25th Reunion Dinner 1964
Clockwise from far left: Bert Allen G2UJ, (SK), Jim Pollard G31Y (SK), Vernon West 2DYW,
Vernon Rayner G6FZ, Bernard Wynn G8TB, Les Coupland G2BQC (SK), Maurice Brookes G501,
Merton Trier G8VH, Geoff Mason G5BR, Roy Stevens G2BVN (SK) John Clarricoats G6CL (SK),
Courtesy Guest – Gen Sec RSGB, Les Hill G8KS (SK) (partly obscured), Ernest Dolman G2DCG (SK),
Organiser of the Dinner: Ted Howard G4FZ, Harry Willetts G2FPI (partly obscured),
Vic Flowers G8QM, Doug Legge G3MP, Archie Davies G4JY, Maurice Newman G3DZ, NB.
This is the story of the Civilian Wireless Reserve, nicknamed ‘Early Birds’ by the RSGB, of which Association member Vic Flowers, seated fourth from right, played an active role and passed these writings to us before his death. In later years of his life he was to serve at RAF North Creake.
By 1938, the Armed Services in Britain had realised that, in the event of war, they were going to face a serious shortage of Wireless Operators. With the co-operation of the Radio Society of Great Britain, the Civilian Wireless Reserve was set up and radio amateurs were encouraged to join. Very shortly, however, the CWR was absorbed into the RAF Volunteer Reserve and, at the time of the so-called Munich Crisis in September, we all received mobilisation instructions and travel warrants to report to our designated places of assembly.
At the end of August 1939, war appeared to be inevitable. In that final week, I talked twice to Operators at the amateur station SP 1 ZK, located at the Warsaw Radio Exhibition, and they were in no doubt. At 11pm on 31 August, I listened to the BBC News and heard that all British radio amateurs were to close their stations from midnight. I went back to my transmitter, had two final contacts with the USA, then pulled the plug for over six years.
Next morning, 1st September, we awakened to the news that Germany had invaded Poland. I went to work as usual in the city of Manchester but, when I returned from lunch, there was a phone message from my mother. A telegram had arrived telling me to report to London. This was completely different to what I was supposed to do, but the telegram obviously overrode my orders. I took myself off to London by train and eventually arrived at the Air Ministry at about 10pm, almost the last of our group to get there. (There were about 40 of us, of whom 37 were radio amateurs.) I was partly kitted up, then taken to a very nicely appointed hotel, where I spent my first night in the Air Force in a private room. The following morning arrived a three-course breakfast and choice of newspapers. But green as I was, I knew this sort of caper wouldn’t last. How right I was! We were collected and taken to draw steel helmets, gas masks and identity discs. We were assured the latter were fireproof, so that even if we were burned to crisps, we would be identified to our grieving relatives. This was an early introduction to the gallows humour which is such a feature of the Services!
We were marched through the streets to the nearest tube station and thence to Liverpool Street Railway Station, where we entrained for Saffron Walden in Essex. This was the nearest the railway came to our destination, RAF Debden, one of Fighter Command sector stations responsible for defending London against attacks which came in from north of the Thames.
The rest of Saturday was spent in queues, collecting various things. The worst queue was for injections – three of them: Paratyphoid, Anti-tetanus, the third I forget. We took off tunics, rolled up shirtsleeves and ran the gauntlet. It was two injections in the left arm and one in the right. In these days of AIDS and Hepatitis-B, it seems incredible that orderlies used the same syringes and needles throughout, pausing at intervals only to put in a new ampoule. And were those needles blunt by the time the last victims were done! I was amazed to see some of those ahead of me fainting, odd ones even before they reached the needles. Perhaps fortunately, I had had two or three courses of flu injections in years before the war, so I was not adversely affected. However, worse was to come. Debden was not equipped to handle more than its normal complement of personnel, so there was no accommodation for us, not even a mattress. We slept Saturday and Sunday nights on the concrete floor of an empty hangar, with just two blankets and a ground sheet. Like everyone else, my arms were swollen and painful, so sleep was fitful and disturbed. Then at 4.30am we were blasted awake when a flight of Spitfires took off on the first patrol of the day.
The British Government had given Hitler until 11am on Sunday 3 September to withdraw from Poland, but of course, no reply was received. Promptly at eleven, the Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, broadcast the declaration of war and we sat and listened to it on the PA system. It is said that, in America, everyone remembers what he was doing when President Kennedy was assassinated. Presumably, all my generation remembers what he was doing when the Second World War was declared. I was sitting on the grass outside our hangar, enjoying the warm sunshine, aware that this was a defining moment in my life. But I had no concept of just how much of an upheaval was in store for the world! The rest of that day was spent packing kit and getting ready to move, though nobody said where.
On Monday 4 September, the 4.30am Spitfires did not bother us because we were up already. After an early breakfast, we were taken by truck to Saffron Walden station to await our special train. This was another learning experience – how the Military mind works. We were delivered to the station at 6am, but the train did not arrive until nearly midday. When we finally got away, the sun indicated we were travelling north, and this caused a flutter. If we were heading for Grimsby or Hull, then we must be bound for Poland, a prospect that thrilled none of us! Eventually, our route turned west, and tension eased. My memory is uncertain of the exact route, but most of it was undoubtedly on lines which no longer exist (part of the thousands of miles of railways closed in the 1950s). However, I will say that I think the route was Saffron Walden – Cambridge – Bedford – Oxford – Reading – Southampton.
Eventually, at about 9pm, we de-trained on the quay at Southampton. No doubt about our destination now! We boarded one of the Channel Island ferries: ‘Isle of Guernsey’, in company with a large number of troops and sailed at about 11pm. Since breakfast at Debden, all we had had to eat was bully beef and ‘hard-tack’ biscuits washed down by water. However, when we were bedded down, an angel appeared in the shape of our Senior NCO, and the only ‘Regular’ in our outfit. He had bullied the ferry cooks into making a dixie of tea for us which he brought round to our bunks. That was one of the best cups of tea I have ever had. I often thought of this episode when, later in the war, there was a comic song:
‘Kiss me goodnight, Sergeant Major,
Tuck me in my little wooden bed …’
Before dropping off to sleep, I peered through the porthole and could just see the shape of a destroyer escorting us. I think this finally brought home to me that not everyone out there was disposed to be friendly! However, I had no trouble in falling into a deep sleep, having been on the go for about twenty hours.
Tuesday 5 September was another eventful day. We berthed at Le Havre before daylight. The two destroyers escorting us, turned back just short of the port, no doubt to go and pick up another ferry load. We were one of the first Units of any of the Services to set foot on the Continent in World War Two and for this reason were later nicknamed: ‘The Early Birds’ by the Radio Society of Great Britain.
Once off the ferry, we were placed aboard a train which was standing at the quayside and there we sat, and we sat … and we sat. It was now more than twenty-four hours since breakfast at Debden and, apart from that mug of tea on the ferry, all we had was that damned bully beef in those trapezoidal tins, those tooth-breaking biscuits, and water (no food was provided on the ferry). Now, sitting on the platform was a pile of wooden boxes and, according to the stencils, these contained tins of crab. One of our Unit was not a radio amateur, but a former Naval Telegraphist (God knows why he joined the RAFVR!). Unlike us innocent ex-civilians from sheltered homes, he was skilled in the art of converting things for his own use. Making sure he was unobserved, he nipped out, grabbed a case, and was back on the train in a flash. The Army guys further up the train, saw this and repeated the operation, but with much less skill and were spotted. All hell broke loose among the French railway officials. The train was shunted out of the station. We were marched back and made to wait while the carriages and our kit were searched. The soldiers were caught red-handed, but we were as blameless as choir boys. While the train was being shunted out of the station, our telegraphist friend smashed up the wooden case and threw it out of the window. (As the train was moving, there was no way of knowing which window the wood had come from.) Then he proceeded to hide the tins of crab. The coaches had ‘concertinas’ for access between adjacent ones, and each concertina had two steel plates which folded down to form a floor. The crab nestled cosily under these plates and railway staff did not have the gumption to look underneath. Once we started our journey, out came the crab and, instead of bully-beef and biscuits, we had crab and biscuits. Our RAF issue knives, equipped with a tin-opener, did a sterling job of opening those tins. I was rapidly developing a part of my education which had been neglected in my previous life!
Eventually the train deposited us at Amiens which was to be our base for a couple of weeks. We were accommodated in an unoccupied Convent completely devoid of furniture. We slept in the refectory on a parquet floor with no mattress – just two blankets. The only good thing was that the blankets were new French Army issue and were magnificent – roughly twice the size and thickness of the RAF ones we used at Debden. (The only other French issue we got was tinned meat for emergency rations and we were grateful we never had to make use of it because dates embossed on the tins indicated it was fifteen years old!!)
That evening we were let loose in the city, but it was a case of ‘Look, but don’t touch’ because we had no French money. Of course, I had damned little English money either! But to give the RAF credit, next day we were paid and could also change our own money into francs (about 240 to the pound). So that evening it was out on the town in a big way. Food, glorious French food! With our rates of pay, we were in much the same position as the Yanks in Britain later. From now on, we went out for dinner every evening at a good hotel. We discovered we could buy a five-course meal, including wine, for the equivalent of one shilling and sixpence, which was about the cost of a seat in a London suburban cinema in those days. It was here that I first encountered the heavenly ‘escargots en aspic’ served as hors d’oeuvres.
As soon as we had settled into the Convent, we were informed in strict secrecy, that we were now part of No.1 Wireless Intelligence Screen, and that we should soon be going out on location. Our days were spent driving around the countryside in the vicinity of the Belgium and Luxembourg borders. I found myself co-opted as a driver of one of the new Renault vans, which had been delivered to us direct from the factory in Paris. It was an interesting experience! Not only was it the first time I had driven on the ‘wrong’ side of the road and used my right hand to operate the gear lever, but the said gear lever went through a hole in the dashboard. The whole area was very fascinating, because it had been fought over with great ferocity during the First World War and British troops had been heavily involved. We took time out to visit places like Arras, Cambrai, Vimy Ridge, etc. It was eerie to see the old trenches winding across the countryside and often still quite distinct, even though the outlines had been blurred by weather and cultivation over the previous twenty years.
At the end of two weeks, we were split up into individual stations and spread out along the Belgium border. This was obviously a dry run because, after a fortnight, we were recalled to base and the whole unit was moved to a new HQ at Metz. This was the centre of another very historic area which had been the scene of bloody battles and sieges involving French troops; places like Verdun and Douaimont. Our HQ was in the ‘caserne’ at Metz, but we were rapidly deployed to our posts and I finished up at Station N. at the south end of our screen. As a twenty-year-old (just) I was Senior Wireless Operator, with an eighteen-year-old as my second Op, plus four Royal Artillery spotters to feed the plots to us. We established our station in an empty cottage in the village of Bellange, just eight kilometres down the road from the town of Morhange. This was in the Maginot Line defence area, so, apart from us, all the troops were French. We were just dumped down with our equipment, a two-burner cooker and some ration money, and told to get on with it. We were given what the RAF called ‘Higher Rate Ration Allowance’ with which to buy food locally. This was quite generous and each of us was receiving more money for food than we were getting in pay. We made little use of the cooker as the cottage had a wood-burning stove which did double duty for heating and cooking. As there were six of us, we did duty in pairs on a three-day roster. It was a most interesting experience!
One day, I made a jam tart for dessert – a real work of art, with twisted strips of pastry across the top. Sadly, after cooking, it was impossible to cut and, when banged against the corner of the stove in frustration, it shattered like glass. I was not aware that fat had to be rubbed into the flour and water mixture!! One of the others made a milk pudding – he took a large bowl, poured rice up to the rim, filling in the spaces with milk. After a while, a smell of burning came from the oven. When the door was opened, the pudding billowed out. Strangely, our salvation was cigarettes. The British ones were as superior to the French variety as home-made bread is to hamburger buns, so our ‘Players’, ‘Capstan’, ‘Gold Flake’, and ‘Senior Service’ were extremely popular with French troops.
One day, I made a jam tart for dessert – a real work of art, with twisted strips of pastry across the top. Sadly, after cooking, it was impossible to cut and, when banged against the corner of the stove in frustration, it shattered like glass. I was not aware that fat had to be rubbed into the flour and water mixture!! One of the others made a milk pudding – he took a large bowl, poured rice up to the rim, filling in the spaces with milk. After a while, a smell of burning came from the oven. When the door was opened, the pudding billowed out. Strangely, our salvation was cigarettes. The British ones were as superior to the French variety as home-made bread is to hamburger buns, so our ‘Players’, ‘Capstan’, ‘Gold Flake’, and ‘Senior Service’ were extremely popular with French troops.
If we went as far as Morhange we could buy liquor and, at that stage of the war, there was a wonderful range available at low prices. I did very little drinking, but as the winter advanced, our cottage gave a fair imitation of an icebox at night. I took to having a rum toddy on retiring – three fingers of Jamaican rum in a large tumbler, a dessert spoon of sugar, the juice of a lemon, topped up with boiling water. I used to get into bed before drinking this, then slept like the proverbial top all night. It’s laughable to think that the lemon was more expensive than the three fingers of rum. One other delight in cold weather was morning tea at any small café, except that it was not tea but coffee, thick and black, with a shot glass of brandy on the side.
This was the period known as the ‘Phony War’ because nothing very much was happening. We were in the Maginot Line defence zone, checked out regularly by German reconnaissance aircraft, with the occasional one shot down. For some time, I kept a piece of the Heinkel
Hell 1 which came down close by. I did not know then that, a few months later, when I was in Kent, downed German aircraft would barely raise a flicker of interest. Propaganda leaflets were dropped on us by these same planes and I donated mine some years ago to the Archives Section of the Tauranga Library.
To use one of Winston Churchill’s figures of speech, this was ‘The End of the Beginning’, though he said it later at a quite different stage of the war.
John Wightman, ZL1AH, ex-G3AH
Tribute: Early Birds, 21.8.2011
Shared by the late Vic Flowers who was part of this story.
This article is from the Autumn / Winter 2019 issue of Confound and Destroy
