This final story in Janine Harrington’s weighty book: ‘RAF 100 Group, Kindred Spirits – Voices of RAF & USAAF on secret Norfolk airfields during World War Two’ published by Austin Macauley, offers a different perspective to those which have gone before, with a unique insight into the world of subterfuge.
‘I was Ground Crew, having been rejected for Air Crew on the grounds of ENT (Ear, Nose, Throat), but trained as a Wireless Operator Mechanic. By some fluke I became a ‘specialist’ in radio and radar equipment and, being young at the time, volunteered for anything just for the excitement. My civilian occupation was that of a Compositor (typesetter in hot metal printing, no longer used).
Whenever an RAF bomber was shot down but remained intact, the Germans would thoroughly inspect all its equipment and, if need be, devise an ‘Anti-Device’. We would devise improved versions. These were originally tested on Operations by the designer Boffin; if that aircraft was shot down, we lost a Boffin too. Hence, Operational Testing was passed onto ‘Other Ranks’. We were more dispensable!
I was overseas at the time. There were few Wireless Mechanics in the RAF who could receive and send Morse Code. On five occasions I was sent for by my Signals Officer and told that a volunteer was required by Bomber Command for a Special Operator; since I was qualified for that task, would I volunteer? It was an urgent matter. Being fearless, I could only say: ‘Yes’. I was flown to RAF Northolt, taken to a Manufacturer for familiarisation and Briefing; then flown to a Bomber Squadron for the Special Operation.
Plessey and Boffin Bob Roberts can easily be recalled. From memory, the aircraft was always a modified Halifax which comfortably took ‘aircrew member No. 8’ on board. The Operation was more difficult because ‘results’ were written in a form of code in case of capture, but I doubt if I would have withstood any torture without spilling the beans.
On return, after de-briefing and a sleep, I was whisked back overseas to await the next ‘Special Operation’.
Since I was only an LAC (Leading Aircraftsman) and the minimum aircrew rank was Sergeant, I ‘borrowed’ a Sergeant’s jacket for the flight out and back and actually received that rank’s pay (just the two days involved). What generosity!
On the very first Special Operation, I was sworn to secrecy even hearing the words ‘under sentence of death’ for any disclosure of operations, place names, equipment used, people involved, dates, etc. This put great fear in me. I remember hiding my personal camera and never using it again out of sheer fear.
Whenever I arrived on a Norfolk RAF Station, I was always ‘Confined to Barracks’ with visits so brief I never even knew the Station’s name or even the Squadron No. of the aircraft I was flying in; with one exception – ‘Little Snoring’. It is from where we flew and came back to on my last trip. There were no ‘signposts’ around to give me a clue as to where I was anyway, and I was forbidden to speak with airmen or anyone bringing me food, etc as I continued to eat and sleep alone.
At that time, if it was ever mentioned, Group 100 meant nothing to me.
Although being Ground Crew, I did do an awful lot of flying: testing equipment, especially Air Tests whilst on RAF Transport Command.
On Repatriation, I was posted to RAF Uxbridge where I was ‘attached’ to many operations:
•High Speed Flight at RAF Tangmere where Group Captain Donaldson and Squadron Leader Townsend reached the fastest speed of 470 mph in the jet-engine Meteor,
•Air Ministry, London, to install the ‘Direction Finding Beam’ from Air Ministry roof for the very first Flypast, which was a long one,
•Ending up at RAF Duxford on No. 91 Squadron, equipped with Meteor aircraft.
I was de-mobbed in January 1947 only to find myself still an Apprenticed Compositor and having to serve out my time, aged twenty-four.
All this sounds like a Fairy Tale, but the memories are still as vivid now as the events some 70 odd years ago. Having survived whilst some of my school mates did not, I still think it was the best time of my life. I still attend Whitehall on ‘Remembrance Sunday’ to lay crosses in memory of my mates who did not return.
In all of Arthur’s writings shared, he felt it important to ensure that his words in no way contravene the Official Secrets Act he signed. He gives nothing away of exactly what he was expected to do, yet his writings show immense courage and fortitude … and a gentle humble manner. It is as if he is saying: ‘I was just doing my job!’ Yet they illustrate he had exceptional skills and was very experienced and knowledgeable, despite his young age.
LAC Arthur W Pigott 1397335, Wireless Operator Mechanic
Transport Command, Fighter Command, Bomber Command, Special Operations
At the age of seventeen, way back in 1939, I joined No. 41 (Deptford) Squadron of the Air Training Corps. The ATC did have its own monthly magazine, the ‘ATC Gazette’. World War Two started and I received my ‘Call-Up’ and ‘Medical Papers’ prior to joining the Royal Air Force hopefully to become aircrew.
I remember the day of my Medical very clearly. I made my way to Euston House (then War Department) in London by tran-car, travelling via the ‘Kingsway’ (under-tunnel) from the Thames Embankment to Holborn. The train halted almost outside the Medical Centre.
Why do I remember this so clearly?
On the tram journey, I read an article in the ‘ATC Gazette’ on ‘Radio’, in which it gave several definitions of wireless components. One of these was for a condenser: ‘Condenser – consists of two parallel plates, separated by a dielectric, used for the storage of electricity’.
As any ex-service person will recall, a Service Medical is thorough: heart, lungs, feet, cough! eyes and ears. It was during my hearing examination that it was discovered I suffered from perforated ear-drums – hence I would not be selected for aircrew. The letters E.N.T. (Ear, Nose and Throat) were stamped over all my documentation – it meant I was destined for ground staff duties only.
During subsequent interviews, to decide which ground staff trade I was to be employed whilst in the RAF, the questioning went something like this:
RAF ‘What is your employment?’
AP ‘An apprenticed compositor.’
RAF ‘There’s no print-shop in the RAF. Can you drive?’
AP ‘No.’
RAF ‘What do you know about radio?’
AP ‘Nothing much.’
RAF ‘What is a Condenser?’
AP ‘A Condenser consists of two parallel plates, separated by a dielectric, and used for the storage of electricity.’
RAF ‘That’s right. Good – I’ll put you down for the Group 1 Trade of Wireless Mechanic.’
I was disappointed at not being fit enough for aircrew although most of my colleagues and friends who did become pilot, navigators or air-gunners did not survive the war, so I was fortunate in that respect. But reading that definition and being able to quote it word for word changed my whole life!
I spent a year training to become a Wireless Mechanic, first at Glasgow Technical College (Fundamentals), then at Glasgow University (Radio Theory); I was then posted to the Technical College, Bolton, for familiarisation of RAF ground and aircraft wireless equipment. We had tough examinations every six weeks; the mark of my first exam was 37% with the letters C.T on top of my paper meaning: ‘Cease Training’. My tutor, a Dr Jameson, asked if I wanted another chance, so I continued. Subsequent results: 53%, 75%, and in the final exam: 97% with the option of becoming either a Radar or Wireless Mechanic. I felt Radar was rather specialist and thought Wireless more useful if I ever made ‘Civvy Street’. Gaining my ‘Sparks’ I still consider my greatest achievement!
So, I’m glad that a condenser consists of two parallel plates, separated by a dielectric, used for the storage of electricity!
Special Operations Duties, S.O.Ds
During World War Two, in order to gain first-hand information, it was vital for the British to have ‘Intelligence Agents’ on German territory. Immense help was given by the few brave ‘Resistance’ fighters, who in turn had to be supplied with weapons, equipment, and money to maintain their activities.
Britain had its network of Intelligence and a team of spies. This branch of Intelligence was co-ordinated by MI5 and the War Department with its own Section called the ‘Special Operations Executive’ (SOE) which meticulously vetted and picked personnel for this vital and dangerous intelligence work.
Agents were infiltrated into Germany by all three Services: Royal Navy, Royal Air Force, and British Army. Routes chosen were varied – by sea, including the use of submarines; by air, either landing or dropping by parachute; or travelling by overland using some form of transport, or on foot with false documents.
Radio played an important part of Intelligence operations. Codes were used; radio transmissions could be intercepted, but also traced with pin-point accuracy. Many agents were caught by the Germans, interrogated usually by torture, and hence some SOE activities became known by the Germans. Confiscated equipment and its codes, etc were then used to carry on the subterfuge by Germans themselves and we were never 100% certain of such deception.
From time to time, the British were compelled to check up on its SOE operations by sending out additional Intelligence personnel. Equipment-wise throughout the war, new devices were continually developed which needed testing under operational conditions. Even these new devices found themselves in German hands who then developed ‘counter-devices’ to render ours inoperative in the field. Once this was known, we would develop ‘counter-counter measure’ devices and so it went on until completely new techniques had to be sought.
This account is about one particular operation in which I participated, with none of the technicalities involved being disclosed.
It was in the early Spring of 1945. The Allied invasion of Europe was well underway and being stubbornly resisted by the Germans all along the Front. The Americans, from time to time, requested assistance from the British, especially when they discovered British equipment in German hands and difficulty was encountered in its operation. The American advance, near Frankfurt (USA 9th Army) was such an occasion, but before continuing, I must offer the reader my background to this episode.
I was one of only seven Wireless Operator Mechanics (WOMs) in the Royal Air Force currently; our training lasting far longer than that of aircrew. We were specialists in the operation and maintenance of all RAF radio equipment, except RADAR which was an RAF Trade in itself. Radio equipment consisted of a variety of transmitters, aerial arrays, receivers, power-supplies, etc, and included equipment used in both aircraft and ground Stations. Concerning aircraft equipment, there was constant development of new devices, mainly in accurate direction and location-finding. Initially, War Office Boffins flew when testing out their designs and modifications, but alas some Boffins were lost and killed when aircraft were shot down; one of our great Boffins, Bluefield, was one of them. Then it became War Department Policy to employ RAF ground personnel to test under operational conditions. Again, Germans would discover such equipment in crashed shot-down aircraft, and produce ‘counter-measures’, hence any advances made were soon counter-manded and made redundant.
Very early one morning, on an RAF No. 101 Staging Post in Lydda, Palestine, I was awakened and instructed to report to the Orderly Room immediately, to be greeted by the Signals Officer who informed me that a WOM was urgently required to volunteer for an SOD (Special Operations Duty) somewhere in Germany. Being the only WOM on the Station, I was expected to ‘volunteer’, which I did as on many other occasions before. Within the hour, I was receiving VIP treatment, on my way flying to Cairo West for another aircraft to whisk me off to Rome, then to Germany. Before the second take-up, being an LAC, I was kitted out with a Flight Sergeant Air Gunner’s uniform (which seem to fit). This procedure was to confuse the enemy in the event of capture and ease conditions in the case of captivity. A holster, a revolver and ten rounds of ammunition were handed to me … on my remark that I’d never used one before, I was given a very brief run-through on how to load the barrel, the importance of the ‘safety-catch’, and how to aim and fire with the trigger; never thinking I would ever have to use the weapon.
Before take-off, a sealed packet was handed to me and I was asked to study it carefully and remember its contents as it was unlikely I would receive another Briefing on landing. As usual, on SOD Briefings, there was no notetaking; all instructions and details had to be committed to memory. The information given was rarely complete, always there was some other instruction to be given by an unknown person later. Handing back my ‘Brief’, I eventually made my way to a twin-engine aircraft, I believe a Lockheed Hudson. The flight over the ‘Med’ was pleasant, like going on holiday. I was advised to load my issued revolver, just in case! We finally lobbed down on a grass strip, somewhere in Germany, in the American zone of operations somewhere near Frankfurt. As soon as I was out of the aircraft, it revved up and took off, leaving me alone, expecting to be met by some welcoming Yanks and given further instructions and some ‘comforts’.
But there was not a soul in sight.
I heard gun fire in the distance, presumably the ‘Front’. It occurred to me to make for nearby hedgerow and, as it turned out, I had arrived in the middle of a small German counterattack.
Not long after I arrived at the hedgerow I was suddenly physically assaulted by a young German soldier, possibly sixteen years old. He charged, holding a fixed-bayonet, and at close quarters, thrust it towards my stomach. The whole incident happened incredibly quickly and unexpectedly. Instinctively, I went for the loaded revolver, automatically releasing the ‘catch’, aimed it at my attacker and fired once, but not before the blade of the bayonet thrust right through the twin bones of my left arm. Although the bayonet had been destined for my guts, it had gone through my left arm, probably saving my life. I fell to the ground with my assailant, killed with the one-shot. I cannot remember much pain, just a shocked numbness, of being deafened, bewilderment, being in a helpless motionless heap with another person, not knowing what was happening … I seemed unable to move and must have remained on the ground bleeding for some time for there was plenty of blood on the pair of us. I never did discover whether or not the German rifle was loaded (perhaps there was a shortage of bullets, hence the bayonet attack). Then I heard American voices … ‘the Yanks were here!’ I remember the utter relief at seeing my rescuers, who disentangled me from the dead companion beside me.
‘Hang on, buddy, I’ll pull it out for you.’
I remember the strong tug, but must have passed out … I came round looking into the eyes of who then was the most beautiful female nurse in the whole wide world. There was pain, or a rather big hurt; I was lying in an American field hospital; had been attended to, cleaned up and bandaged without knowing anything about it. Next day, I got a glimpse of the hole right through my left arm. It looked a mess! But I was assured, luck was on my side and I would make a full recovery. My left hand showed no signs of movement though, but again was assured that, after therapy, I would gain full use again. Being a compositor, the left hand holds the ‘composing stick’; this would be the end of my career. After a few days, I was posted and flown back to Egypt to recover; the healing process was swift, too swift, therapy seemed more painful than the wounding; but the long rest was enjoyable and I considered myself very lucky indeed.
However, I didn’t complete my Special Operations Duty, so will never know what resulted in it not being carried through. I wonder how important these escapades were and if the risks were warranted. Servicemen were expendable. There were always others to carry on. There was no ‘counselling’ in those days; if aircrew refused to continue to fly on missions because of genuine trauma, fright and mental fatigue, they were considered cowards. I remember full parades being called, in which these brave sick men, who would now be considered ‘sick’, were on the parade ground, humiliated in front of comrades … being ‘de-ranked’, having aircraft flying badges and tunic buttons torn from their uniforms.
Within just five weeks, I was posted back to my Staging Post Unit serving in Paiforce, RAF Transport Command, Palestine, where Britain was preparing to transfer troops to the Far East to assist the Americans. After the European ceasefire was declared in 1945, Palestine was a bloodier place to be than some war postings in Germany. This time, we British servicemen were confronting the Jewish nation, especially the Stern Gang in their endeavour to illegally take over that country for themselves. It was to become my most dangerous assignment.
I am now an ex-airman (an ex-serviceman) with a war wound and two large nasty scars, one on each side of my left forearm to prove it. An airman who was bayoneted in World War Two and survived. There cannot be many RAF personnel in this category. On being de-mobbed and having been engaged in Special Operations Duties, I had to sign a ‘Secrecies’ document that I would not disclose or communicate in any form, any information concerning SOE activities, purposes, give names of other personnel, equipment, documents seen, instructions given … and so it went on … until thirty years after my de-mobilisation. The penalty was either death or long-term prison sentences, so I never did. Then, to the very day, thirty years later, I received a letter from the Ministry of Defence stating that from then on, I could, if I wished, speak or write about my experiences. This is my first attempt in so doing. But why all the fuss?
A footnote on pay.
My rank was that of Leading Aircraftsman, Grade One (LAC) – badges were: ‘props’ and ‘sparks’, but whenever being detailed (volunteering) for SODs, especially if it involved operational flying missions; I was always temporarily promoted to Sergeant (lowest rank for aircrew) and received that pay for the period I donned the stripes, then reverted back to normal LAC pay … mean, I call it! For instance, testing radio equipment on a flying mission, I’d receive a Sergeant’s pay for day/night of the outward journey and for the next morning/day when the return journey was made, normal LAC’s pay would resume immediately the day after the operation. This arrangement was not a permanent promotion but considered necessary in the event of capture. Although my injury was sustained on European soil, I was transferred to Egypt to make a full recovery, and ‘Accounts’ should have been informed of such a transfer, but were not, so on ‘sick’ Pay Parades I received the higher amount. What a lucky bastard, I then thought! But alas, the War Office had other ideas and, realising their mistake, I had future pay ‘docked’ until the excess had been repaid … unlucky Bastard!
I was not considered ‘fit’ for Aircrew because of bad hearing at the time of my Medical when joining the Royal Air Force. Yet, when it was considered that work carried out by ‘Boffins’ and their loss on operations could not be justified, ‘operational testing’ was assigned to ‘other ranks’, suitably qualified, since we were expendable. Which is the reason I experienced so much operational flying over Germany (called ‘Special Operations Duties’) … and survived. ‘Lucky Piggy’ became my nickname amongst aircrews with whom I flew. But they were the real heroes. Nowadays they would be referred to as ‘volunteer suicide bombers’; their survival chances: 3:1).
‘Lucky Piggy’
The purpose of one particular mission was the setting up of and the transmitting and receiving of ground equipment of the improved Mark IV ‘Oboe’ (known as by code name) target plotting system that was useful but not necessarily a successful system when used over Germany, although we were not informed of this at the time. This target location system was to be extended to Burma eventually. To give purpose to the dangers that might be encountered, the dropping of leaflets was given. Originally four aircraft were assigned, but only three serviceable aircraft were able to take off. Crews were not acquainted with the area to be flown and only limited practice runs were undertaken, although ground stations and aircraft systems were extensively tested in operations Lydda and Haifa Med. sea areas.
Before take-off, all aircraft were prepared, including guns loaded and leaflets loaded in specially designed containers to assist in the coverage of large ground areas when they were released from bomb-bay, in separated batches.
Crew consisted of Skipper (pilot), Co-Pilot, Flight Engineer, Navigator (and RADAR), Wireless Operator (Gunner), Observer-Bomb Aimer, Rear-Gunner, and myself who was assisting the W/Op and Navigator and recording the detailed performance of ‘Oboe’.
After take-off, it was an uneventful flight over a semi-moonlit sea up to Greece, without any problems and with equipment behaving perfectly. We were using a system of three co-ordinates, which proved extremely accurate. There was no opposition, and the limited targets were located, and leaflets dropped. After which we turned for base, slightly surprised and relieved, thus far, but inwardly, perhaps, a little disappointed (with nothing to report).
However, about forty-five minutes into the return journey, the Engineer reported one engine was showing signs of problems. The starboard outer engine eventually caught fire but was extinguished; much relief; but the fire re-started. We were approaching the ‘Haifa’ zone and Skipper announced over the intercom that we might have to abandon aircraft and should put on and fasten our chute belts and prepare ourselves accordingly. There was no panic, but the engine was still on fire and we were losing height slightly. Then over the intercom came ‘Piggy, you are number one out’. Since the rear underbelly door was already open, I naturally assumed it was a command and grabbed the dinghy ‘tether’ and jumped out with the dinghy after me. You count six, pull your ripcord and wait anxiously until you feel the parachute opening, then begin to ‘enjoy’ the trip down!
It wasn’t long after that I hit the water, without injury. I cannot remember hearing the dinghy strike water, but it did, and on doing so automatically inflated and was upright when I eventually pulled on the tether either floating towards it or pulling it towards me (which I doubt). After struggling into the dinghy feeling very wet and uncomfortable, at least I was floating and not immersed in the sea. Looking around for my companions I saw nobody, but heard the aircraft fading away into the distance. Hoping my colleagues would still be okay, I settled down to drift, who knows where, in the Mediterranean somewhere off the coast of Palestine knowing full well that assistance in the form of a motor launch would eventually be sent to rescue me. (When falling from a height, even if you failed to pull the rip cord, the parachute will automatically open at 2,000 feet.)
A high-speed launch was sent from Haifa, in Palestine, to search for me after the dinghy beacon had been switched on by me soon after entering, which was also reassuring. It felt safe, since these dinghies held four people, there was plenty of room; but being wet was very uncomfortable, my legs stretched out and in sea water. I tried to enjoy the experience, but remember being very annoyed at the situation that had developed; it was just a question of being patient and waiting for assistance, by this time dawn had broken and it was getting light.
After being picked up, I was landed at Port Haifa, then taken by road to RAF Haifa where I was ‘debriefed’ and two days later returned to RAF Lydda by a Dakota where I joined my unit. Shortly after this incident, I was told to report to HQ to see the CO. Thinking a Court Martial was upon me, I was surprised to get the sympathy of Groupie and to my amazement, he handed me a silk parachute panel as a souvenir of my ‘adventure’ as he put it.
(Information concerning ‘Gee’ and ‘Oboe’: the ground stations involved were El Hag (Cairo West); Ramleh (Palestine) and Nicosia (Cyprus) we were later to learn. They had obviously been effectively sited.)
As a footnote to this little episode, on entering the dinghy I had the presence of mind to use the paddle to reach the parachute still floating in the sea nearby, picking it up and pulling it in with me. I’m glad I did. It is tradition that a parachute is only used once in saving a life; it was made of silk; and one of the panels is cut out and presented to the survivor. I still possess this panel of silk which I come across in the house from time to time; it should be preserved as a permanent souvenir. I must try and find it again.
Shamefully for me, the Liberator was not abandoned, but got back to base unharmed, with just an unserviceable engine and one member of crew missing. I remain uncertain whether the Skipper was playing a joke on me, because, having such a large number of operational flying hours to my credit, all crews I flew with on SODs always considered me as and called me ‘Lucky Piggy’.
The following is the actual Air Ministry Briefing received:
‘THE DRESDEN RAID'
Air Ministry Briefing
Request by the Russians to seriously dislocate German transport communications, especially marshalling yards near the Eastern Front.
Special Operations Mission
Independent of the main scheduled bombing raid on Dresden by Bomber Command, another operation was initiated to test, operationally, Impact Point (IP) equipment being developed for the war in the Far East. Such equipment was designed to re-transmit directional location signal beams from directions received from ground stations in the UK, thus vastly extending its range. Extreme accuracy was the criteria.
A minimum of two aircraft were required, to be converted with the necessary equipment to receive and then re-transmit radar/radio signals to their cross-over points. To test this over Germany was a high-risk strategy and very dangerous operation, especially at a height of 20,000+ feet. German radar detection could be anticipated both in the reception and transmission modes, but it was considered a reasonable hazard for the experience and verification to be gained from it.
Requirement demands of the RAF were to provide aircraft for the installation of this new array of equipment and to familiarise and train RAF personnel to operate, evaluate and assess effectiveness and efficiency under operational conditions. In addition to any recommendation for modification and improvements if found necessary.
Aircraft used: two modified and super-powered HALIFAX bomber aircraft.
Personnel used: RAF ‘volunteered’ specially trained Wireless Operator Mechanics, possibly there were Radar Mechanics among them too. The Boffins couldn’t be risked in such an operation; if they were shot down, a boffin was lost too. (Ref: A. L. BLUMLEIN who was shot down (classified as an accident) and killed in 1942 in such an operation, being a great loss to the nation’s counter-operations. Note: The Germans possessed a superior skill in RADAR beam operations to the Allies.)
Date: 13 – 14 February 1945
Operation: Codename ‘Thunderclap’ but a Special Operation Duty (SOD).
Station: RAF Little Snoring, Norfolk; ETD 21.15 hours; IP midnight+; ETA 07.20 hours (nine hours).
Halifax crew:
Pilot, second Pilot, Flight-Engineer, Wireless Operator, Front Gunner, Rear-Gunner, Mid-Gunner, no Bomb-Aimer, but a ‘Number Eight’ Operator … me! (The Air Ministry had suggested all armoury be stripped (i.e. no Gunners required) and the weight saved be utilised for additional equipment. But the Pilot and other crew objected to this and Gunners were retained, mainly for psychological reasons, I guess).
Height: zigzag 20,000 feet. The flying flight pattern was no concern of mine.
??? Group 100: No. 138 Squadron; modified Halifax bomber, AWP a number ‘eight’ crew member, but could have been No. 161 Squadron. (Note: probably not 138 or 161 Squadrons as it was an SOD mission.)
Other aircraft were used, but what and from which bases is not known to me.’
Some background:
Heavy and clumsy valve equipment; R.F. carriers; analogue, pulse-modulated; experimental loop and rotating aerials, some fixed, some hand controlled. Plus Radar equipment.
Familiarisation and operational instruction:
Took place in an undisclosed venue near Hatfield, although I did hear the name PLESSEY mentioned, but cannot fit into what context. Modifications were being carried out even at this stage.
The Mission:
I flew up from RAF Northolt to RAF Little Snoring where I met the aircrew and saw the installed aircraft equipment, spending one day on further familiarisation with only one short Air-Test a day before the operation. It was here I was fitted with a temporary Sergeant’s uniform to conform with flying rank conditions. Meals were good, but on advice, laid off drinking fluid.
Boarding and take-off seemed routine and for me the outward flight was uneventful; we were not in the mainstream. Dresden was well alight on arrival, which was seven minutes later than ETA, still at 20,000 feet. All the prescribed operational procedures were carried out and diagnostic results recorded, using pre-arranged coded language in case of falling into the hands of the enemy. Instructions were to destroy such in the event of a forced landing (I was later informed by other crew members they had instructions to shoot me in such circumstances!). We wore ‘Mae West’ life jackets, although no-one thought we would endure the cold North Sea very long at that time of year should we have to ditch.
Crew safety was paramount, but since there were no barrage balloons over the city, Skipper decided to stay and circle over the venue, going down to 5,000 – 6,000 feet. We seemed to stay for a very long time to the extent of feeling the heat from the blazing city.
Much apprehension was apparent on the return flight at 20,000 feet (which is bloody cold at that height!); further beams had been planned south of the Frankfurt area and the crew anticipated German fighter problems during such trials. Alertness was the keyword by all members aboard. Some evasive actions and the skill and alertness of all crew members allowed us to survive the incidents.
For me as a ‘Number Eight’, I thought the return trip uneventful, despite the many dangers of being easily located due to tell-tale Radar pick-up of our several beam receptions. It was still dark when we flew over the Wash, landing unharmed back at Little Snoring. On reflection, I cannot remember any fear whilst flying over Germany … there were many other things on my mind. But I was not doing this sort of activity regularly. However, we all felt tired and slept well after a lengthy de-briefing. Having to make out a thorough report of the equipment in action came several hours later … two tots of rum made all the difference to my sleep pattern!
Footnote:
This was considered the most infamous bombing raid by most post-war commentators. Bomber Command sent two waves of bombers three hours apart to attack Dresden on the night of 13/14 February 1945. The first wave consisted of 244 Lancasters from No. 5 Group; this raid was hampered by cloud but considered a success. The second wave comprised 500 plus of bombers that dropped a further 1,800 tons of bombs in clear weather. There were six Lancaster losses which was light for such a long-distance raid. Dresden was devastated and as the city’s population had been increased by an influx of refugees, there was a heavy loss of life mainly women and children. On 14 February it was again blasted by the 311 USAAF B-17s which added to the devastation and confusion.
The RAF and Bomber Command and UK Boffins were extremely active in their efforts to originate accurate bomb-aiming impact positioning; much time, energy and expense went into the work. The higher the dropping point the less dangerous it was, and it certainly helped in cloudy weather experienced over the Continent. To accurately hit the target blind was the real goal. To my knowledge and understanding, the Allies never successfully achieved this goal, and it seemed the Germans were always a little ahead of us.
It is a great pity that Bomber Command was never considered worthy by any British Government of being awarded its own medal like many other spheres of War Service organisations; Bomber Command only carried out the wishes and aims of its Government.
Biographical
From his writings, it is obvious that Arthur Pigott was no ordinary man. From humble beginnings he achieved great things. One man can and did make a difference!
‘I was born Arthur William Pigott on 25 June 1922 in Deptford, South East London. An Elementary schoolboy, I was voluntarily coached Algebra by one of the teachers. Leaving school at fourteen, I became a seven-year Apprentice in hot-metal printing as a Compositor. This was interrupted by World War Two, with four and a half years’ Service in the Royal Air Force as a Wireless Operator Mechanic (one of only seven in the RAF) with three years’ Service overseas. (Whenever an aircraft was shot down intact, the Germans would clamber all over it to find its secrets and then design ‘anti-devices’; we would improve our devices which had to be operationally tested; originally this was done by a ‘Boffin’, but if he was shot down we lost him too. So, all operational testing was transferred to Ground Crew.) Since I was a Specialist, I was asked to ‘volunteer’ five times for Special Operations. Comment: German ‘flak’ was extremely powerful and accurate. I made two parachute jumps, one into the sea!
Just two weeks before being de-mobilised, I was called into the CO’s Office at RAF Duxford with the express purpose of the RAF getting me to sign on for another nine years. I was even given the bribe of being promoted to Sergeant, with immediate effect. Alas, I was unable to accept because, in Civvy Street, I was still an Apprentice (aged 24) and had to return to complete it.
At that age, I had become a man with the strength and realisation that a promised ‘promotion’ was an attempt for me to say: ‘Yes please!’ Instead, I remarked: ‘Thanks for the opportunity. I have spent over four and a half years in the Royal Air Force, perhaps the offer could have been made sooner. Now, because of my Apprenticeship commitment, I have to refuse’ … to their amazement! I often had thoughts of how wonderful it would be to work up from the Ranks to become a Signal’s Master Warrant Officer in a RAF Group, with a trade too. But the epilogue to this is that, on my ninetieth birthday, my eldest daughter acquired a recent over-sized RAF great coat with a ‘Master Warrant Officer’ badge sewn on each sleeve. Not that I will ever be able to wear it, but what a lovely gift which is much appreciated, and is often touched! It possesses shiny brass buttons …
After I was de-mobbed in 1947, I discovered that I was still an Apprentice and had to complete my time, earning little money. All my girlfriends had to treat me, which to my surprise, they did!
I’ve had a varied career: Compositor, Proof-Reader, Typographer; was Composing Manager for ‘Picture Post’. I became a printing teacher, then switched to film and television teaching at ‘Degree Level’ (not bad for an Elementary schoolboy!). By joining the Royal Television Society, it found me at ‘Mecca’ (BBC Television Centre, alas no more). I retired in 1986, having left school at fourteen (fifty-one years working), so have been retired for some twenty-seven years. Thatcher prevented me from continuing teaching! I have kept abreast of the industry, although I consider myself an ‘Analogue’ person, I have little respect for ‘digital’ techniques but have never allowed myself to be exploited and become a ‘DPI’ (Digital Product Idiot; the idiot part is allowing oneself to be exploited) hence I do not possess any gadgets … I would dispose of the telephone, but my family implore me to retain it. In 2000 I was awarded a ‘Television BAFTA’ for twenty-five years in television ...’
‘Lucky Piggy’ was a highly skilled radio countermeasures technician, involved in testing radio countermeasures in an operational environment. When required, he was flown in from abroad under cover of darkness without warning. He then boarded an aircraft to do his work, not allowed to speak to any other airmen, or to eat or sleep with them. His work was done in absolute secrecy, segregated from the general running of the Station. Once finished, he was flown back to his own base abroad immediately. His work was so secret that crew he flew with while testing equipment he had installed, had strict instructions. If ever they were shot down, they had orders to shoot him and destroy his equipment.
He became one of thousands of unsung heroes … May they never be forgotten!
Arthur W. Pigott, FRTS
25th June 1922 – 10th March 2020
Published with permission from Arthur Piggot’s daughter Alison Witchall. Arthur’s words are taken from Janine Harrington’s book published by Austin Macauley: ‘RAF 100 Group – Kindred Spirits’. Arthur also wrote the Foreword to another of Janine’s books: ‘RAF 100 Group – The Birth of Electronic Warfare’.
