1 Group

by Patrick Otter

  Gordon Neale was one of many ex-1 Group men who always remembered the welcome given by Lincolnshire people to the RAF. He served with 12 Squadron at Wickenby and whenever his crew were not flying they were out looking for new pubs and new dance halls in the county. On one occasion they hitched a lift in an army lorry to Lincoln where they decided to board the first local train to leave St Marks Station. It went to Boston, somewhere they hadn’t been before and the first pub they went into was full of Royal Navy personnel. As he made his way to the saloon bar he spotted a familiar face – his old next-door neighbour from Dodsworth, near Barnsley. It turned out he was commanding a small flotilla of landing craft being made ready for the invasion later that spring. After closing time he and his crew were invited back on board the landing craft in Boston docks for pink gins in the ward room. By this time the last train for Lincoln was long gone and they had to do with the hard deck of an infantry landing craft for the night.

  The officers’ mess of 550 Squadron – like everything else at North Killingholme, it was in a prefabricated hut. (Roland Hardy)

  Ground staff of A Flight, 166 Squadron at Kirmington. (Norman Ellis)

  One way of cleaning a Lancaster’s Merlin engine was to wash it out in high octane fuel, which is what Dave Price and Tommy Guest are doing in this photograph taken at an A Flight dispersal at Kirmington in 1944. (Norman Ellis)

  Snow clearing operations at Binbrook. (Peter Green Collection)

  On another visit, this time to Skegness, they had a night to remember when they met a group of seaside landladies on a night out. Once the landladies discovered the seven young men were operational aircrew they got the freedom of Skegness for the night, free drinks and free accommodation.

  Wickenby was a little off the beaten track and often men would have to walk back from Lincoln after a night out. On one occasion he and a couple of his crew fell in with another airmen, who turned out to be F/Lt Bradbury, who had just taken over as 12 Squadron’s engineer leader. He was a determined type and kept them going through a long night of walking by promising them something to eat in the officer’s mess on their return. When they arrived it was still the small hours of the morning and he had to rouse the duty cook who could only offer them cold rice pudding. ‘But we were hungry so we ate it with our bare hands and we were thankful,’ he recalled.

  Bryan Bell flew from Waltham with both 100 and 550 Squadrons and remembered it as a happy station where there was always a welcome for aircrew in the pubs in neighbouring Grimsby and Cleethorpes. His particular favourite was the Ship Hotel in Grimsby’s Flottergate where the publican, Sam Muscat and his wife, always had a pint waiting for his crew on the bar and a steady supply of chicken and much-prized Dover sole to eat. Rations at Waltham were also enhanced by his bomb aimer, F/O Dickie Rice, who was a crack shot with a .22 rifle or a 12 bore shotgun. Whenever the opportunity arose he would be off on his bicycle to the nearby woods, looking for roosting pheasants. Eventually, the village policeman called at the airfield to ask the station commander if he would stop one of his men cycling through the village with a rifle on his back. Dickie Rice’s fame as the newest Lincolnshire poacher was then brought to an abrupt halt.

  Pubs were an integral part of life on a wartime bomber airfield and each squadron had its favourites. 166 at Kirmington adopted the village’s Marrowbone and Cleaver (dubbed ‘The Chopper’) as its second home while some crews at 103 Squadron favoured The Dying Gladiator (which earned the nickname ‘The Dying Navigator’) in nearby Brigg. Ludford’s Black Horse was a popular spot for 101crews as was The Wheatsheaf in Louth, one of several pubs in the town used regularly by airmen from Ludford and Kelstern. There was always a welcome for the bomber boys in Scunthorpe and, for those who missed the last train, ‘Irish Maggie’ kept spare beds for stranded airmen. At Wickenby the ‘local’ was the White Hart in Lissington although many there made the journey into Lincoln where the RAF’s favourite Lincolnshire pub, the Saracen’s Head – know to all as ‘The Snake Pit’ – was on the city’s High Street. 550 Squadron had The Cross Keys at South Killingholme on its doorstep with East Halton’s Black Bull also nearby while 100 Squadron was spoiled for choice with the King’s Head in the village on its doorstep and the myriad of public houses in Grimsby and Cleethorpes just a short bus or bike ride away. In Binbrook, 460 Squadron’s unofficial secondary headquarters was the Granby Inn in the village where there was always a welcome from the landlady Renee Trevor and where the ceiling in the bar was decorated by the signatures of hundreds of men who served with the squadron, a ceiling unceremoniously replastered by one of the pub’s post-war owners. Nights out could also be brought abruptly to an end. Gordon Neale recalled being at a dance hall in Lincoln on a night 12 Squadron had been stood down. Suddenly the music stopped and RAF Police went on stage to announce that all air and ground crews were to return to Wickenby immediately. His crew, all of whom had already downed five pints of beer, then set off on their bicycles, making it back to the airfield just in time for briefing. Four hours later they were over Normandy.

  The Christmas menu at Ludford Magna, complete with the autographs of a 101 Squadron crew. (Vic Redfern)

  Ground crews had a particularly tough time in bad weather as they had to do much of their work out on the dispersals. They were a resourceful lot and would knock up make-shift huts from old packing cases to give themselves some shelter when they were not working.

  Ted Manning served as an engine fitter with 103 Squadron and later with 1656 HCU at Lindholme and remembered how tough it was to work at dispersals on aircraft in all weathers. One particular night stands out in his mind, helped perhaps by the damage it did to his hearing.

  He recalled: ‘Can you imagine a blizzard night at Lindholme, lying stretched out on top of a Merlin engine, the cowlings removed, the roaring airscrew a few inches from my head, pulling in the snow and sleet in a vortex and hurling it back at me. The only comfort I had was the heat from the engine. There was a small valve at the front end of the engine which controlled the automatic pitch of the airscrew blades. The best way to adjust this was to shove an engine stand under the Merlin, scramble up, adjust it with the engine stationary, climb down, get into the engineer’s seat in the aircraft, start the engine and check whether it was right. If it wasn’t, you had to start the whole weary business again. The quick way, however, was to ask a mate to run the motor while you adjusted it while it was running. It was hard enough on a fine summer evening but, in bad weather like it was that night, it was very unpleasant. But that aircraft was needed that night, not in 24 hours.”

  The crew of F/O Richard Bastic of 576 Squadron at Fiskerton early in February 1945. A few days later all seven men, F/O Bastic, Sgt Fred Martin, F/Sgt Bill Frost RAAF,F/Sgt Bill Bibby, F/Sgt Jack Coates and Sgts Henry Sargent and Bob Swaffer, were killed when their Lancaster, UL-J2, disappeared on a raid to Dortmund. (Martin Nichol/David Briggs collection)

  13 Base ‘brass’ at a boxing tournament at Elsham in 1945. They are (left to right) G/Cpt Hugh Constantine (station commander), G/Cpt McIntyre (station commander Kirmington), A/Cmdr ‘Ferdy’ Swain (Base commander) and G/Cpt Lindgard (station commander North Killingholme). (Elsham Wolds Association)

  Eddie Halton was an airframe fitter with 1662 HCU, arriving at the Blyton shortly after 199 Squadron departed, leaving behind a single Wellington. He was to spend a happy summer at Blyton despite the conditions. He lived with other members of the ground crew in an isolated hut just off the Northorpe road. There was no running water or electricity but, thankfully, there was a farmhouse nearby where the farmer’s wife always had a pot of tea on the go and a plate of home baking for any airmen to sample.

  In October 1943 he was posted to the new airfield at Kelstern to join 625 Squadron where he found himself in a totally different war. At Blyton there had been little time to get to know air crew before they moved on (or were killed in flying accidents) whereas at Kelstern he was part of a team responsible for three disperals, serving aircraft lettered Q, T and X
. Now there was great affinity between ground- and aircrew and they always took it badly when one of ‘their’ aircraft failed to return. In one week alone they lost two ‘Qs’.

  Conditions at Kelstern were uncomfortable to say the least. He was allocated a bed in a Nissen hut which had been erected on a slope with one end of the hut standing clear of its concrete base by a good six inches. During his time there the airfield was virtually cut off by heavy snow (although the station staff, helped by aircrew, managed to keep it operational) and food had to be rationed. Ground staff were told they would have to put up with soup and hard tack while what food stocks remained would be saved for aircrew. When the flyers heard about this there were some angry protests and the catering arrangements were hastily changed. Eddie West later went on to work for the Imperial War Museum and helped restore an ex-428 Squadron Lancaster which is now on display at Duxford.

  Routine work and small repairs to Lancasters were handled by station staff but major servicing was carried out at Base level where additional facilities were available. Additionally, there was some direct support from the Lancaster’s manufacturer, Avro. In 1941 the company acquired the old First World War airfield at Bracebridge Heath, south of Lincoln and it was here that many badly damaged Lancasters were repaired and returned to their Lincolnshire squadrons. Bracebridge was Avro’s central repair depot for Lancasters and Ansons (and later the Lancaster’s transport derivative, the Avro York), employing at its peak some 3,000 people. It was also the hub of a network of repair facilities, which supported by 70 mobile workshops. Typical of its workers seems to have been a fitter named James Stockdale of 8 Lucy Tower Street, Lincoln. In December 1944 he was issued with a three-month pass to enable him to work on Lancasters at Fiskerton. His original pass is now in the possession of a group of enthusiasts doing a sterling job in keeping alive the wartime spirit at this particular airfield.

  MT driver Joyce Stammers, Elsham Wolds, in her Dodge truck. (Elsham Wolds Association)

  Living at the dispersal: ground crew with their home-made hut at a Wickenby dispersal, 12 Squadron 1943. (Wickenby Archive)

  Kelstern was only in use for 18 months and its resident squadron, 625, operational for only a week or two more yet both were to be endowed with affection by all those who served there. There is no village of Kelstern, just a scattering of houses and farm buildings on one of the highest points of the Lincolnshire Wolds yet it was here that the first post-war memorial to a Lincolnshire bomber squadron was to be unveiled. Clem Koder flew from Kelstern as a pilot and later became a leading figure in the 625 Squadron RAF Memorial Association said the only real fear he had while serving there was not keeping up the highest of standards set by all who flew from there. In a letter to the author in 1990 he wrote: ‘This also applied to the ground crews whose working was of the highest order at all times of night and day regardless of the weather conditions. It was the magnificent spirit of all that help me through those days and I shall always feel proud to be one of those who operated in Bomber Command.’

  The heavy losses that squadrons suffered in 1943 and 1944 had an inevitable drain on morale. Ivan Health served in an A Flight crew with 460 Squadron at Binbrook in the summer of 1943. They arrived at Binbrook from 1656 HCU at Lindholme and, as was the practice, their names went at the bottom of the Flight list. Three weeks later they found themselves at the top of that list. ‘It was a frightening time for all of us,’ he remembered. ‘We were losing two or three aircraft every time we went out. I had a good mate and we had a two bob bet on who would last the longest. He went after 13 ops.’

  There was an increase in the sickness rate amongst crews. ‘You only had to sneeze and you wondered, or perhaps hoped, you wouldn’t be fit to fly.’ He recalled trips into Grimsby where they would see girls waiting outside the town’s Savoy cinema in Victoria Street for airmen who had gone missing the night before.

  It wasn’t all bad. 626 Squadron aircrew relax in the Lincolnshire sunshine, 1944. (Wickenby Archive)

  At times there was tension between the crews but he remembered only one case of LMF – ‘lack of moral fibre’, the RAF’s label for cowardice – during his time at Binbrook. It involved a young Scottish pilot who repeatedly returned from operations with photo-flash pictures clearly showing the Dutch coast. He was stripped of his rank and posted away with ‘LMF’ stamped on his documents. It was harsh treatment intended to deter others from seeking the easy way out of operations. That young pilot survived the war: Ivan Health met him some years later on a train. Health himself completed a total of 36 operations with 460 and then, remarkably, another 46 with a pathfinder squadron. At Wickenby one pilot who feigned illness and turned back from a raid was immediately declared ‘LMF’, stripped to the ranks and, within 24 hours, had been sent to the RAF psychiatric hospital at Matlock where he was treated as ‘a malingerer and a coward’. He later was sent down the mines.

  Discipline of a different form was administered at Wickenby during Gordon Neale’s time as a flight engineer with 12 Squadron in the spring and summer of 1944. Aircrew from both 12 and 626 Squadrons were ordered to parade on the main runway to witness a disciplinary incident involving a sergeant air gunner who had been court martialed for striking an officer in a pub in Market Rasen. The decision of the court martial was read out, as was the sentence, demotion and 56 days’ detention and the unfortunate air gunner was marched away.

  Lincolnshire airfields were toured several times by the King and Queen while Harris himself was a regular visitor to squadrons, handing out pep talks which were almost universally well received. During his time at Waltham Bryan Bell remembered a number of crews, his included, being taken to Binbrook where they crammed into one of the messes to hear Harris speak. Weary crews always found post-op briefings tiresome but Harris stressed the importance they played and told them: ‘We at Bomber Command HQ are like a bunch of eunochs – we know what it’s all about but we can’t do it ourselves!’ He also told crews to respect what the Americans were doing. There was some derision amongst Lancasters crews when they saw what miniscule bomb loads Americans Fortresses and Liberators were carrying in comparison with RAF bombers. Harris told them: ‘If the Yanks can shoot down as many fighters as possible during the day, it makes our job at night that much easier.’

  Aircrew were a superstitious lot. Percy Miller, who completed a tour with 625 Squadron, remembered Kelstern as being a particularly superstitious station. ‘No one would take over a dog or a car left by crews who had bought it,’ he said. ‘It was said to be the surest way of following them and it was usually left up to the ground crew to get rid of any pets or cars left behind.’ At Waltham crews always reckoned ‘ops’ were imminent when they saw the sails turning on the nearby windmill.

  Superstition also extended to loaning out flying kit. Percy Miller was part of the crew of M-Midge (named after Percy’s wife) and the pilot loaned out his Sidcot suit just before they were due to take off for a mining trip off Kiel, usually such a ‘piece of cake’ that it only counted as one-third of an operation. Both Lancasters accompanying M-Midge were shot down and Miller’s own aircraft only just managed to avoid a flak ship when it dropped to 60ft to lay its mine. No Sidcot suit was ever loaned out again.

  Maintenance work on Lancasters at Fiskerton, 1944. (Martin Nichol/David Briggs Collection)

  He also remembered the pressure on crews to complete operations whatever the odds. Kelstern came under the control of neighbouring Binbrook and the Base CO, the indomitable A/Cmdr. Arthur ‘Hoppy’ Wray, took a dim view of any crews who aborted trips in all but the direst circumstances. Miller’s crew suffered engine problems soon after taking off for the Ruhr with flames and sparks shooting back past the tail from the recalcitrant engine but, after a hurried intercom conference, the crew decided to press on to the target rather than face the wrath of Wray on their return. They flew low over the North Sea in an effort to burn up fuel to help them gain altitude but were still unable to get above 15,000 feet. They were late over the target and
got the full attention of the local flak gunners but managed to drop their bombs. ‘When we got back we were told our engine problems had been spotted after we took off and no one thought we would make it home again,’ he said.

  Jim Lord flew as a pilot with 550 Squadron, completing a tour during the summer of 1944. He had fond memories of his time at North Killingholme, helped perhaps by his time there not coinciding with the harsh winters of 1943-44 and 1944-45 which left much of the airfield either flooded or buried in snow. It was a hard time for everyone on the squadron – his own crew had to abandon their Lancaster over Suffolk on its return from Revigny – but lightened by the sense of camaraderie on the squadron and the social life they enjoyed. The Cross Keys in South Killingholme was only a short stroll from the airfield and there was transport available for trips into Grimsby and, in particular Cleethorpes, where the sea-front Cafe Dansant was a beacon for aircrew from a wide area. 550’s favourite public house in the resort was The Lifeboat. ‘We had a lot of fun and games there,’ he recalled.

  F/O Mills and crew at dispersal with their aircraft UL-D2, Fiskerton 1945. (Martin Nichol/David Briggs collection)

  Bomb aimer Reg Francis remembered North Killingholme for the friendly spirit which existed on the station. He had just arrived at the airfield when, on the morning of March 12, 1945, he enjoyed a good breakfast with his crew members after a night cross-country exercise, one of the routine exercises designed to ease new crews into squadron life. The crew expected to get the rest of the day off and discussed the possibility of catching the bus into Grimsby. In the meantime, Reg decided to visit the clothing stores for a change of battledress. It was a particularly windy morning and this, together with the somewhat frail nature of the station tannoy, meant he was unable to make out the garbled announcement he heard on his way to the stores.