units. A Christmas tree idea was developed. The first two airplanes lit the path to the sight with white target illuminators, about the same idea as lighting a path or a driveway with small lights. The path was far away along the route. Then the Illuminators used red flares around the target. The third group used coloured markers to drop incendiary bombs which caused fires that would last long enough for the bomber squadron to reach the target. The Germans soon caught on and set decoy fires with the same colours. The Pathfinders persevered and finally succeeded. With new aircraft and newer navigation and bombing aids the Pathfinders used ‘sky marking’; dropping flares by parachute, which was effective, even in bad weather. Finally, the new Lancasters had high-frequency radio and a system of ‘Master Bomber’ was created. The Master Bomber was able to communicate with the Pathfinders to mark the target.

Some Personal Memories of an RCAF Observer/Navigator: Brief Notes on the Navigation Aids Used:
“Primary was GEE, a pulsing radar system from two different locations in England. This showed as a blip on the radar screen in front of the Observer which could be plotted on a chart. Very accurate up to about 150 miles, after which the beam spread was too wide to be accurate. It was subject to heavy “jamming” by the Germans, and it was difficult to keep track of the true “blip” when dozens of false ones were also showing.
H2S – A self-contained scanning radar. It consisted of three parts, a generator driven by the starboard outer engine, a rotating radar emitting and receiving scanner mounted in a pod under the aircraft, and a Plan Position Indicator, a cathode ray tube, in front of the Observer. The scanner rotated once per second, and reflected from buildings, etc. directly below and forward of the aircraft. The scan remained on the screen long enough to be updated by the next rotation. No reflection was received over water, but the coastline could be identified, as could reflections from towns and villages along the route. From these, a bearing and distance could be calculated and plotted, and this would be passed to the Plotter for his use in determining course, wind velocity and ground speed, which info he would pass up to the pilot with any changes required to keep us on track.
Loran was a long range version of GEE developed by the Americans. It took time to get a “fix” and was not accurate enough to be used for bombing.
Every Pathfinder station had two squadrons, 1 equipped with up to 25 Lancasters, the second equipped with about 7 Mosquitoes. These Mosquitoes were equipped with a later form of radar named “OBOE.” This was a line of sight radar aimed directly at the target, with a signal system on board that alerted the pilot if he got off course. When the target was reached a separate signal was sent to indicate when the flares should be dropped. A report says that it was recently tested with a modern RAF fighter-bomber, and it could not be duplicated.”
http://www.bombercommandmuseum.ca/s,curriestory.html,
by F/O Donald M. Currie, RCAF, 635 Squadron, RAF (PFF)

http://www.bombercommandmuseum.ca At the museum site look under Chronicles, page 8 for more of Donald Currie’s writing about navigation aids.

So we lost Pete and his whole crew, they crashed somewhere.
My dad petitioned the City of Dorval to name a street after him.

I was shipped home on the Louis Pasteur. The ship was filled with RCAF ex-prisoners of war. I do remember that money was collected to donate to the War Relatives Association.

The poor ship was beaten up and wasn’t very comfortable. We slept in hammocks and on wooden boards. At least it got us safely to Halifax.

This lady Beatrice had a son who was a year or two older than me. He had gone to Loyola College. He was a POW. She was president of an organization that sent packages to POWs. She did a lot of work for us. So in honour of that, we all kicked in a number of dollars.

When we arrived in Montreal we gathered at the old Manning Depot in Lachine, back to where I started out. My mother wasn’t there because she wasn’t well enough to go that day, but my father and sister were there. There were bands playing and cheering crowds! The Americans; when they got home had an even bigger reception. The British though, when they got home, they had to walk or take a bus or train to get back to their families. Some of them had been away for five years, then they’d just show up at home with no advanced warning or fanfare. In London, it must’ve been awful for the returning soldiers. Their homes would’ve been flattened and their families moved or dead.

We had a choice to stay in the armed forces after the war. They asked us if we were interested in going to Japan. I thought, sure, I said yes, I’d go because the war was still going on after it finished in Europe.

Then they came back and told me no, you’re not allowed to go because you were a prisoner of war and they don’t allow ex-prisoners to go off and fight again. they figured you’re lucky enough to survive once.

I came back from the war in the spring, eh – May or June. The war was over and I had the whole summer off. The air force paid me – I was still in the forces till September. So June, July and August I would bicycle to the Grovefield Golf Course in Lachine, where I had a free membership. All summer, every couple of days I’d paddle my brother’s canoe across to Chateauguay, just to stay in shape. Just to get back some weight. I’d dropped down to 140 pounds; I was skinny. But then I started playing hockey again the next winter.

When I got home I had some correspondence inquiring about the crew from my last flight. I didn’t answer, I couldn’t face up to it, so my father answered the letters. I went to Ottawa and met my skipper’s wife. And I went to Toronto and met my wireless operator’s wife.

The letter above is from Mrs. George Hammond, I think her name was Edna and she was the mother of Pilot Officer Kenneth Hammond who died in the ghost flight. It’s a very sad letter, she’s hoping that Charlie can give her some information about her son. Mrs. Hammond thought that since Charlie survived then maybe Kenneth did too and was possibly a POW as well. I tried searching for any Hammond that might be related – to ask them if they’d mind if I put her letter out there. But, people move, get married, so I wasn’t successful.

The letter is dated June 10, 1945, so I guess at that point the RCAF hadn’t found the remains of the plane and crew. Charlie said they were eventually found. No body was found for Kenneth Hammond so he is listed among the RCAF war dead on a U.K. Memorial.

Doug Barry was the pilot (the skipper) – he was a decorated pilot – he was given the Air Force Cross. Doug Barry’s wife was a nice lady, it was just a short visit. The other lady I visited was in Toronto. This woman was a patient of my uncle in Toronto, who was a doctor. She talked to her doctor about her husband who was lost in the air force, and that only one person survived when the plane blew up. My uncle told her my story about the last flight. It turned out her husband was in the same crew, on the same flight!

There was one fellow from Vancouver. I have his watch; he gave it to me when he got a new one. I still have the watch.

There was a burial for two of my crew. Unfortunately, they couldn’t find the others.

In September I went back to Imperial Oil – when I was 17, I had worked as a mail boy before I joined and went overseas. When I came back they gave me a crummy job in the traffic department. It was a big office with an accountant behind glass in one corner and a manager, McCarthy at the other corner. The chief accountant was there because it was the office for all the accounting people in Imperial Oil and shipping and all that crap. I was sitting down in the back– I was at a desk and they gave me a book and in pencil, I had to mark the numbers of freight cars and stuff. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. They just said you go across and you copy from this – it was a really crummy job, but what the hell it put money in my pocket. I lasted oh, about under a year with them. That year I played hockey during the winter. I played in Lachine with the Lachine Rapids in the senior provincial hockey league. They paid me about fifty bucks a week. They had some fellows from that team go into the pros; like the Canadians.

There were teams like Joliette, they probably don’t exist anymore in the league. Before I went overseas I was with the Junior Royals. I left the Lachine Rapid junior team in 1942 and went with the Montreal Junior Royals, Lorne White was the coach. They had a good team – the best junior team around – there was also a junior Canadians team. In 1942 they came into the dressing room and said – has anybody joined the forces? I had just joined the air force – that was my ending with Junior Royals.

Before the war, I also worked at the Eaton Co in the sporting goods department. And I worked for my mother’s first cousin – Tom Trihy – he was an agent for Holden and Co. from Ottawa. Holden sold camping equipment, mainly for people up north in the pulp and paper industry. I sold sporting goods for them. I didn’t speak a word of French and I remember he dropped me off on St. Hubert street and he said cover all those drug stores, I didn’t have a car and I went knocking at doors. I didn’t sell anything – the last call I made was a sporting goods store and the fellow bought a couple of dozen jockstraps. I stayed with that company for a while. I remember Bourgie in Lachine, the funeral parlour, the two Bourgie boys were both hockey players – they were good, one played for the New York Rovers and they had played also on the Lachine team with me after one of them came back from New York. They opened up a sporting goods store in Lachine, so I furnished them with stuff that I was selling to equip the store.

In the 40’s I really monkeyed around, but when it got to 1950 I worked for an automobile guy on Cote de Liesse road called Auto Plane, which was in the late forties. I was at Auto Plane and the vice president there, George Doyle – brought me in as the first salesman they had. They owned the land behind where the Hilton Hotel is now. And they were going to make a racetrack for cars nearby, I would’ve been in on the beginning but before that happened; the owner and his whole family were killed in a plane crash coming back from Florida and everything changed. So after that, I was out of a job for a while, but I was still living at home. I had a little Ford Meteor car, it was double financed with IAC and Canadian Acceptance Corporation. I had worked for a while with Canadian Acceptance as a repo man; that was before the car business.

During the late 40’s I was a repo man. I used to repossess cars. My jobs mostly came from connections from the golf course. Anyone I knew who was into sports used their connections with sports to find jobs. Golf was one of the best because all of the executives, presidents and so on played golf. When I was nine years old I carried bags for spending money. I was a scratch player, I was shooting in the seventies when I was about thirteen, or fourteen. I remember winning at the Elmridge golf course.

In ‘49 I went down and played hockey in Amherst Nova Scotia. The team got into trouble, cause they brought me down there, I was getting about two hundred bucks a week, that was big money in those days. I had free room and board, the whole deal. They entered me in the St Francis Xavier University; they paid for that – that was after January in 1949. I think I was enrolled in the University for basket weaving or something – I never actually went to school there. They do that in the States for football players. I never got any degree though, nor do I get to be an alumnus. I got my degree overseas when I was in the war.

I think being confined in the POW camp and close to Frankfurt where I was put into a dungeon by the guys for a while, down underneath, where the place had been bombed out. And the hospital for sick German soldiers they put me in a cell there for a while too. So especially after that I always wanted to be outside so every job I had, selling or collecting – they were always jobs on the road, always in a car driving. Even with the Sun Oil Company where I worked for about 10 years, 1950-1958. I left them when they finished their expansion program on service stations. I was buying land for service stations in eastern Quebec, Cap-de-la-Madeleine, Shawinigan, Grand Mère, Trois-Rivières, and Montreal. I was never too far away, but occasionally I stayed in hotels.

In 1958 I went on a trip to the States with my mother. That was just before I got married. That’s after I left Sun Oil. We drove all the way through, and I visited some of the vets down in the states, from the POW camp, I didn’t get to see Glesener, he was transferred out to the Pacific coast, but the big guy who was a professor in Blacksburg, Virginia – Jim Ashley; big Jim. Then I continued on to Florida and I went to Cuba from there. We flew to Cuba then got back to the car and I had my golf clubs, and we followed the coast right up to New Orleans. We stayed in New Orleans for a little while and then we went on to Texas and we visited the two waterfront cities in Texas. We went to Monterrey, Mexico, I’d play golf and meet some friends from the war. I was going to go on to California because my dad’s cousin was the mayor of Los Angeles, I never met him but I read articles about him but when I phoned home they said he had passed away. So instead of heading further west, from Mexico I headed into Oklahoma and came back on Route 66 right to Chicago where I met my uncle Norbert, the doctor. We had dinner with him and then we came back to Montreal. It did my mother some good, she needed a change. It was ten years since my brother died, but still, it seemed to help her. She’s the only one that could take the time to go with me. I was going to go back into the oil business, buying land for McCall, Frontenac.

One day I saw Red Storey, the old referee in the national hockey league and former Argonauts footballer who I knew very well from playing hockey. He hollered across the street, on Sherbrooke Street; hey, what’s going on? I said I was just back from the south and that I had been asked to join McCall Frontenac as manager of their real estate department. So he asked if I liked the idea. I said, well, I did it for ten years. He said – we have an opening in the liquor business. He was with Thomas Adams Distillery. Red Story became a public speaker, he was quite a character, a very good guest speaker – they used him all over the place and he used to get paid pretty good for that. I brought him out to the golf course, Summerlea as a guest speaker at our closing dinner way back in the ’60s. I go back so many darn years now, I forget!

I was with Thomas Adams Distillery, which was owned by the Bronfman family, till they sold it. So I worked for Thomas Adams for a couple of years. With the distillery, I covered the Eastern Townships, all the liquor stores, and hotels, and clubs. I’d make a circuit, down through Waterloo, Magog, Cowansville, right to Sherbrooke. That was fun, it was interesting. Other trips were further up north in Ontario to the lake districts, and Toronto, we’d go to golf tournaments. It was good for me ‘cause I didn’t want to go to an office. Sitting in the tail end of an airplane never really got me anywhere, so when someone offered me an administrative job for a paint company, I told him I can barely administrate the small things I have to do. It’s not like I had an education because I was too busy fighting in the war.

I went back to Germany for work, a fellow with KLM invited me to go over and visit all the Olympic sites as a promotion with some skiers or ski instructors so we started off in Amsterdam and they treated us great – it was a good trip for me and then we went on to Dusseldorf. Dusseldorf was a city that I had bombed during the war. Then for that trip, we went on to Austria, Switzerland and northern Italy.

I was married in ’58 and we moved to Florida for two years.

I lived and worked in Florida at the big juice company in Dade City ’cause my friend from Montreal was the General Manager of Sales for the company; Pascal Packing in Dade City. When I got down there some of the management frowned on it that a Canadian would take a southerner’s job and it was embarrassing for him so I said no. But I met the owner of the Publix Stores – and that was a big outlet – there were hundreds of stores – so in conversation I said I’m looking for work – I want to stay down here in the south for a while. He said well we’re opening up a new store in Polly Hill, it’s part of Daytona Beach. He said they have management there but they need people like a checker – so I said anything, you know, what the heck – they gave me a pretty good deal, but of course he had control since he was the owner. One of them had a house in Lakeland, where I was renting a house that he offered me. So I was a checker at a big store for all the goods coming in. It was great, it worked out.

They were good people, I got to know all the gang coming in. It was interesting; I’d never been in the food business before so it was an experience you know. Then I had enough of that. I had a pretty good job prior to that in Montreal with Sun Oil as a district manager covering all the east end of Montreal and the towns outside. So Lise and I packed up and went back to Montreal and that’s when I went to work for McCall Frontenac.

At a certain age, nineteen or twenty there was a call-up to join. If you weren’t healthy you didn’t have to join or if you were in university-they’d say, well you have to have an education. There were a lot of people who went to university then-a lot of professionals! There may have been some favouritism as far as what you did in the forces. I knew of some professional hockey players – in our squadron we had Milt Schmidt; one of the best hockey players at that time in the Boston Bruins. The three German boys, that’s what they were called, Bauer, Schmidt and Dumart. They were Canadians from Kitchener and Waterloo. They played in the Air Force hockey team. In the Ghost Squadron, Schmidt was the physical instructor but he was a Flying Officer.

I was average, very average, but we had guys with university education. Not all of them got commissions but some of them were excellent students, where I was average. The ones who went into navigation had to have high marks. We took Morse code at Queens University in Kingston, and a little bit of navigation. Navigation was a tough course. We had a clever chap from B.C., Karl something, gee I forget his name, isn’t that awful! Karl was a quiet, serious man; he didn’t mix with us on the squadron-maybe he mixed with the officers. He was a Flight Lieutenant, brilliant man, a very sharp navigator. We were fortunate having the Royal Canadian Air Force. We had very sharp navigational people and good pilots too-they had to be good! We lost so many! I lost five crews!

It’s unfortunate, but I don’t remember the Luftwaffe Corporal’s name. I don’t remember if he even told me his name. We walked for miles and miles together.

Among the souvenirs I have is a beer mug from Moosburg, and a German helmet. I had a good leather jacket that I bought in Dundee, Scotland when I was on leave and went to St. Andrews to play golf. The jacket was great for cold days. It looked like an American aviator’s bomber jacket.

The German helmet is heavy. We wore a helmet too, especially on operations. Darn! I don’t think I have any pictures of myself in gear! I had flying boots that had a button that you clicked in, and the electric suiting had wires running through it. It was only the tail gunner that wore the electric suit. I don’t remember what the mid-upper gunner wore. I don’t think it was warm inside where he was but at least he had shelter from the wind and cold air. In the tail section, there was a cut (like a window) for the machine guns, so I was exposed to the cold air. I had to wear an oxygen mask.

Imagine – I talk a lot, that’s why I was good in sales but I was all by myself in the back of the plane, and my face would freeze up so I could hardly talk anyway. IODE (Imperial Order Daughters of the Empire) would send us hand-knitted balaclavas – I wore mine under my helmet to keep my face warm. We appreciated those things, the crew who were up-front, inside, didn’t need them during trips, but I sure wore mine a lot.

I brought back my flying boots, but my boys threw them out. They were the old boots I used in training, not the official ones that I had in operations. They had changed to equipment by the time I went overseas. The Mae West vest had a whistle in case we landed in the water, but, for some reason, our vests never had the whistle. The vest is inflatable and if you’re in the water you could alert somebody with the whistle because they might not see you with the waves. My brother may have used that when they landed in the water. They were in the North Sea; I don’t know how they survived. Norbert said he couldn’t feel his legs after a short time in the cold water. Imagine! The North Sea! I don’t know how he and his crew survived. My God, no one could last more than a couple of minutes in that water! Luckily a fishing boat found them and plucked them from the water.

I received a funny little pin in the shape of a caterpillar; it’s given to anyone who’s been saved by a parachute. I automatically became a member of the Parachute Club. They met once in a while after the war, but I was never interested in going to any of the get-togethers.

• 

Caterpillar Club: a club for those who had survived by jumping out of their aircraft and using their parachutes. The club pin was a small caterpillar (representing the insect that made silk for the parachutes) and was given by the maker of parachutes.

Leslie Irving invented the parachute in 1919. In WWI German pilots carried a parachute in a canister. The British and the Americans thought that the parachute was too dangerous to use; expecting that human error would cause the parachute lines to become snarled in the plane. The parachute saved about 100,000 lives, most of them in WWII. The Caterpillar Club was for airmen who could prove that a parachute saved their life. A parachute manufacturer, the Irvin Company, started awarding pins in 1922. The pin was awarded to honour Mr. Irvin and his invention and the airmen who were saved. Charles wore a ‘seat pack parachute’; he had to be able to sit on the parachute because there wasn’t much room in the turret.

A WWII historian who belongs to the Canadian Aviation Historical Society, Ottawa, said that there’s no way Charles would’ve been wearing his parachute during a flight. Beware of historians! According to Charles, who was there, the mid-upper gunner kept his parachute close by to grab it in an emergency. The rear-gunner had to lock himself into the turret way at the tail end of the plane. I always think of it as being inside a tin can, not easy to just jump out of into the body of the plane and put on a parachute. It made more sense to wear the parachute harness and sit on the parachute.
Charles also insists that the ‘bomb-aimer’, was called the ‘bombardier’ by Canadians. The British used the term ‘bomb-aimer’, and perhaps the Americans as well. A British historian was sure that it was the Americans who used the term, ‘bombardier’, not the Canadians. I’ve noticed though, reading through so many books and websites that bombardier was often the popular word for bomb-aimer when a Canadian was remembering their time in the R.C.A.F. The official R.C.A.F. accounts all use the terms that the British R.A.F. used.

‘PathFinder’ is another expression that differs. I often see Canadians writing the two words as one, ‘Pathfinder’, but the R.A.F. always separates the words. This is all just being picky, I know, but if anyone does research on anything in this book then the differences in terminology will show up.

It helps to be young and stupid; it was the only way I got through the war and adjusted to being home again. The four years of the war I just forgot about them, I didn’t want to talk about it. But now it’s kind of funny that’s all I want to talk about. I never told anybody where I was or what happened except my immediate family. When I got back all I was looking forward to was getting back to sports. I love sports. I got that from my father who was a star in hockey in an amateur world cup hockey championship. He was an all-around athlete. I inherited some of that.

It’s such a long time ago. I never really went over the whole thing–except in my nightmares. I had plenty of nightmares because I eventually lost five crews. I swear five of them were lost–all dead! It makes me wonder deep inside – why should I be so lucky, you know?

2008 Visit to the Canadian Aviation Museum, Ottawa

My son Paul brought me to the museum in Ottawa. They have a complete list of all the RCAF squadrons. I was quite impressed! They have this big wall that shows all the different squadrons. Each one like the Lion Squadron shows a lion, then a moose and a ghost. The French Canadian squadron was the Alouette Squadron. I met the Alouette Commander later on, after the war, when I was with a company; I guess I was in Toronto. The Commander was working for a big tire company.

• 

• 

• 

In the museum they had an old Lancaster bomber, it was all roped off. Paul told the Director of the museum that I had done a tour of operations at the tail end of the bomber. The Director said he would give me a tour of the museum and I could go into the bomber. It’s a big, beautiful museum, up to date, starting with the bush flyers.

I climbed up the ladder to the Lancaster – they had a photographer there and they were recording everything; asking me about my time in the war. I climbed up and just sorted myself into the aircraft and moved down to the back – they said it’s quite obvious I’d been there before. Ya sure, sixty years ago! I went back to the tail, to the gunner’s position, I had to swing in, and you have to grab two little bars and get your body straight in and then reach up and lock the door.

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

The Lancaster was a four-engine, but when my brother did his operations in 1940-41, they were flying Wellingtons. I believe the Wellingtons were two engine planes. We used them for training. In the Lancaster, I had to stoop down to maneuver through the plane. We entered at the middle, then going towards the tail in the back the plane narrowed. To get into the Boulton Paul tail turret there were a couple of bars I’d grab; then I’d have to swing into the turret. To lock the door I had to reach back with my right arm. I’d slide the door over and push it up into a little lock. So I was locked in really because the turret was turning at ninety degrees; I controlled it with two handles. The triggers were there for my Browning machine guns. The guns could be moved up and down. There were just five bolts that attached the guns – if they ever came loose it would be a disaster!

The odd thing about being in the aircraft was that I had confidence that the plane was well built and that I was secure in the back. I felt secure; there was nothing to worry about. I would’ve been more afraid to go to the top of a skyscraper and look over the edge.

The mid-upper gunner was up, in the middle of the aircraft. Luckily, they had a shut-off to stop the gun from extending enough to damage their own plane, and the guns couldn’t go back towards the aircraft.

I’d swing my turret over to the side and look out; I was the eyes of the aircraft – for spotting fighters or anti-aircraft fire, ack-ack, and flak that was coming from the ground. I remember counting enemy aircraft. Like, one off to starboard – you know – such and such a location. The navigator would be marking it down, or the wireless man – he took notes in his office because he was inside the plane – the poor buggers they couldn’t see what’s going on outside, that’s terrible, eh?

The navigator, in the middle of the plane, had all his instruments – there were no windows he could look out of – he was in the fuselage. The operator was probably beside him. The only other one that got a good visual was the pilot; he saw straight out, but he was steered into a bombing run by the bombardier. The bombardier was out in the nose, looking down, right down at the target; lining it up. He would say the direction of the bomb, then he’d say, “bombs gone”! He’d push the button, the bays are already open beforehand, when we went into the run, then he’d open the bomb door and bombs gone!

It did happen once that a bomb didn’t release from a plane. My cousin Jack was in an aircraft that landed and one of the bombs hadn’t dropped. As they landed, it shook loose and blew up the plane. My cousin and the pilot survived, but in the middle of the plane, it killed three or four people.

There were some Lancasters built here in Canada. I’m not sure if the Lancasters I flew in were built here or in Great Britain. We also had Mosquito bombers; they were the fastest at that time. They would go into Berlin – we’d call it a milk run, because it was daily, early in the morning. They went in regularly and bombed cities but the Mosquitoes were too fast and they had a hard time shooting them down. The German planes couldn’t catch them. They did damage deep in Germany and they’d return. We probably lost some, but they were very successful – they were frightening to the German people.

The Mosquitoes were amazing! In the Lancaster we were more lumbering. We were superior to the Americans. They talk a lot about the B17’s, but we had a superior plane! Lumbering as it was, the Lancaster was still more manoeuvrable. The Americans – a whole cluster – went over in daylight raids, when there was no fog. We always said they’d get lost in the dark. We could go in the pitch-black night in our bombers. We very seldom fought fighters – if we saw a fighter we’d do evasive action so as not to give away our position in the night sky.

I remember the adrenaline flow was tremendous when we were dropping bombs over a city. In the heavy zones, like the industrial area of the Ruhr Valley, it was just a complete wall of enemy fire. We could hear it beforehand, and when we got closer it would shake the aircraft. That’s where there’s adrenaline. It was more exciting than frightful, ya know? I think we were too young and stupid, most of us; it was always something would happen to other people, but not to us.

During the war, I was about 180 pounds, at that time I was a little bit bigger because I had been playing junior hockey; defence. I was a little taller then too. Of course, we shrink in old age, but then I was slightly over six feet.

There were only two or three of us on the squadron who were that big, they could just squeeze into the darn turret. The ideal size for a gunner was five foot four, like a jockey, and then they could move around. In fact, I was so tight in there – I remember on a bombing raid to Stetton, that my electric suit, which I wore underneath a jacket – anyway, in the electric suit the damn wire at my backside was broken. I started getting sharp shocks on my backside! It was about -20C over Stetton and we’re out in the open air, eh? The electric suit was the only heating I had. It was freezing! My face was frozen! I had a piece of chocolate in my pocket and I couldn’t break it, it was so hard. I tried tilting my body so the wire would pull away, but then the other side got a shock. This was about a nine and a half hour flight. We went over Sweden, Denmark and the other Scandinavian countries. We went up that way to avoid fighters or something, it was a safer route – they always checked at the base. Before operations all the crews and pilots would be in a briefing room together, to get ready for that night’s bombing. A senior officer would have a map and tell the pilots and navigators the route, and which buildings were targets. It wasn’t our concern but they told them what cities to go to, what heights to fly; to miss the radar, like when we went to Bergen, Norway to stay below the radar. Usually, there were about ten crews going out. Intelligence knew what our chances were coming back, and if we could avoid radar, then all the better. We were on our way to a major target, I can’t remember which one. It was the longest and most uncomfortable trip!

Other trips I didn’t mind – we had five or six-hour trips into the Ruhr Valley. They were really hot when you got there; the firepower the Germans had was unbelievable!

A fellow sent me a sheet on the percentage of gunners returning. That is – very few gunners returned! So I was blessed, I was very lucky! I remember counting every time I went out, I’d count five or six bombers blown up around me.

We always flew in a group and it was always night bombing. We had tremendously intelligent navigators, they were awfully good! They were superior to any other navigators in other air corps that flew bombing missions. That’s why we flew at night because of our navigators and our pilots. We were mostly all Canadian but there were a couple of Aussies and a couple of Americans, that’s all I can remember. We started earlier in the war than the Americans, they only joined later.

I remember one American fellow, he was a gunner from Los Angeles and claimed to know Victor Mature. Anyway, we used to carry one civilian suit; we were allowed to wear it occasionally. So I had a suit; it fit me fine. This fellow from L.A. – when I got shot down – he took my suit! He had a tailor fit it to him. I came back and I asked him what he did to my suit, it didn’t fit me anymore. He was slightly slimmer than I was and it was tailored for him. This same fellow, I don’t know why he joined the force as a gunner. He made a couple of trips and anytime after that when he had to fly, he had a tooth pulled out. He must’ve run out of teeth! He was very disturbed about going, flying as a gunner. In other words, he changed his mind and didn’t want to go anymore! He must be wearing a nice plate now because by the end of the war I doubt he had any teeth left, though he’s not the only one who did that.

I had been commissioned as a Pilot Officer early in my bombing excursions. I flew with a Wing Commander a couple of times. I flew with all different ranks. A number of operations I flew with a chap who was a Warrant Officer. He came from the Maritimes and was a tremendous flyer, but rather undisciplined. He didn’t wait for instructions from the base office, but he was the best pilot I ever flew with. Sometimes coming back from a flight, maybe a training flight, he’d go right down close to the farm fields and the cows would hear the roar from this big bomber. That was funny! When the weather closed in we were diverted and we’d land at an American base. In fact, we met Clark Gable one time; he was based on a nearby American squadron. I carried a few dollars or pounds if I wanted to indulge in liquid refreshment on an American base. This pilot wouldn’t wait for instructions to take off. As soon as the fog turned, he’d say, “let’s go boys!” The control would be telling him to hold but he’d tell them – no, it’s okay, let’s take off! So this was why he was only a Warrant Officer pilot and here I was a Pilot Officer, about a couple of ranks higher, but I was out in the tail end.

We didn’t have jets during the war. The first jet I told you about when I was in the camp at Nuremberg, this thing was flying like – vroom! I thought – what the heck! You know? I guess it was one of the first ones, the first for the Germans; they worked on that all through the war with slave labour.

The Germans had those V1’s and V2’s. I was in London when the V1 and then V2’s later on, came in. When the engine shut off over London, it would come down and blow up a whole block of houses. They were very destructive! The technology was fantastic though! Thank goodness the bombers knocked off a lot of them. The V1’s flew where you could see them coming in – maybe a thousand feet up. When we were on the street, they chased us off; they’d make us go down into the underground.

The V1 would go up and it would stay at one level so you’d hear it coming; from the ground, you’d see a flying bomb. The motor was going, making noise, so once it got above you, you knew it was going to be hitting something further on. That was the V1. Then they went to the V2. The V2 would take off from the coast, France or whatever, and they would go straight up, thousands of feet up, so you didn’t see anything till it was too late. Then it would fall straight down and blow up everything.

If I recall, the V1 was on contact, as soon as it hit a building it would blow up. It would hit, shoot out and scatter on buildings all around. The V2, the one that went so high and came down, it went deep into a building and then blew up everything above it. It blew from a deep hole.

When we had to take shelter in the subway in London – we had chocolate bars from the PX or Red Cross and we’d give them to kids in the bomb shelter.

Everything around St. Paul’s Cathedral in London was all wiped out, but they never hit the cathedral.

V2 seen from the air: “Another “first” was claimed on the 10th when F/Ls R.M. Currie and A.H. Rose claimed a visual of a V.2, an object which they at first mistook for a doodle-bug or flying bomb until they observed its spectacular rate of climb. Many crews subsequently reported seeing the reddish orange light of this new weapon. All remarked that while the light appeared at first to be stationary it accelerated rapidly as it rose beyond the level of the observing aircraft. It remained visible for a period of 1 1/2 to 2 minutes and was invariably headed in a westerly direction.” Excerpt from the RCAF Overseas Vol 3, pages 349-350

I remember when we’d go to London on leave, we’d go to the Beaver Club, which was the Canadian’s club. We’d meet at the Beaver Club. You might meet fellows in the Army, Navy, and the Air Force that were friends for years back home. You could leave messages if you wanted to meet somebody from your gang.

The Beaver Club was in Canada House in London. The CBC had radio broadcasts there for any Canadian Forces men or women who wanted to say hi to family and friends at home. The CBC has the archives of these WWII broadcasts on their website.

In the camp I was a guard, I’d stand by the door to see if anyone was coming – to see if it was safe to put the news on. We’d make sure the guards weren’t going to come in and catch us with all the wires and the radio. The engineers from the bombers were pretty good; they’d make little radios out of tine cans and wires. They played a great part in the camp so we could get the BBC news. Just a few months before the war was actually over we heard the news that the Third Army was moving fast; that it wouldn’t be long before the camp was overrun by the allies. It was critical to the Germans that we be moved out quickly.

About 150 miles away from the camp there was fighting going on. The allies were heading towards our camp. When they started getting close, maybe 25 or 30 miles away, they got us all together one night and put us all on the road. They opened the gates and the guards formed all around us in a huge line-up. I don’t know how many POW’s there were, but it must’ve been in the thousands, I think! They accumulated everybody from all the camp sectors. They had enough guards, a lot of older men. I guess they were pretty desperate, they lost so many men. All the best of the German fighting troops were at the front trying to slow down the enemy or maybe at another battlefront where the Russians were moving fast. They (the Allies) were all converging; they were all heading for Berlin, that’s where Hitler was based, the main city. We hit the road and moved further into the interior. We moved down towards Moosberg – that’s where we ended up was Moosberg. Now how long we were on the road I don’t know, but we slept here and there, in barns sometimes.

The Germans knew what was happening, but they still had their guns on us, we were still prisoners; they were marching with us. They’d come in the morning if we were on the ground and they’d say, rouse, rouse! We’d have to get up and start marching.

When we evacuated the camp, my friend George got into some trouble. He wasn’t in the same hut as I was. He and another chap went under the flooring of their hut. There’s space down there of probably two or three feet. They got under and stayed there. The Germans didn’t check it out, so when everybody evacuated, they were still under the floor. We were all gone, thousands of people. I don’t know if anybody in any other camp, in a hut or in the area stayed under, but George thinks they were all alone. They went out walking, but there’s nowhere to go really. We were about a couple of hundred miles inside the lines, but in the end, the allies were probably only a few miles away. What happened was they were backing up from the front lines and they caught these guys (George and friend). They had no place to hide! So the soldiers got them back with our group. We were marching down the road and along comes George in a truck! So I said, jump in with us, they’ll never know. So he jumped off the truck and into our group and that was it, he was back in business with us.

We weren’t supposed to do anything foolish, we weren’t helping anybody, and we weren’t armed. George and his friend were lucky they weren’t shot in the back! An army backing up doesn’t waste too much time.

The Germans might have been nervous about reprisals though because they were going to be overrun.

We weren’t always close to villages, but in one village I remember staying in a kind of courtyard. I was with a fellow, a Major Clete Glesener, we chummed up together. We had a big branch of a tree, a big limb between our shoulders to carry our kit bags. Anyway, in the courtyard area, he got upset, his stomach was hurting. I remember I went out and knocked on doors within the courtyard. A little nun answered the door in one place and I said, avanzi brot? I only knew a couple of words in German. I was trying to ask for bread. She didn’t have bread but she gave me an egg and I gave her a bar of soap that came with the Red Cross parcel. She didn’t say much. I brought back the egg to give to Clete. I didn’t fry it; I probably boiled it in a bit of water. He felt better after that.

It’s the little things, but you can get accustomed to the dirt and stuff, we lived in mud and crap. We were dirty. I had the same underwear on for about four months. We got to the Danube River, I remember I turned my underwear inside out and went bathing in the water. Not many people can say they bathed in the Danube! The river looked kind of muddy when we got out, it wasn’t the nice blue Danube they have in the song. There were so many of us that were dirty. As we were moving further away from the Danube River, I heard a big explosion! They blew up the bridge over the river to slow down the American army. It was General Patton and his army; there wasn’t much that would slow him down.

We crossed a farm one time; it was a field of sugar beets. So we went wild. I took a couple of bites of raw sugar beet, but I wasn’t that fussy about it; even when I was so hungry. It didn’t bother me but a little while later thousands of fellows were squatting in the field. Some wanted to die, they were already hungry. What they took from the sugar beets – it turned their stomachs. It was all diarrhea, it was unbelievable! What a sight to see, thousands of guys like that, sick! That was a strange thing! On the forced march, the Germans put the injured on an unmarked freight train; no Red Cross symbol on top. They used the Red Cross marked vehicles for their own troops, which was kind of dirty because our bombers wouldn’t touch a Red Cross vehicle.

Do you remember the injured man that I mentioned earlier, the man from Montreal West? He was on the train. He asked me to go with them because they needed one volunteer to help the injured. I don’t like the sight of blood actually, but I went on the train. They were bringing them for a short run for five or ten miles in this freight car and dropping them off again. So there I was – I had no serious physical problems but I was with all these fellows who had lost legs, burnt faces, all maimed in some respect. About thirty or forty were packed in – there was hardly room to move. I was alone with all this group and my job was to carry them when they had to go to the washroom. There was no washroom because it was a freight train, so I had to slide the doors open. I’d carry them, you know, some were big men, thank goodness I was used to lifting heavy weights. I’m not used to being with a lot of invalids; it’s different for the corps that specialized in it. That was I think the worst experience I had. Overnight, you’d hear the moaning – they wanted to die, you know? It was so sad it really shook me.

I don’t know how long the forced march took or how many miles we travelled but we ended up at a camp in Moosburg.

To see photos of the Moosburg camp ruins, courtesy of “Stan Instone, Sergeant Flight Engineer with 419 Squadron RCAF shot down on 20th February 1945 over Dortmund” http://www.moosburg.org/info/stalag/instoneeng.html

Then one night all was quiet. The guards had all disappeared when we got up in the morning. The Third Army came through and bang! knocked down all the fences with their tanks. We were told by our Major, the superior officer, it’s over for us now. We were to keep calm, don’t get mixed up with the civilians down in the town, don’t disturb them. We were told we could roam around as long as we came back to camp. We walked around, that’s probably when I picked up some items I have.

The Russians went down there, they raped, they stole, they beat up people, they did everything! They were a pretty wild group from the camp. They’d been treated badly; really badly by the Germans, but they retaliated badly! We stayed clear of that! I don’t remember anyone, Canadian or American beating up on anybody. We didn’t invade houses, which we could’ve. We just walked around – if a place was empty we may have walked in and just looked out of curiosity but that was it.

Then the Red Cross arrived. All those people to help us get back into shape! They fed us; they gave me a box of cereal of some kind and some milk. I remember I poured the milk into a big can and I ate the whole damn box of cereal. I got sick to my stomach for a few days.

The Dieppe prisoners, those fellows who had been in prison for four or five years, the Red Cross gave them little stoves that you turned with a crank to heat up your tea or coffee, or water. They were the first to be flown out. They flew them to Reims, France. Then they got down to the recent prisoners, you know, and the Red Cross checked us out and fed us. We got an aircraft from there and they ferried us to Reims as well. In Reims, there were German soldiers who were shining the shoes of the ex-prisoners. It was kind of embarrassing, the soldiers were muddied, and they put their boots out and got them shined by any Germans that were there. It was a strange sight!

From Reims, they moved us to Bournemouth, England. It’s a beautiful seaside town – that’s where we started off when we got overseas. later on from Bournemouth, we were sent back to Canada. While we were waiting for transport the officers got an invitation to Buckingham Palace for tea. I had a friend that wanted to go to London, I had some friends there. I wanted to have a bit of a party so I passed on the invitation to tea; I had already met the King and Princess Elizabeth while I was in the Lion Squadron.

I wanted to go to London because I had a girlfriend there. After I turned down the invite to tea, I phoned her to confirm a date. It turned out that it was over. I didn’t know that she was married; she thought her husband was dead. He was an army man. She told me her husband had been found alive. He was an officer and had been in India or someplace. She was very young and had married young. I was glad for her. It had never got to the point where I met her family. All that I knew was that her father owned some pubs. She was a lovely girl, I really liked her. In Bournemouth, we were entitled to special rations, like eggs and milk. If we went to a London restaurant we were allowed to say we were a POW, so we could get a steak. I never bothered, I never asked for anything special. I usually had fish and chips – I wanted chocolate bars but nobody had that.

In Bournemouth, we were given free rail passes and I had fourteen days’ leave. So I went to Darlington to visit my friends, the Mackenzies. They were a host family that I had met earlier in my time in Britain, we could go and eat there. There was a ground crewman and my cousin Jack who used to go visit them too. They were like a family away from home for us. One of the Mackenzie girls was a few years older than me, she had a baby girl. Her younger sister fell for my cousin Jack. I always thought of the older girl like a big sister. She came with me to a dance at the squadron, after the war, since I didn’t have a girlfriend.

The dance at the squadron was a closing party; the bomber squadron was going home. At the party, one of the Australians on the squadron looked at me and yelled, “you’re a ghost!” I guess he was in another bomber from our group. He apparently saw our plane blow up. He didn’t tell me what hit it, but he was flying in the dark. He must’ve reported it back, but he swore that nobody could’ve come out of that alive. I guess he saw the big flash, it’s just a burst of gas and oil and bombs on board, everything blew! I can understand what he was talking about because I used to take note of the bombers and all I saw most of the time, was boom! A big burst in the sky and everything disintegrated.

Since we had free rail travel, I had wanted to go to Belfast, Ireland for Michael Harris, he was our engineer on that last flight. Mike had just written to his girlfriend that he had this one last trip to finish, but of course, he was killed. It was very sad. I never made the trip, but I can’t remember why not.

After I got home, I got all my information from Ottawa; in regard to my whole life in the Air Force. I wanted to know what they did about the last flight. Apparently they found pieces on the ground of two or three of the crew, not enough to bury them. They were able to identify the aircraft.

After that journey, the Luftwaffe Corporal delivered me to the huge camp at Nuremberg. There were prisoners of all denominations. Air Force, Navy and Army were all kept separate. The Russians were kept separate.

I had been commissioned an officer early in my bombing excursions. When I got to Nuremberg I was with a group, probably about three or four Canadians in our compound or hut and about twenty-five American officers, from Lieutenant to a Major. Among the Canadians, we had a range of officers up to a Squadron Leader. I was a Flying Officer; that’s equivalent to a First Lieutenant in the American Corps.

The compound was divided into a dozen or so shacks, with thirty to forty people in each cabin. Outside there was a fence with warning wires and beyond that was another compound. In the camp, we’d sit around the little stoves we had. One time a fellow came back in and someone asked him where he had been. He said he’d been out fishing, but there were no lakes in the camp; it was a big joke.

We made ice cream when there was snow on the ground. I’d put snow in a little tin can I had and I’d throw in some raspberries from the Red Cross parcel.

With the Red Cross packages, it was very interesting how people used the parcels. In the cot next to me was a big football player, a States boy from the U.S. Air Force. When we’d get our Red Cross parcels, the little fellow in the next cot, who weighed about 110 pounds; he’d eat everything right away. The big fellow would make his parcel last for about two weeks. It was a ten or twelve-pound parcel, and you could live comfortably if you portioned it out for a while. I always thought it was funny though because the little guy would eat everything and then he’d have nothing left. He’d just get his one little potato and one little toast. There was a belly stove in the middle of our camp so we could toast the bread.

We didn’t get to eat much in the camp. Our ration, if I recall, was two small potatoes, about golf ball size. I was the bread cutter; I still had my little pen knife. The others in the camp would use the knife to shave hair off guys and I cut bread with it. We had one little loaf and I had to cut it into thirty pieces or something. I cut it thin so that everybody in our camp would get a piece of bread. Then someone would put the pieces up to the light to see which one was the fattest piece. Then they’d cut cards to see who got the fattest piece. Some of the things that went on, it’s funny today; but then it wasn’t so funny to get a skinny piece of bread, but that was the ration. I don’t remember any liquid, maybe a dirty cup of water, some days they called it tea. It was a brown liquid – just no taste to it, that’s all.

Looking back, a lot of strange things happened. In the camp, I used to follow a big American. His name was Jim Ashley; he was a professor from Virginia. He taught horticulture and knew all about what was growing around the camp. So I thought; this was interesting. He was a very charming man. He was a big, easy-going, slow-talking guy.

He was about six foot four, a big skinny guy. I walked with him around the camp perimeter for exercise. As we were walking he’d reach down to the ground and pick up a piece of green of some kind, a weed, and he’d eat it. I asked him what he was doing and he told me he could tell what was edible. So he’d pick it and I’d pick a piece right beside it – a little tiny weed. This fellow knew what he was talking about.

A friend of mine named George Brown joined the Air Force around the same time I did. George played junior hockey in Lachine. His dad was a professional golfer at the Summerlea Golf Club. George’s dad died when we were training at the Manning Depot in Lachine.; that was our first training place after joining. So he was sent home to attend his father’s funeral and he stayed with his mother for a few months before he re-joined. He ended up at the same first squadron that I was on; the Lion Squadron. When we were in the Lion Squadron didn’t he go and get shot down on his fifth operation! I thought he was dead! He came down two (people) in a parachute, in Germany somewhere. George was mid-upper gunner – he and the tail gunner, whose chute was on fire, ended up going down with George’s chute, hanging onto each other. Both survived and were captured, ending up at the same place, Nuremberg. I thought he was dead! When I arrived at Nuremberg I was walking around and this fellow yelled, hey Roche! I looked over and there’s this skinny guy. He used to weigh about 210 pounds, but at the camp, he must’ve weighed about 150 pounds. His eyes were popping out and his face was skinny. It was George! I asked him what he was doing there in the camp. He said, oh ya know, I’m on an exchange program, Germans for Canadians, you know? So I said, well that’s great, you’ll be leaving soon. I was kinda surprised – he said, come on over for a cup of tea. He was in the adjacent enclosure; we were separated by a warning wire and a fence. The Germans had a patrol with guns and dogs, they walked around continuously. I said – well it’s kinda risky! He said, ah! So I said I’d go. I waited till the guard was at the other end and then I went through the warning wire, hoping the dogs wouldn’t notice. Then I crawled under the fence. He gave me a biscuit with peanut butter from his Red Cross parcel. I had a tougher time getting back. I had to get back for headcount. I remember it was getting dark and I managed to go through the same hole in the fence to my own place. I did that only one time because that would be asking for trouble.

While I was in the camp I saw the first German jet! I was out in the yard when this jet went over and I thought, what the heck was that! It was a Messerschmitt with a fixed regular motor. Zoom! It flew over the camp going about four or five hundred miles an hour. The Jerry’s had jets before we did, as far as I know. I thought, what is that going over, because none of our aircraft could go that fast. Our aircraft went about two hundred and fifty miles an hour, was mach at two hundred and eighty miles.

A really sad thing I remember; a chap in our yard lost his mind. He was in our group, but he didn’t talk to anybody. I think he had family back home; wife and children, like that. One day, he walked to the wire fence and started to climb up. He was shot dead by the Germans. They didn’t look for whether he was sick or whatever. All they cared about was that he was climbing the wire. He didn’t have a chance with the guards!

The bread that the Germans gave to the prisoners was a wartime black bread version called ‘silage bread’. Silage is fermented grasses used to feed cattle during the winter. Since silage is fermented it was used to replace yeast that was needed to make bread but not available during the war. To make black bread the Germans used silage, fresh chopped up grass, fermented ryegrass, also chopped, and tree flour; which is a nice name for sawdust and honey was used to sweeten the mix. Rye can be tricky since it can have a fungus that causes convulsions and death and of course sawdust is sawdust. At the beginning of the war, the Germans had farm produce from the countries that they had invaded. That soon turned against them and the German population were left to fend for themselves. In Great Britain, the Germans had cut off the food supply that was shipped into the country. The British Government very quickly forced all farmers to grow food for the nation. Bread was considered a staple food and was always available to the citizens of Great Britain. Meat and pretty well everything else was rationed. Soap and all those little daily supplies that we take for granted became a luxury.

I was shot down at Wiesbaden.  

We were bombing Wiesbaden; that was our target. That last trip I made; Wiesbaden appeared to me like an easier target than the Ruhr Valley was. What we were after was kind of a camp where German soldiers rested; they were taken care of if they were overtired. Butcher Harris, as we called him, was head of the whole air force, Royal and Canadian. He was a tough guy and he had no mercy on whether it was civilians or recuperating soldiers that we bombed.

From: THE R.C.A.F. OVERSEAS THE SIXTH YEAR 

February 1945 

“In February the curve of No. 6 Group’s bomber effort began to rise once more. On ten nights during the month Canadian heavy bombers were over Germany, making sixteen attacks on oil, industrial, rail and tactical targets. In addition there were four daylight raids, one of which was abortive, and seven sea-mining operations. More than 2220 Halifaxes and Lancasters were despatched on these missions, during which 5920 tons of high explosives and incendiaries and 245 tons of mines were released. The totals of operations, aircraft and bomb tonnage represented an increase of approximately two-thirds over the previous month. On the other hand, relative losses showed a decrease. Twenty-three bombers were missing over enemy territory and ten more crashed in Britain or on our side of the lines. The R.C.A.F. Pathfinder squadron helped to mark the target on thirteen attacks in which No. 6 Group was engaged and on four other occasions when the Canadian Group was not represented. During these operations it lost three Lancasters. In air combats the Group’s bomber crews destroyed eleven enemy fighters, roughly one-fourth of the total number claimed by Bomber Command, and were credited with two probables and two damaged. An improvement in the weather, which had permitted large-scale offensive operations during the last days of January, continued through the first week of February. No. 6 Group was active five nights out of the eight, making three double attacks and two single operations. The first two-barrelled effort was against Mainz and Ludwigshafen on the 1st/2nd, when Bomber Command sent out over 1100 aircraft. The attack on Ludwigshafen, following closely upon a raid by the U.S.A.A.F., was carried out by a force of more than 350 Lancasters which included about 70 kites from No. 6 Group and the Vancouver Squadron. For the Tigers and Porcupines it was a noteworthy occasion, being their first operation on Lancs after a year on Halifaxes. 

Conditions were none too favourable for their inaugural effort. There was considerable cloud over the target, forcing most of the crews to bomb on the skymarkers. Through breaks in the cloud layer some were able to pick out the target indicators, while others used the glow on the clouds as their guide. As was to be expected the bombing was somewhat scattered at first, but by the close of the attack large fires were taking hold in the eastern end of the town, enabling some crews to distinguish buildings and streets through gaps in the clouds. In addition to the usual flak defences enemy night fighters were encountered, dropping flares along the bomber’s route. One Jerry, possibly an Me. 410, attempted to attack a Lanc of the Moose Squadron over the target area only to meet a blast of return fire which set off a large bright explosion. For a moment the enemy fighter was lost from sight in the smoke over Ludwigshafen; then it again came into view, a blazing streak arching down through the night sky. F/O D. W. Storms, D.F.M., was the victorious mid-upper gunner. A brush with another Jerry rounded out an exciting sortie for a Bluenose crew skippered by F/L L. E. Coulter. On the outward flight one engine failed, but this did not deter Coulter from continuing to the target.

Over Ludwigshafen a fault in the electrical circuit started a small fire in the bomb-aimer’s compartment. This was extinguished, the target was bombed, and course was set for base. During the return flight an enemy fighter attempted to close in, but Coulter skillfully evaded it and reached base. He subsequently received the D.F.C. The enemy defences brought down a number of bombers, but the only loss suffered by the R.C.A.F. was a Porcupine Lancaster which crashed near base on its return. S/L H. K. Stinson, D.F.C., a second tour captain, F/O D. J. McMillan, P/Os J. T. McShane, R. Pierson and E. H. Thompson (R.A.F.), all four veterans of numerous trips, were killed. F/O A. W. Bellos and P/O R. J. Thompson escaped without injury. While the six Lancaster squadrons were busy over Ludwigshafen the eight Halifax units of No. 6 Group were bombing Mainz. Over eighty Canadian kites were included in the attacking force of about 325 bombers. Similar weather conditions were encountered. At the beginning of the attack ground markers were well concentrated, but the clouds later closed in and obscured them. A good supply of sky markers enabled the crews to complete a successful attack. Through the cloud layer the glow of incendiaries and fires was clearly visible, with several explosions adding their evidence of destruction to Mainz. The city, an important rail centre at the junction of the Rhine and Main rivers with a large inland harbour, was one of the major trans-shipment ports on the upper Rhine. Extensive engineering, railway wagon and shipbuilding works added to its economic importance. Frequently bombed in the past, Mainz suffered extensive new damage this night, particularly at each end of the city’s centre. The state railway offices, town hall, police and fire stations, law court and central post offices were among the public buildings which received a severe battering. P/O W. D. Corbett of the Alouettes won the D.F.C. on the Mainz operation for completing the mission with one engine u/s and a second threatening to pack up. On the 2nd simultaneous attacks were delivered against Wiesbaden by the Lancasters and Wanne-Eickel by the Halifaxes of No. 6 Group. The latter attack was made by a force of 290bombers, including 96 Canadian Halifaxes and seven Vancouver Lancasters. Sky markers were soon lost in the solid bank of cloud which towered over the target, but their glow remained visible and navigational checks confirmed the accuracy of the Pathfinders’ work. It was, of course, difficult to make any accurate observation of the results, although the reflection of bomb bursts and photo flashes indicated the bombing was fairly well concentrated. Several explosions, three of which were particularly large, could be distinguished, followed by a red glow which developed steadily and was visible for 60 miles. Photographic reconnaissance subsequently confirmed that moderate damage was done to the synthetic oil plant at Wanne-Eickel where a fair proportion of the bomb craters lay within the target area. Four bombers did not return, including one Canadian Halifax from the Leaside Squadron flown by F/L G. H. Thomson, F/O s H. Bloch and J. T. Robinson, WO A. M. Jones and Sgts. R. R. Vallier, W. H. Haryett and R. G. E. Silver who were just beginning their operational tour. A Thunderbird Halifax, skippered by F /O J. Talocka, was hit by heavy flak over Wanne-Eickel and crashed as the pilot attempted an emergency landing at an English base. The pilot and five of the crew, F/Os J. M. Styles and S. G. Arlotte, FSs J. A. Chisamore and A. G. Bradley and Sgt. G. Needham (R.A.F.), were killed. Only the wireless operator, WO S. E. McAllister, escaped. Wiesbaden, the second objective that night, lies a few miles east of the Rhine opposite Mainz. Noted chiefly as a health resort famous for its mineral waters, the town was a centre of first importance for the assembly or rehabilitation of troops. Some industries and railroad lines added to its significance. Sixty R.C.A.F. Lancasters formed part of the attacking force of 450 bombers which found a solid bank of cloud over the target area, with tops rising to 20,000 feet. The winds varied from those forecast with the result that nearly all the aircraft were late. When the Pathfinders dropped their markers they were soon hidden in the thick clouds and ever, the glow was scarcely visible. Deprived of the customary target marking most of the crews used navigational aids for bombing. The attack in consequence was not well concentrated, the glow of incendiaries dotting an area about fifteen miles square. Photographs later showed clusters of damage well distributed over the whole town with moderate concentrations here and there. Various industries, public buildings and utilities, including the casino, municipal gas works, main railway station and freight sheds, showed signs of damage, principally from fire. Flak opposition was not severe but over Wiesbaden, as at Wanne-Eickel, some enemy fighters were in evidence. Two of the seven missing bombers came from the Moose and Ghost Squadrons. In each case, there was only one survivor. FS W. J. McTaggart, rear gunner in the Moose Lanc, later reported that his aircraft was shot down by ack-ack just after releasing its bombs. From P/O C. M. Roche, also a rear gunner nearly at the end of his tour, there came a similar report. Just as the bomb-aimer reported “bombs away” there was a terrific explosion. Semi-conscious, Roche had only a vague memory of baling out and landing in the snow near Wiesbaden. A second Ghost bomber was lost in a crash landing near base in which two veteran members of the crew, P/Os R. A. Playter and J. A. Keating, were killed. In the two missing Lancasters F/Ls D. E. Berry and C. J. Ordin, F/O C. Walford, and P/Os F. E. Hogan, J. C. Harris (R.A.F.), and K. M. Hammond of the Ghost Squadron (all credited with 28 to 30 trips), and P/O B. W. Martin; F/Os J. A. F. McDonald and R. W. Hodgson, FSs P. F. English and R. A. Nisbet and Sgt. J. McAfee (R.A.F.) of the Moose Squadron were missing, believed killed. The next night, February 3rd, was quieter with the Vancouver Squadron the only R.C.A.F. unit engaged on operations. The target, attacked by 190 Lancasters and Mosquitos, was a benzol plant near Bottrop in Westphalia. In contrast to the previous night the skies were clear. The Pathfinders did a very accurate job; the bombing was well confined and fires, explosions and great columns of black smoke indicated a successful attack. The western section of the Rheinische Stahlwerke A.G. coking plant, in particular, was very badly damaged. Although enemy fighters swarmed over the target area and along the homeward route, all eight Vancouver Lancs returned safely with one Jerry kite to their credit. West of Bottrop, on the way home, the crew of M-Mike, captained by F/O W. G. Forsberg, D.F.C., sighted and opened fire on a Ju. 88 at 300 yards’ range. The night fighter pulled up into a stall and fell away in a curving dive with its port engine on fire. Twelve thousand feet below it exploded on the ground….” 

Oxford University Press, Amen House, Toronto LONDON, EDINBURGH, GLASGOW, NEW YORK, Geoffrey Cumberlege, Publisher to the University COPYRIGHT, 1949 by OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS https://www.canada.ca/en/department-national…/book-1944-rcaf-4-years.html

 

 So that’s where I was shot down–on that target. I was blown out of the aircraft. The last voice I heard before we blew up was the bombardier in our aircraft saying something like–starboard two degrees, then straight. Then I heard him say “bombs gone!” The minute he said bombs gone– lights out! I don’t know how I got out of my aircraft. One moment I was behind the gun and then I wake up and I’m like a limp rag. At one o’clock in the morning, floating in the air and I hear the bombers going home. I recover and I look – all my connections to the aircraft were ripped out; my oxygen, my intercom and my electric suiting. That’s it!

 I know what I had been trained to do: if the Skipper says prepare to bail out then automatically the tail gunner like me – my back is to the aircraft and the door is there – automatically I turn the whole turret to the side and then reach back to make sure the door is unlocked, eh? Then after that, he would say bailout and with my hand locked on the chute then I’d jump out. There was nothing like this, I just went from a locked-in position with my back to the aircraft and then I was completely out of the plane. I can’t explain it. Who opened the chute? I must’ve made some movement to go through the opening, which is only about six inches; the guns take up space. Everything was ripped out and I had all these wires hanging down and I’m locked into a little ball out there and I can’t explain how I was separated from that thing and everybody else killed. I’ve no idea – I try to think of how. I was locked into the turret! Then I was knocked out completely in this huge explosion. In the back of my mind, I feel as though I put my arm out to try and go right over the top of the guns – there’s a small space. There’s no way I could go out there, you know. I just don’t know how I was separated without breaking something or tearing my legs, my body and my head, without ripping myself into pieces! I still can’t explain. It’d be like you’re sitting here and somebody came up and smashed the back of your head with a baseball bat. Like they whacked you full force, you’d be out of it, you wouldn’t be able to react at all. Ya, it was very strange.

I don’t even know how much time elapsed from the time that I was blown out or even how I left the aircraft I opened my eyes and I was in my parachute. It might’ve been thirty seconds or it might’ve been a half-hour. Of course, when I say I was shot down over Wiesbaden, the wind was blowing enough; it took me about ten miles away from the target. Then my parachute was open and it was kind of doubled. I must’ve been flying through space and turning over. When I came to, my chute was like two chutes–one rope was twisted, but I was swinging, I remember, and it righted itself. I could hear the drone; our gang were all going home!

I couldn’t really see but they were on their return; the bombing had been done. With the time-lapse it could’ve been a few minutes, I really don’t know, I could never explain it. I looked down, my legs were there and my arms were there. When you release the parachute you have no control over it really. I floated down. I passed out right at first after a couple of minutes because I was above oxygen. Maybe I’m at 17,000, 18,000 feet up. Then probably around 10,000 feet, I came to. 

One of the odd things I thought about when I was floating through the air was–good–I won’t have to go teach now! After my last operation, I was supposed to train new gunners. I’d make a lousy teacher! Just a couple of months before, around the 30th of December, 1944, I was sent to Manby, where there was a high-security training centre. The calibre of the machine guns that I used in the turret was being changed and it was decided I was going to be a trainer.

 At about 12,000 feet I was alert enough to land. To land in a little village. I sprained my right ankle. It was a foggy night and I came down in the darkness and boom–I hit a little heavy. It didn’t bother me that much you know when you’re young eh? So I landed in a little bit of snow and cow fertilizer in the back of a barn. I just missed a church steeple; a small church. Imagine–I’d be hanging off a church. I just missed it! 

It was winter, February 2, 1945, right near the end of the war; the war finished in May. One lady saw me land–everybody else was sleeping in that small town. 

I didn’t know at the time that I was the only one that was captured. I didn’t know what happened to my friends! 

This lady who saw me was maybe a hundred yards away–while I was sitting in the snow just reviving myself and taking stock of what I had, she said something in German. She hollered at me, but I don’t speak German. I just said–gute Nacht–I tried to fool her–I yelled–das is good (alle sind gut) or something like that to mean, all is good! I tried anyway to put her off. Then I struggled to take off my parachute but the button to open it was jammed. I had a little pen knife in my pocket that I used to cut all the ropes to get the damn thing off. 

I didn’t want to walk around dragging a parachute. I remember I bundled it up – I had my Mae West on, so I got all my things on my arm and got out of the snow. I walked–I said I better get the heck out of here because this lady might report me. I walked about a hundred yards when I saw a little creek. I remember as a kid we used to read Dick Tracy; the comics–they always walked up a creek to put the dogs off track. So I said I’ll be a smart ass! It was cold! It wasn’t deep; it was about four or five inches of water. I walked up this creek, and then I said enough of this business! Then I headed up into the mountains, a small mountain really, probably like Mount Royal. It may have been a chain of mountains. I climbed and I climbed for about an hour and the snow got deeper. I remember it started off a few inches then got deeper. While I was walking I made plans, I had a compass and my scarf had a map on it so I could try and make my way back, hide out in barns along the way. I figured maybe I could grab some chickens, eat chickens as I went along, you know anything to keep me alive. Finally, I said–oh the heck with this! I was tired and beat up; I was covered in oil–on my face–from the explosion. I had my parachute and I was carrying all this junk, I didn’t want to leave anything to identify myself. So in a little opening in the woods where there were no trees I threw the parachute on the ground, then I jumped in it with my clothes on and pulled it over top of me and went to sleep. I slept till about noon; I was exhausted–all the excitement! You know it’s strange when you’re young and kind of foolish; I don’t remember being nervous or scared, everything was sort of matter of fact. 

Today I’d need about four or five changes of underwear but at that time… So the first thing I thought of when I woke up, in case somebody comes looking for me I threw out all my identification and a few Pounds of money and my lion movie pass, it wasn’t very useful in the middle of nowhere in Germany. I had some candies and a couple of cigarettes left in a package. 

The lady who saw me the night before, she saw me drop from the sky, I guess she went and told someone. She probably said this fellow he doesn’t belong to our gang–in a parachute–they don’t just drop in! They had dogs that tracked me down, Rottweilers, some pretty hungry-looking dogs. With the dogs were a group of home guards and a Luftwaffe Corporal in charge. They all had sten guns, small submachine guns, you know. The sun was out, it was a bright day and I could see them coming. When they got within 100 yards I put my hands up and hollered out ‘ya got me, boys!’ They were a mixture of ages, young and old, might’ve been seven or eight of them in the group. All that, looking for one tough guy, but I wasn’t armed; we didn’t carry arms. It was probably a blessing that I was caught, or I would’ve been wandering through the mountains. At some point, I might’ve even run into troops from either side and both would’ve shot first and asked questions later. 

Germany’s Home Guard

1944: “Conditions inside Nazi Germany were changing. The repercussions of the 20 July bomb plot against Hitler were still playing themselves out. Public trials of men suspected of being associated with the plot demonstrated how the regime would crack down. In an increasingly paranoid atmosphere there was now even less chance that any anti-Nazi remarks might be ignored, people had to be very circumspect about what they said. The threat to Germany’s borders now seemed very real. In response the Nazis were establishing a “People’s Militia” – the Volkssturm. Conscription papers for all between 13 and 60 had already been sent out, an inaugural meeting would be held by Reichsführer SS Himmler on the 18th October – the new force would be under control of the Nazis rather than the Wehrmacht.”

From: http://ww2today.com/13-october-1944-arrested-by-the-nazis-for-undermining-moral#sthash.gynitrjc.dpuf

They brought me down to the village, paraded me along the road so the villagers could throw stones at me. Luckily I was heavily dressed, had on my electric suit, and a leather bomber jacket that I had bought in Dundee, Scotland at the St. Andrew golf course. At first, they thought I was American because the leather jacket was similar to what the Americans wore, but I took that off to show them my Canadian Air Force battle dress uniform – I had RCAF badges on my uniform. I was questioned at the town hall by a school teacher; she was very pleasant; I guess she was the only one who could speak English. All I could give her though was my name, rank and serial number. She took down that information anyway and probably turned it over to the forces or intelligence. 

The Luftwaffe Corporal was intent on bringing me to interrogation, so we walked over the mountains from that little town. One night when we stopped, I slept on the floor in a little cabin; there were a couple of offices there. I remember it was a camp full of these little boys wearing uniforms with swastikas – like a Boy Scout camp, you know; camps for children. They were all little boys, ten, twelve years old; they were being trained as Nazis, eh? Hitler’s youth movement, they all had Nazi outfits on. That I think was the most unpleasant thing I’d ever seen in all that time. It wasn’t hunger or being beaten up or solitary confinement; it was the chilling site of all these young boys dressed like Nazis.  

The next day the Corporal and I moved on. When we got close to Wiesbaden, which we had bombed a couple of nights before; we were met by a Captain in the Wehrmacht. He stuck a gun, a Luger, in my face; he was going to blow my head off! I was still being escorted by the same Luftwaffe Corporal (luckily); he turned his gun on the officer and said something. I imagine he said, this is my prisoner and I’m bringing him to the interrogation centre in Frankfurt. They had an argument for a while; then we finally got going. It was impressive that he argued with a superior officer, but the officer was an army man and he was an air force corporal. If that had been a superior officer in his own regiment it probably would’ve turned out differently. 

We came across a group of people with pitchforks and they were going to hang me in a tree! Civilians, you know! But look at it this way – if your family had just been blown up you wouldn’t be too happy with the enemy just dropping in. I felt everything kind of a matter of fact; to me, I was kind of resigned – well, so what – it’s the end of me. The Corporal turned his gun on them, and told them – this is my prisoner! They turned away finally, they were all mad and it was no wonder! He brought me a little further and left me overnight at a jail. It was an old jail; the top part was all blown to bits but it still had some underground dungeons. I remember a couple of the guards were told by the Captain of the jail to take me downstairs. These fellas had been drinking and they had their girlfriends down there. They roughed me up a bit then they both grabbed me and threw me down a flight of stairs; about twelve stairs. When they grabbed my arms, I was asking for trouble! I hung on to them and all three of us went rolling down the stairs. They had a few drinks, thank God! They opened a cell underground in the dungeon and left me there overnight. 

The next day the Corporal turned up again and brought me further on and left me with a bunch of black-shirted SS gang. They were a nasty crowd! The SS wore black shirts with the Swastika on their arms. They were like police, these guys, like a national police force. I wasn’t too happy! They scowled at me and grumbled in German. I slept there one night and then the Corporal proceeded to bring me to the interrogation centre, where I stayed for a couple of weeks. On the way I met another prisoner; he was RAF, I remember giving him my gloves because his hands were burned. These were nice leather gloves with a button on the cuff, but he needed them more than I did. He was very nervous and said he wasn’t going to talk to the Germans. He told me not to talk, no matter what they do, even if they shoot me. I don’t know why I was so calm, I told him not to worry about it, they’re not going to shoot anybody. I was trying to calm him down. We knew the end of the war was coming, but not when. It could’ve been in the spring or the summer. I was always optimistic, I don’t remember being downhearted or scared, maybe it was just because of my age. If they had shot me – I thought – what the heck! We’re the enemy and we did a lot of damage to them. I wasn’t very brave though. 

The interrogation centre had solitary confinement and they’d keep you as long as they wanted to try and get information. In the waiting area, I was interviewed by a man who spoke English quite well. He was very pleasant; he offered me a Camel cigarette. The only time I smoked was when I joined the forces, I didn’t smoke before. So I took it and told him – you know the Geneva Convention, all I can give you is name, rank and number. He said okay, and he cut it short then. They put me in a little cell; it was about 8 feet x 4 feet wide with a little bunk. They’d send a man in civilian clothes around but he didn’t bother me. 

He went next door and there was a young American boy in there, his whole crew I guess were captured and they were in different rooms. I heard the civilian man, a German chap – the interrogator – he said: you know – all your boys – we just want to know what station you’re on and ask a few questions. Your boys are going to be leaving tomorrow; they’re all going to a regular prison camp. It was probably Nuremberg, but we didn’t know that at the time. So he said we just want some information. The American asked if they were really going and he answered, oh ya, they’re all going; we don’t need them anymore. You’re going to be the only one that’s staying here. 

I got into a little trouble there – I started singing ‘bullshit is all the band can play!’ I knocked on the wall while I was singing. They sent a guard around, funny thing, I’m laughing about it now. The guard yelled ‘shut up!’ in German. I knew what he was saying though, but I didn’t hear the American talking anymore. 

They called me out periodically. One time I was sitting at a little table and there was a light fixture above the table. The interrogator was very pleasant and he spoke perfect English – he was asking for information. He’s not really going to waste his time. He left a big book in front of me, and then a sergeant came to the door and asked to see him, so he stepped out for a while.

Being a nosy guy and also being conscious that they weren’t stupid, I figured the room was probably wired. I’m sure that in the fixture above me there was a camera, you know.

When he left the room this book was right there in front of me. It said something about information. I started turning the pages, turning each page at the same speed trying to be casual about it. A number of the pages I looked at really shocked me, though I didn’t want to show it. My head was down in case there was a camera. They knew more about my own squadron than I knew about it! I think they probably get people who are on medication, people who are badly injured or something and of course, they’ll talk! If someone’s full of medication of some sort and they talk, it’s not their fault. I was amazed! Then I just closed the book, in case they were watching. My gosh, they were asking me for information about radar and things. I don’t know anything, I’m not a navigator! Radar! These are the things they always wanted to know about. I knew my job as a rear gunner and that’s all I had time for.

In the interrogation center, in my tiny room that was just big enough to fit me and a cot, there was a little knob on the door. I decided to take the wiring out of my electric suit; I had no more use for it, no place to plug it in. With the little knob on the door handle; I played ringers just to pass the time. I made little rings with the wires and threw them onto the handle and I won every time! I beat everybody I played with! (There was no one else in the room) So they kept me for about another week and they kept going back over the routine, you know, name, rank and the rest. Then finally they threw me out. 

They brought me to a small camp. I don’t know what it was called or where it was. At this camp, I bumped into a fellow from the west end of Montreal. He had a bad leg injury, his leg was broken. He landed in France, or crashed in France; the Germans had controlled that part of France. Some people on a farm took him in, got him out of his uniform and put him in overalls to look like a French workman. Then gangrene set in, I think, and they were afraid he’d lose his leg. So they thought it was advisable to put him back in his uniform and turn him over to the Germans. Then he’d get medication to save the leg, eh, ‘cause that’s one thing at that point; they would look after an injury. So he had all the treatment and was in this small camp that I was in while we were on our way to Nuremberg. Later it ended up I carried him for a while when we were on our forced march out of Nuremberg. 

I don’t remember much about the transportation from one place to another with the Corporal, on our way to Nuremberg. It took us a while to get there, a week or two. At one point we were on a public tram, there were people sitting down all around and of course, they were all looking at us. The corporal had a gun but he wasn’t too obvious about it. We were instructed before, maybe about halfway through my operations – when it looked pretty darn good for our side – that if we were captured not to be too smart aleck about it. Just surrender and go with them, don’t fight them. Earlier in the war, I carried a .38. They stopped that, I had no gun when I was shot down in the end, in other words for self-defence, you know. 

The Corporal and I got off the tram and then we had to walk along a crowded street. A man nudged me and quietly said in English something like, keep your chin up, it’s going to be over soon! I guess it was one of our spies or one of the allied armies who was in the city in advance of the troops; he was someone who spoke perfect English. I had a guard behind me with a gun; we were separated by a yard or two and this fellow is telling me it’ll be over soon! I didn’t even have a chance to look, he just disappeared into the crowd, you know. I don’t know who it was, he was in civilian dress, not in a uniform, and he spoke perfect English. He saw me as a prisoner with a guard at my back, and then he just got mixed up with the crowd and vanished! I don’t know if the Corporal even noticed or would be bothered. I was very fortunate that this German fellow was doing his job in a disciplined manner. If that happened in Canada or the United States, our people, I don’t know if they’re all that disciplined. German people are disciplined; I would’ve been long gone otherwise. 

It breaks my heart that I never saw the Corporal after the war. He saved my life. I didn’t know how to find him after the war.

The other time I remember travelling with the corporal was when we hitched a ride on a truck. It was transporting other prisoners of war. At one point we all had to jump out into a ditch. A fighter plane came down with a machine gun because the truck wasn’t marked. Luckily, we weren’t all killed although there were injuries. Maybe the fellow realized that there were prisoners of war. There was always a danger if your transportation wasn’t marked, like with the Red Cross symbol that your own people may come down shooting. 

After the truck, the corporal dropped me off at a big hospital in Wiesbaden for the night. It was a recovery place for German soldiers. It must’ve been about five or six stories high, and they put me in a cell on the fifth floor. That night the alarm went off for a bombing raid by our people. They came to the cell and said, ‘rouse, rouse! ’  It meant get up, eh. They opened the gate and I said, look I’ll stay here, I’m okay. They said no way in German and forced me to go down into a bomb shelter in the basement of the hospital. I was surrounded by, I don’t know, maybe a few hundred wounded German soldiers! I thought, holy man, here I am the enemy, and the enemy is bombing the place, and I’m down here with all these Germans. Of course, they’re grabbing me looking for souvenirs and stuff. I’m just sitting there! You can’t argue with four hundred people. That wasn’t a very pleasant experience but it just lasted for, I guess, half the night or something, then I went back up to the cell. 

Wiesbaden means ‘meadow bath’ and was a popular spa area for the rich for centuries. At one time there were twenty-seven hot springs but now there are only fifteen. Wiesbaden was on the allied bombing list from 1940-1945 and had, in that period, sixty-six days of bombing. Hitler’s youth were children, who had no choice in the matter but were taught to hate, to fight, and to kill. They had a long succession of previous German youth groups to follow as models. The industrial, materialistic world of the early nineteen-hundreds prompted youth to break free from their families and society to become romantic wanderers. By the time World War 1 started the youth groups felt that war would cleanse society of its fascination with industry. In 1914 thousands of youth belonging to a group named Wandervogel swarmed the British in battle. Over 1,200 youth, which was more than half of the group, did not survive. The remainder dwindled to almost nothing. The dead children became national heroes. Then the youth groups turned into anti-democratic political activists. Some were communist groups, while others were already part of the Hitler Youth in the early years of Hitler’s reign. When Hitler was exploiting the unstable Weimar regime, the youth groups became unstable looking for a common cause. Former, older, youth league members tried to become leaders of the younger ones causing chaos in the leagues. Hitler and his party seized the moment becoming sympathetic to the youth to bring them into the fold. They were promised a place in the dream of a thousand-year Reich. On January 30, 1933, Hitler became the German Chancellor. At the same time, the separate youth groups were absorbed into the Hitler youth league, one hundred thousand strong. By the end of 1936, there was 5.4 million Hitler youth aged ten to eighteen years old. In a further attempt to wipe out all other remaining youth groups, their leaders were sent to concentration camps. Hitler’s youth were responsible for street fighting and bullying others, they destroyed synagogues, beat up Jews and Catholic priests, and publicly humiliated Jewish women.

The Boy Scouts who were one of the last hold outs and had been left alone for a long time were attacked; beat up by gangs of youngsters. The Gestapo then clamped down on any other stray youth group. Hitler wanted unity of youth so no religious groups, communists or any other political groups were allowed. As the war progressed, orphans were brought to the camps to be taken care of. The children had a uniform to wear, black shorts or pants and a khaki shirt for the boys and a blue skirt and white blouse for the girls. Boxing became a favourite sport for the boys since it was a favourite of Hitler. The children also went on long hikes, played war games and there was instruction in the use of firearms for the boys. The younger boys started out with air guns and the older boys used rifles. The older boys were also allowed to carry handguns. Some children’s camps became specialized. Those interested in flying were trained with gliders and later welcomed into the Luftwaffe. Some children were in sailing instruction; others learned all about cars and motorcycles, horseback riding, communications, phones and Morse code. There were camps for children who were musically inclined. The only music allowed was German, military music or songs about the Führer. The main objective of all of the camps was for war training. Around the time that Charles was captured, in 1945, children as young as ten were being put on the front lines with tragic results. The war training could not prepare them for the horrific reality of battle.

Camp training for girls was not as rigorous as it was for boys. Girls were expected to learn all the skills a good German wife and mother would need. In 1938 the leader of the youth league, Schirach and Hermann Goring decreed that all teenage girls had to have at least one year of work as a farm labourer or household maid. This unpaid child labour helped fill a labour void. By 1941 all unmarried women were ordered to work in munitions factories and hospitals, also as telephone operators and stenographers. For those Germans who had re-settled in Germany from Poland, the young Hitler women had to teach them proper German and Nazi standards for bringing up children. Girls also had to collect medicinal herbs or supervise younger camp children.

As time went on and more men were part of the war machine, including youth who were old enough to join the army, girls and young women assumed jobs like tram conductor, postal worker, and work in police and fire stations. They also had to operate soup kitchens for the bombed-out homeless population. The SS also found a need for young women to work in concentration camps. Not all became cruel, and some were allowed to leave, but one Hitler youth, Irma Grese, revelled in cruelty. At the age of twenty-three, she was hanged as a judgement in the Nuremberg trials. All the children in Hitler’s youth league were being used. Young, underage girls were picked up by soldiers and Nazi leaders as well. Girls were taught that their only function in life was to bear children, to populate the new German order. Legalities like protecting these young girls were unimportant. Early on in the quest for a homogeneous Hitler youth, there were some teens who decided to defy orders to join up. They were a small group from wealthy families and the teens liked to collect American jazz music and party. In other words, they were like teenagers of every generation. A special concentration camp was created for wayward youth with this group as the first prisoners; put there to teach them a lesson.

 

 

In April 1944, I went to my first RCAF squadron. I was in three different squadrons.  The first one was the Lion Squadron, number 427, a Canadian squadron. Our barracks were in Skelfield manor house which had been turned into a private school and then taken over by the RAF during the war. It was a large estate at the back of the base. It was quite impressive quarters! The house had big fireplaces in each bedroom to heat the house. The gardens were landscaped with statues of lions and other animals. There was even a swimming pool on the grounds. With the 427 Lion Squadron, I did about three or four operations. I did the French operation around D-Day time.

I had a life pass to the movies because my first squadron was sponsored by Metro-Goldwyn Mayer. They gave us a life pass – a little red badge – a pass for the movies; anywhere that MGM had a movie. I don’t know if I ever got to use it in London; if they had any movies when I was on leave.

When I was in the Lion Squadron I met King George VI and Princess Elizabeth. The King was flying back from India and Princess Elizabeth, who was a lorry driver, came from London to greet her father. When the King stepped off the aircraft they had a big red carpet running out. I was a squadron marker; I had to stand there before everyone lined up, eh? I was at ease of course when they were putting the carpet down and then the King came down the steps of the airplane. The wind was blowing and the Princess was off to the right of the aircraft and saw him come down. He got to the carpet and started to walk and I guess the wind blew the carpet against his legs and the carpet rolled up. Out of the corner of my eye, I was looking at the Princess with a big grin on her face to see her father walking along the carpet which was blowing up behind him.

We then went into the intelligence room of the base to show them what was going on. The King and the Princess interviewed me and my friend Pete Wilsher (a friend from Dorval). I remember the Princess said to me, something like – you’re rather tall to be a gunner. I told her I was in the minority, but there were a few other tall gunners.

All Canadian squadrons were based in Yorkshire. I was transferred later from the Lion Squadron. My original crew from that squadron were all killed.

I had been called back to a training unit in Topcliffe, England over a misunderstanding about the checking out of a harness that I used while I had been there. After our training in Topcliffe, one of the other crew offered to bring the harness back inside for me, then we were going by truck back to our squadron. The guard at the gate told me the harness hadn’t been checked in yet. So I told him what happened; it must’ve been put back in the wrong locker. I gave him a quid, so he could find the harness and let me get on the truck. I didn’t want to be stuck there! Later on, I was called back to Topcliffe because I was being court marshalled because of a bribery charge over the same incident with the harness! A woman who worked in the base office had seen the whole thing and said it was a bribe. In the end, at the court marshal, she couldn’t identify me, so the charges were dropped.

So I got separated from my crew. While I was gone there was a man who replaced me as a rear gunner. When I got back to the squadron he didn’t want to leave. He said – no, I’m happy with this squadron, with this group. I didn’t put up an argument. My best friend said – sorry you’re not coming back!

Didn’t they go out for a trip and they were all killed! One of the crew was Johnny Williamson, the one I talked about earlier when we had to find our way back to base from the Midlands. He was mid-upper gunner, he and I were part of only a few who were really tall to be gunners. Johnny’s name is in the newspaper clipping “Quebecers Graduate as Wags”, even though he was from New Brunswick.

Charlie waited a long time before he told me about the close encounter with being court marshalled. With a bit of internet research, I found out that a lot of Canadians were brought to court marshal or came very close to being court marshalled. These were young men who in times of peace would not have joined the armed forces. Young men can get up to pranks, like the story of two brothers who stole a chicken. Food supply in Great Britain was very serious because no food was able to be shipped by sea. Luckily for the brothers, their Company Commander stuck up for them by reminding the British that Canadians were doing a lot to help in the war. Sending them home would not help the war effort at all. There are other stories about Canadians not being in proper uniform, according to RAF officers – one Canadian wasn’t wearing his gloves! Another Canadian told his tale of washing his uniform; while waiting for it to dry he went to a nearby pub in his civilian clothes. An officer saw him out of uniform and complained. The RAF officers were often career military and seemed to have a hard time coping with what they considered to be lax, colonial Canadians.

My friend George was on his fifth operation when he crashed; I didn’t know till 1945 that George had survived. Some airmen had their accidents on their first operation. Others didn’t reach that point – some fellows I knew from the west end of Montreal; they were killed at Topcliffe on the training unit I was on.

We crashed there but some survived. We were on Wellington bombers at that time. We lost Frank Grey, I think and Dawson. The Dawson family of Montreal, they were a printing company. Ricky Dawson went to school with me and he was killed in training at Topcliffe.

For a few weeks or so my duty was to escort those who went to be court marshalled. At one point – I remember the Commander – he said – well, you can fly or not fly. I said, listen I’m over here as a gunner, to fly! I don’t care who I fly with, you know, I’ll fly as a spare with anybody. I’ll get my operations in – my thirty trips in. You know some were fussy about – you get one pilot and crew, it’s like a team; like a hockey team. If I joined Canadians and a year later they traded me to Detroit or Boston, okay!

Then I went to 419, the Moose Squadron. That was at the base in Middleton, St. George. I was replacing a chap there who had bailed out; they were damaged. When the skipper says prepare to bail out, you just get ready, but this fellow misunderstood and jumped. He jumped from his tail turret into France, but he was okay. So I came along and that’s why I replaced him. He found his way back to the squadron, we were still operating but they didn’t use him anymore, because I had taken his place. I saw him around the squadron; I was sitting with our group and he came along and started kidding. I don’t think he got in trouble for bailing out; he may have behind the scenes, but none of us heard any more about it. He wasn’t even in official uniform; he put something gold on his hat – what the hell! It didn’t look like it was legal. You had to be very careful about the uniform.

The rest of the crew in the Moose Squadron finished their tour because they were already advanced, so I was transferred to the Ghost Squadron. Ghost Squadron was No. 428 Squadron. That was my last squadron, my last trip, twenty-nine and a half trips! On February 2, 1945, we went down over Wiesbaden, Germany.

We were taught, through intelligence training to be aware of a number of things; for instance not to carry money. I carried it – but I was very careful when I was shot down. I buried my life pass to MGM theatre. I took my money and I thought this is tough ‘cause I’m pretty tight with a buck. I had to throw all these pound notes in a little package. I threw it deep in the snow away from where I was. I wrapped it up in some little paper I had in my pocket.  I knew that when I was captured they would take everything out of my pockets. They checked, so I had nothing to identify, except that I was RCAF, I had a Canada badge, and I gave name, rank and number.

I was ninety-nine days a prisoner. So, it was a little over three months, from the time they captured me.

Naming the Canadian Squadrons during the Second World War was not a unique idea. It had been done before for Commonwealth nations who were under the control of the British Royal Air Force.

In 1943, the Canadian No. 6 Bomber Group was formed. By 1945, we had forty-eight RCAF squadrons, sponsored and supported by Canadian groups or communities.

When Charlie was old enough to join, he went overseas when the RCAF had established itself. After just mentioning that Canadian squadrons were sponsored by Canadians, Charlie’s first squadron, the Lion, was the exception. RCAF’s public relations headquarters appealed to Metro-Goldwyn Mayer to sponsor the 427 Squadron. The benefits would be for the Canadians to be entertained by Hollywood stars, which up till then only entertained the American troops. Each RCAF aircraft was adopted by a movie star. The mascot was a bronze lion statue and each and every member was given a lifetime movie pass.

According to records of MGM’s sponsorship, the movie pass was a “small bronze medallion on a leather thong”. The Lion Squadron was honoured to have MGM sponsor them; even if it was a publicity coup for the movie company. During the war, the movie theatres, CBC Radio and the Wings Abroad publication provided information to the Canadian public about what was happening so far away. It must’ve pleased Canadians to have such sponsorship and helped to grab the imagination in a better way than all the doom and gloom news.

Charlie was transferred from the Lion to the Moose squadron. All of the named squadrons had their own special reasons for the name. The Moose Squadron was the only one named after their leader. Wing Commander John Fulton of Kamloops, British Columbia, nicknamed, ‘the Moose’ was an RAF veteran. He had joined the RAF in 1935. In his mid-twenties, he was appointed the commander of the new 419 Canadian squadron.

There are leaders who lead by discipline and feel they stand above the rest. Happily, there are also leaders like John, ‘the Moose’, Fulton. By all accounts, he was popular and intelligent, and everyone would gladly do anything he wanted. Unofficially the squadron named themselves the Moose Squadron and the members were ‘moose men’. The Mayor of London, senior members of the RCAF and other B.C. units honoured WC Moose Fulton and his squadron. Kamloops, B.C. adopted them; which meant that they were the sponsors for the Moose Squadron.

Unfortunately, Wing Commander Fulton and crew went missing shortly after the party in their honour. On an operation to Hamburg, in foul weather, Fulton’s plane was attacked by a night fighter. A search party went out the next day but there was no sign of the airplane. It was a sad day for the Moose Squadron.

Charlie’s third and last squadron was No. 428, the Ghost Squadron. When other squadrons were taking on identities, this group at first called themselves, ‘The Nameless’ Squadron. There’s no explanation why they felt they were nameless by they finally decided to call themselves the ‘Ghost Squadron’. The reason for the name was simple – night bombing was what Canadians were well known for; the squadron appeared like a ghost in the air and then disappeared back to base.

The 408 Squadron, ‘Goose’ was the first to submit a request for a heraldic squadron badge to the Chester Herald; the official office for military heraldry. The request and design then had to be approved by the King. Oddly enough, this was one protocol that the Canadians didn’t mind going through. Being part of a large, British run war machine was made more individual and Canadian. The RCAF overseas became known as the ‘flying menagerie’.

I had to spend a lot of time developing night vision. We had to be able to recognize planes on a screen in a dark room – they’d be very vague, eh?  You’d spend hours training like that.  Another course we took was aircraft recognition. We’d take it in daylight and we’d take it in the dark; to recognize what kind of plane was coming in – if it was one of our own or the others.  It was mostly the others. We’d go in escorted by fighters so we knew it was a fighter plane; we knew the Messerchmitt when we saw one. The Messerschmitt was the biggest of the German fighters; they had a number of fighters.   

At ground school, we’d shoot at drones dragged by another small plane, antiquated equipment!  At the same time, I had to wear a helmet, hooked up with earphones.   

We were taught to go in the pitch-black night in our bombers.  We very seldom fought fighters – if we saw a fighter we were taught to do evasive action.  If I fired every time I saw a fighter somewhere in the sky we’d give away our position and become tracer bullets, eh? It lights up – so if you go and shoot a fighter, another fighter might be up above you and see you bullets; in the dark, he’d know where you were. Our practice was – the tail gunner or mid-upper gunner – if we spotted a fighter coming in and they got to a certain range, I forget the exact range we’d have our little range finder; we’d tell the skipper to dive to starboard or port; he’d dip that big wing.  We’d drop the wings and dive, evasive action. You couldn’t do that I don’t think on a B17, but our bombers – zoom!  If the fighter was coming too fast we would move down, he’d shoot, but we’d be gone already.  He’d be looking for somebody else to shoot down because we’d be gone. So that was what they called evasive action.  My gosh!  I haven’t used those terms in fifty or sixty years! 

U.K. historian, Rob Davis found a good description of the R.A.F. evasive action in more detail:
“The .303 inch (7.9mm) calibre machine guns of the R.A.F. air-gunners were outgunned by the 20mm and 30mm cannon carried by the Luftwaffe – but the R.A.F. air-gunners would not open fire unless attacked by a night-fighter; their guns were defensive. Although the .303’s rate of fire was 12 rounds per second, and its effective range reckoned to be 400 yards, at night if within visible range, the night-fighters were also within range of the .303s.

Mid-upper and rear-gunners were isolated from their crewmates except via intercom and had to stay alert for long periods in subzero temperatures. Their fields of fire overlapped somewhat; the mid-upper could rotate through 360 degrees. Helped to some extent by the Taylor combined electrically-heated suit and Mae West lifejacket, as well as heated mittens and gloves, their alertness was vital. They could call for a corkscrew (violent evasive action) at a moment’s notice. The trick was to take evasive action inside the attacking curve of the fighter, forcing him to steepen his turn in order to be able to shoot into the space where the bomber was expected to be by the time the bullets and shells arrived. The corkscrew manoeuvre was so described because when viewed from directly astern, the pattern created by the bomber was corkscrew-shaped. Dive port, climb port, roll, dive starboard, climb starboard, roll…and good air-gunners, knowing what was happening next, could fire into the space where they expected the night-fighter to be.

Few night fighter crews persevered with an attack after the bomber had spotted them, and fewer still night fighter pilots had the skill to stay with a corkscrewing bomber and shoot it down as they danced together. A determined and experienced bomber pilot could make the evasive manoeuvre so violent that rivets popped out of the aircraft. Aircraft were actually only borrowed by the aircrew; the aeroplane “belonged” to its ground crew”.”

Quote from: Royal Air Force (RAF) Bomber Command 1939-1945, viewed Feb. 2015

I don’t remember much about travelling around to the different training units in Canada.  I suppose we travelled by train.  No. 3 Bombing and Gunnery School in Manitoba was the last training centre I went to. From there we went on leave to spend time with our families; to say goodbye before going overseas, to war. 

When they finally sent me overseas; I was first shipped to Halifax.  We arrived in Halifax on a dark night and under the cover of darkness they put us on a train.  Everyone thought – what the heck is going on here?  We expected to get on a ship.  By train they sent us to Camp Myles Standish on the American coast, I believe it was in Massachusetts, I’m not too sure. We stayed overnight, and the next day we were moved to New York where they put us on the Queen Mary! 

So here we were on the Queen Mary and there were other ships as well, the Normandie, (later named the USS Lafayette) and the RMS Queen Elizabeth, full of troops.  Those were three of the biggest touring ships.  Glamorous!  Luxurious cabins, huge dining rooms – here we were!  The cabins were built for two people; we piled in fourteen or fifteen guys.  When they found out I was a gunner, I still have a badge – a white badge; I was able to go upstairs because they put me in charge of a big sixteen-pounder – a great big gun to fend off the U-Boats. 

They (the cruise ships) zigzagged – they took about ten days normally and they zigzagged.  They’re too fast for submarines.  The U-Boats liked to pick on the slow freighters. 

We had thirteen thousand on the Queen Mary if I recall.  When we got to the other side we were short four or five fellows.  The Americans had crap games running.  In the crap games, when they didn’t like someone they threw him overboard.  Ya, we were four or five short, I guess out of thirteen thousand that’s not bad!  The fellows that were lost; they weren’t too happy.  The navy and the merchant marine were escorting and protecting us; they had to pick up the lost fellows.

Charlie didn’t leave for oversees from Halifax probably because the city and the port were already full to capacity.

I lived in Victoria, B.C. in the 1980s and it was a stop for American warships. The downtown area would suddenly be packed with American sailors. They did the local economy some good but it was difficult to get into restaurants, stores and bars, sailors were everywhere! That gives me an idea of what Halifax was like during the war, except that the port was full and the city was inundated with troops waiting to go overseas. Instead of seeing it as a difficult time the people who lived there did their best to be friendly and helpful.

The CBC has a very good short doc on Halifax during the war. CBC Player, Dancing Was My Duty

The cruise ships, Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth had been refitted to carry troops but were still quite glamorous as troop carriers.

The French cruise ship, Normandie, had been seized by the U.S. when it docked in New York on September 3, 1939. It’s unclear if it was ever used as a troop carrier. Renamed, the USS Lafayette, the U.S. were in the process of converting it to a carrier. On February 9, 1942, it caught fire and turned on its side.  

The ship to Great Britain was packed stem to stern with members of most branches of the armed forces, Canadian and American. 

When the ship docked at Bournemouth, which was the central depot for arrivals; the various personnel were sent off to their new bases. Charlie ended up at an airbase in Yorkshire in the RCAF’s 427 Lion Squadron. 

According to Pierre Berton’s “Marching as to War – Canada’s Turbulent Years”, Prime Minister Mackenzie King wanted the RCAF to have our own squadrons instead of getting lost among the RAF. There were a large number of Canadians fighting the war in all branches of the forces from the onset. Yet, they were largely unsung heroes, far from home. The RAF, along with the British Navy and Army had a long history of career officers from the upper classes who had been less than keen on mingling with colonials. History did repeat itself. By the Second World War, it was often difficult to distinguish just who the enemy was when the British seemed more focused on putting the Canadians in their place instead of fighting in the real war. 

The Royal Canadian Air Force was reshaped after much discussion between politicians. The RCAF was already in Great Britain but it became more cohesive in 1943 as the No. 6 Group; twelve of which were bomber squadrons based in England. There were some success stories of Canadians who stayed in the British Royal Air Force throughout the war, like Charlie’s brother Norbert. 

When I was in Britain, as part of my training, I took a British Commando course.  The course was in Sherwood Forest.  It struck me because when I was a youngster it was Robin Hood, Friar Tuck and the boys, and here we were!  If I recall it was near Ossington, you see it comes back!  Commando training was about how to survive; I really liked that course!  I often think I should’ve been in the army instead of sitting at the back end of a plane.  

During the course, they taught us how to crawl on the ground as soldiers do.  I found it easy, anyone into sports had already done that one in sports training, but some guys found it difficult.  We also had to learn how to sneak up on someone and use wire around the neck as a garrotte. There was also grenade training; we already had weapons training.  Commandos and spies had to learn a lot more than that, like shooting from the hip or shoulder, placing bombs to blow up bridges, stalking, camouflage; probably with burnt cork rubbed onto the face.  They also had boxing and unarmed fighting, but we had already covered that.  In Manitoba we had a big guy who trained us boxing and self-defence; I think he was a football player, he was huge! 

We didn’t have to do navigation, we were already taught that.  At St. Jean, Quebec, we had to be able to recognize lakes and streams from the air for visual navigation.  At Kingston, we were taught star navigation.  I did carry a compass, which I kept in my boot, it was supposed to be carried in an upper pocket.  In 1945, I lost my compass; it must’ve fallen out of my boot when I was upside down in the air.  I wore a scarf map but don’t remember ever using it. 

Part of the survival course was to learn how to get back to base. They dropped us off somewhere in England, in the Midlands, about thirty miles away and told us to make our way back. The idea was to travel through wooded areas and live by our wits. The citizens of the towns along the way were told to look out for us. They were advised not to help us and to report us if we were seen. I was with my friend Johnny Williamson. He looked like a football player. I would’ve liked to be his size, since I played a lot of sports, but I was a skinny, wiry guy. Johnny had wide shoulders and looked a lot like Clark Gable. Actually, Clark Gable was on another squadron nearby.

Johnny didn’t like exercise and wasn’t into sports. So as soon as it was dark we headed into the nearest town. Nobody noticed us. We found a pool hall that was closed; so we broke in and went to sleep on a couple of the pool tables. Some men came in, in the middle of the night and woke us up. They told us we were caught so we had to give them our names and numbers. So I said I was Sgt. Joe Smith and my number was R20719. Big John was sound asleep on the other table. They woke him up, though I realized he must’ve heard the whole thing because he gave a fake name and number as well.

They let us go, so we made our way to the railway station. We didn’t have any tickets but we got on the train anyway; I don’t know how we got away with it. We went for a number of miles back to the camp. When we got off there was a man with a truck who gave us a lift right to the camp gates. We hardly had to walk at all; maybe a mile in between. It was supposed to be about survival. We were told we were the first ones back.

So here we were sitting on our cots waiting for the rest of them – they showed up a couple of days later. Most of the guys had gone through the woods, got lost, and were probably starving. I thought – what the hell – Johnny is a buddy of mine, he doesn’t like exercise, so I couldn’t just leave him alone; he’d probably get lost.   

Camp X in Ontario taught spies the same techniques that commandos had to know.  Among other assignments these spies or operatives often had to go to Europe to rescue crews from downed allied planes and bring them back to safety; usually with the aid of the French underground operatives.  A really good book about Camp X and spies and operatives in WWII is: “Camp X: Canada’s School for the Art of Secret War”, by David Stafford, 1986. 

In Great Britain during the war, commando training was done in different regions, according to different terrain. The elite training camp was at Achnacarry Castle in Scotland for all allied countries. The British commandos today are the Royal Marines; they joined the army commandos in 1942.

My favourite military band is the Royal Marines. Take a look at: https://youtu.be/popbL1JuGqM

Did you know? The RAF’s nickname for all rear-gunners was “arse end Charlie”