Air Gunner, 199 Squadron, North Creake, Norfolk

 

 

In September 1939, I was living in London two miles north of the city. At home, we heard the Prime Minister tell us on the radio that we were at war with Germany. We understood that, in a short while, the bombs would drop, and we would all die. We were stunned and felt lost, many people were crying in the streets, the air raid warning sounded, wailing for ten minutes, then the all-clear came … and we were still alive!

 

Men aged 19-30 were told to enlist in the Armed Services, while women had to register for factory war works. A call was put out for others to join Air Defence Groups. My friends and I went to the Stoke Newington Town Hall and put our names down. We were enlisted as messenger boys, cycling from the site of a bomb blast to the Warden post. We had steel helmets and bicycles. My age at that time was 16 yrs.

 

I worked at Buzzards in Oxford Street, London WI, as a pastry cook, my hours being 6.30 am to 4.30 pm. We had a string band playing music in the Palm Court on the first floor in the Dining Room and on the ground floor they sold bread, cakes, etc. We made wedding cakes for the rich and famous, including a wedding cake for Princess Marina. Shortly after I started there, I moved to Morden, Surrey.

 

It was a Defence Order that a person should be on the roof of every shop, bank, store and other buildings in London from 3.00 pm till 6.00 am seven days a week. I had Monday to watch for fires, all we had to do was put sandbags on top of the fire to extinguish them. It was some time after that when I had my first bombing raid at night, where I put a sandbag on a fire-bomb which was on a steel fire escape. Next morning, I discovered it had burnt through all the steps to the ground. Then, two weeks later, on a Wednesday evening, a bomb destroyed Buzzards!

 

I used the underground train to get to work. When I got off at the Temple and walked two miles to Oxford Street, shops were laying across the roads, and I had to walk over dressed dummies and piles of shoes. One shop had a dozen cycles outside on the road, and Victoria Street was burning from Westminster to the railway station; five miles of fire. Some underground stations had caved in and people sleeping in them were killed, laid out on the pavement for the Army to move. When I arrived at work at 7.00 am, I saw the whole of the building laying across Oxford Street. We tried to clean it up, but the risk was too great of the neighbouring building falling on top of us. Gamages, a department store was hit, and Holborn around St Pauls was burning, as well as other buildings.

 

We were all out of work, and the Fire Watch was never seen again. Some of the men went into the Army.

 

I left work at 4.30 pm thinking if I got into a train before the Germans came over, I could get a ride home. However, the raids mostly started at 3.30 pm and gates under the river were closed. It meant I had to walk three miles to the Thames and cross the bridge with the air raid going on. The guns fired on aircraft, but the shells always came down like red hot stones. If they hit you, you died!

 

My home was ten miles from the city, and along the way I saw many bridges down. A large bus was in a hole, which had been Balham Station. One hundred people died from drowning in the Station. When I reached home, I found houses down and my family in an air- raid shelter. My grandmother was staying with us and she would not enter the shelter. She was covered in ceiling plaster from our roof coming down. It was work as usual for me next day. No-one went mad or gave in, they just cleaned up and carried on.

 

My own near miss came one Sunday when a bomber dropped a stick bomb in the next street. My friends and I were talking outside, when down came the next bomb. We would count them as they hit the ground, knowing they carried twelve bombs in total, waiting to get hit. The last bomb, number twelve, hit the roundabout where we were hiding under the earth. We got covered in mud and ran back to our homes.

 

I went to join the RAF and was given an interview for aircrew. The interview and RAF-type Medical was tough. I had to look at multi-coloured dot-cards, name the letters, then they had me walk through a dark room and out the far door, no stopping in the room after. I saw an aircraft hanging from the ceiling, a river on the table, and barrage balloons in the air. When I got out, I had to tell an Officer all I had seen. He told me then that I had passed for aircrew and wished me luck. Next day, the enemy bombed, and a hundred young girls were killed in a nearby scent and soap factor.

 

That day, I got my RAF number: 1396456 (shown below), and as I had joined under age, I was to wear a VR Badge on my tunic when I received it. I was sent home, and a few days later, received a telegram to report to Preston Armament School for Training next day. On my arrival, I was given another Medical, together with Battle Dress and kit.

 

 

Four weeks later, I was on a beach in Wiltshire drilling, and after ten days went to an Air-to-Air Gunnery School somewhere in Scotland. I had no idea where I was, but I guess now it could have been St Andrews Golf Club. I won the shot of the course by shooting down the target which a bomber was towing over the sea … I’d shot through the towing rope and hence lost the target in the sea!

 

At the end of training, we were told there was an urgent need for fighter crews, and for the present, we were to be in Fighter Command, 12 Group, sent to Duxford, near Cambridge, Suffolk. I was promoted to Leading Airman First Class, with a rising pay of 15 shillings a week. Aircrew pay would have been 17 shillings, with 7 shillings being sent to my mother every week.

 

We were sent by train to Cambridge, then by transport to the flying field which was an ordinary field in peace-time near a village by the main road to London. This was 56 Squadron, Douglas Bader’s old Squadron. He had been shot down before I arrived. They had been hit hard, suffering big losses out of a possible 100+. However, all aircraft couldn’t be in the air at the same time. These were Hurricanes (as below) covered in calico and painted over with dope, the body made of wooden slats. If the aircraft was damaged, all you could do was to put dope and calico over the hole, which worked well.

 

 

My place was overseeing the guns and browning machine guns on each fighter, with one cine camera on the wings. As soon as my pilot landed, I replaced ammo boxes and camera, which I then gave to the photo airman, Jim. The aircraft on instant readiness, had the engines kept warmed up ready for take-off, waiting on the red ‘Very pistol’ to be fired from the Control Tower. When it came, fighters just took off together across the wide grass field. Often the field was under attack while aircraft were in the air. We were bombed and machine-gunned by the enemy, while me and others manned twin machine-guns placed around the airfield. Any aircraft on the field at the time was destroyed. We suffered some losses in Ground Crews, including WAAFs in the Ops Room.

 

It was due to our losses we were put on ‘rest’ and sent to a safe field at Blackpool for a week. As it was, we lost Sgt W. A. Jones when he hit a train signal-arm while training to destroy the railway. Later, I left with four other airmen, one a WAAF, another a pilot, to form a new Squadron with a new type of aircraft. The pilot was ‘Ginger’, an old friend. We arrived together at Hutton Cranswick, near Hull, at midnight, 29 November, and after walking miles from the rail station, we came across the airfield. We were hungry, tired, and glad to see a Duty WAAF waiting for us at the gate. The WAAF was Hilda Downing (seen below) who later became my wife. Hilda was an electrician technician from Yorkshire. She found me a bed in a Canadian Squadron Hut and I slept nice and warm.

 

 

Next day, we went to our section of the field. We had one Hurricane, old but still able to fly even without a radio, and a Typhoon which no-one had flown. Hilda came with other Station staff to visit the new boys. We managed to get the Typhoon airworthy (seen below), and the Hurricane was testflown by Ginger. However, a wheel came off as he took off. He had no radio, so I had to hold the wheel in the air as the fitters waved him off. He got the message, put his wheel up, and crash-landed! The aircraft was gone, but Ginger was okay. When Ginger tried to taxi the old Typhoon to the runway, a WAAF driving a small van hit him and she was killed, but the aircraft remained undamaged. Soon, more Typhoons and pilots arrived. We were named 195 Squadron, an anti-tank unit. Hilda and I often went to Beverley Village and Driffield to the pubs with the crew. There was a small cinema and films made us forget the war for a while.

 

 

After a few months, the Squadron moved into action at Coltishall. Hilda arrived months later, and we then got engaged. 195 Squadron was busy testing Typhoons. We lost a lot of good men as these aircraft were killers to fly. On take-off, it would try to turn to the right and spin in as Armoury Lac. I often had to go to the crash-site with a crew to render the site safe. Village people would take anything in sight, and often we saw them with arms full of live shells, but we had orders to shoot anyone taking parts of the secret aircraft. I recovered all I could of the pilot, that wasn’t easy! Hilda also had a close call when one aircraft went into a spin and on into the ground near her. Some weeks, we could have two burials a week. We also buried two German airmen found on the beach. They were given all due honours, with the German flag and an Honour Guard. Meanwhile, Hilda continued to face the bombs as well as enemy machine-guns alongside the men.

 

We were under attack almost daily from enemy 109 fighters, who also carried two large bombs under their wings. They shot up anything they could see, and once destroyed the local village church. This was on Palm Sunday when they thought the scouts attending were troops, so attacked with all they had. It was a shocking sight! We just wanted to kill all Germans in retaliation. The Spitfire Squadron went up after them from a nearby field and we all wished them luck.

 

Our Squadron moved all over the south, sometimes flying from fields. We washed in rain water, while our food came from a nearby field. At last, I received orders to report to 149 Stirling Squadron, Lakenheath. From there, we took part in the first 1,000 bomber raid on Hamburg and later Cologne, dropping bombs as we left the Rhine just as we saw the church, with the bomb falling four miles further on.

 

 

The Squadron then went to Norway, mining the coast, before we changed to Halifax aircraft and became 199 Squadron, RAF 100 Group. Our aircraft was named ‘Jolly Roger’.

 

 

Hilda and I were engaged and bought the ring from Hull. Our wedding rings we got in Norwich when we were at Coltishall. We had Leave together and married on 31 July 1943 at St Lawrence Church, Morden (seen below), in front of Hilda’s family from Yorkshire and my cousins from Scotland. We spent the weekend in Hampshire. Then it was me to Coltishall and Hilda to Wiltshire, writing to one another daily.

 

 

As a Squadron, we supplied the French with guns, etc, as well as Agents. D-Day we were in ‘Operation Titanic’, towing a Horsa Glider and Paratroops. We did three operations on D-Day, losing 4 aircraft and 25 crew. D+1 the Squadron were airborne without loss. ‘B Flight’ dropped ‘WINDOW’, using radio beams to distract the enemy. We landed safely at Mildenhall on return.

 

I had a close call with a Coastal Command Spitfire playing stupid games over the Channel at Hastings. The Radio Operator tried to fire a red flare but missed the flare socket in the side of the Halifax. The red flare came down to my position near the tail, just beside the photo flash chute. I grabbed the flare with my gloved hand and tried to put it out of the aircraft. However, it stuck to my hand. I was wearing silk wool and leather gloves. But somehow, I managed to put them all down the chute.

 

When we landed, I was sent on Leave for 36 hours. However, while on Leave with Hilda, I was taken to an Army Hospital Burns Unit at Pinderfields E M S Hospital. I did not return to my Squadron for five weeks.

 

In the RAF, if you go missing over four hours, all your kit gets sent to be destroyed. This is to save any distress to the next of kin. Ted, a close friend in the Unit, told me much later that my bed was taken by a replacement airman a day after I was reported as ‘Off List’. I never saw any of it again.

 

The Squadron was now at North Creake, Norfolk, flying Lancasters. Hilda was posted to the same Station and we lived in a cottage by the sea.

 

 

While we were there, the V1 and V2 bombs were fired from Holland, just across the Channel from our Station. They were flying 50 feet above our heads, destined for London. My Section was detailed to man the anti-aircraft guns on the airfield. We could see very clearly the V rockets being fired up in the air and had first crack at them. The enemy also flew them on the bomb racks of M109 fighters, and these we had a chance to bring down. The fighters were not game enough to cross our airfield and often dropped them in the sea.

 

The war ended while we were in Norfolk, and Hilda went home to live with my mother. First, we went to London to join the thousands of people in Whitehall where we all went crazy – a day and night to remember! My Squadron went to Poland to fetch back RAF Ex- PoWs. They had to fit in the bomb bay and were very cold. We then became air-sea rescue, carrying lifeboats in the bomb bay. We had our own Boat Club and sailed all around Cornwall. That lasted three months before I was posted to Wales as a Training Instructor to new airmen. They saw my medals and war stripes and called me ‘Sir’ all the time! I took them to the Firing Range and they loved it all. Hilda came to Barry Island where we lived with a dentist and his wife for a few months. They wanted me to become a Palestine Police Officer, but I had no wish to go to the Middle East. So, they put me down for BAOR to render British Bombs safe in Germany. However, due to my damaged right hand, in the end that was ruled out. Instead, they gave me rush training on the first jet plane as Rigger, but then nothing came of it. All I wanted was to get out before all the jobs were taken, and finally, I was sent to Hendon to get out of the RAF. I was on reserve for three years and then it was 1946. I received a new suit, a pair of shoes and a ticket to my home. Hilda now worked at St Hellor Hospital, Morden.

 

We went on to live at my family’s new home in Morden, Surrey. Many houses nearby were destroyed in the war. A Spitfire had crashed in Morden Park a few hundred yards from the church where Hilda and I married. It was impossible to get a house or flat due to the damage of homes around London. Meanwhile, I was working all hours, and the pay was good. We often went to stay in Yorkshire … a nice place, very open moors and lovely people; but there was no work in that part of England, which was a pity.

 

I would like to mention at this point members of 199 and 149 Squadron at Lakenheath. I will never forget them. We drank at the local pub singing old Air Force songs together. There was no difference in rank when off Camp, it was first names or nicknames only. I was ‘Winny’ or ‘Johnny’.

 

One of our pilots was Ron Middleton, an Australian from Yarrabandi NSW. The Squadron went to Turin in November and had a bad time of it. Ron’s aircraft was badly hit, all on board were wounded while he lost an eye and too much blood to bail out. The Air Gunners, Mackie and Jefferies, bailed out, but their chutes failed to open, and they were killed. Ron crashed into the sea just off Dover and was buried together with his crew at Mildenhall. Ron was awarded the Victoria Cross, and an Australian Stamp was created commemorating Ron Middleton (seen below).

 

 

We saw one aircraft come in, landing on fire. We just had to stand and watch it burn with no hope of getting the crew out. A 1,000lb bomb fell on the ground and three aircraft also blew up. Hardly a week went by without losing friends. Some made it back only to be taken to hospital and never seen again. Some just went out and never came back. We never knew what happened to them as we received no news.

 

On our raid on Cologne our losses were:

 

Pilot D. Falconer – downed at 4 am, all crew killed.

G. Foels – downed at 4 am, all crew killed.

Cuddington – downed, with 3 crew members lost at sea.

A. R. Moore – downed over Eindhoven at 2.30 am, 3 crew killed.

Syerston – over target at 1.32 am, 7 crew killed.

RCAF crew over target at 1.32 am, 7 crew killed.

RCAF crew over target at 1.32 am, 7 crew killed.

S. Wright at Tegelen, 2 crew killed.

E. Ford at Leeveroi, 6 crew killed.

 

A Wellington and a Sterling hit each other over target, 12 crew killed.

 

Tom Ramsay over Holland at 2 am, 6 crew killed.

A. Wadell at Dusseldorf, 5 crew killed.

W. Davis at Aachen, 6 crew killed.

G. H. Everatt on take-off, 5 crew killed.

 

This was just on one night!

 

A week after the capture of Berlin, I flew over Cologne and saw the damage to the city. The church was the only thing not a shell. We went on to Berlin and saw the ruin of that city. 20,000 airmen went out over Germany, and nothing further was ever heard from them, or their aircraft. To this day, they remain listed as ‘Missing in Action’.

 

Shared by son: Tony Wincott

 

 

This article is from the Autumn 2018 issue of Confound and Destroy