A Story of War

'Dickie's' Lysander, 28 Squardon (Army Cooperation), Kohat, loading up for Burma

We leave an hour late and I do a ground loop at Lahore and bust a wheel, and so am two hours behind. On reaching Delhi, I refuel and take off up to some gate or other as I can’t get off the ground and only manage to pull up with a few feet to spare. I run up on chocks and find the engine is OK so take off again and set course. Then Flight Sergeant Fairbrother, my airgunner, says ‘something’s burning’, it appears to be another fuse so I come down again and stay the night whilst it is attended to. The accumulator overflows and rots a large hole in the fabric.

I put up at Com. flight mess, with Gunn who is in the Douglas, and then go to the Club with Mac, Dudley Withers and Neil Elliot. I meet Brain and Dickie Lonsdale and Pamela Russel from Calcutta, Also alot of paratroops, some with carpet slippers on and plaster on their faces, and despite telephoning all over Delhi, am unable to locate Reggie Seward or Abbott.

Next day, with Sergeant Glass, who stopped overnight with an oil leak, we set off and after refuelling at Cawnpore catch up the squadron at Gaya. As I fly over they fire Very lights, so I watch which way their smoke blows and land accordingly, only to find they had been trying to draw my attention to a landing “Tee”. But instead of a ‘berry for my prang I am complimented on catching up the squadron! We reach Dum Dum that night and are put up at the Mess. No taxis available but we eventually manage to get on some service MT and reach Calcutta at 8.15pm. A drink in the Grand, then Joe Nelson, Teddy and I dine at Firpo’s and return to bed by 11pm. Burt Mann up all night with his girl and some of the others stay in town.

Next day we reach Chittagong and then set out for He-Ho. B Flight leading and over some wicked mountains up to 8000′, thickly wooded. Near Meiktila Burt decides petrol is short so we land at a concealed landing ground at Pyawbwe. It’s home to the Burma Frontier Force training battalion and we meet a BVAF chap (Isaacs) and his wife who give us tea whilst refuelling in progress. I have a long range tank and they don’t fill me up, but I take a look and find an air lock in the tank. That’s blown out, and we set off for He-Ho where the rest of the Squadron are, bar Teddy Humphries. He was last seen over the Irrawaddy and it later transpires he went back to Chittagong and the next day set out again and crash-landed at Mandalay. But a search A/C goes out to look for him.

At He-Ho we sleep in dormitories with bedding “on the house”, the custom out here apparently. Over 3000″ and damn cold; rolling downland with scrub; sharp stakes and tank traps everywhere. Off next day to Laskio and up to 9500′. Of course our heavy kit has not arrived, but we disperse to A/C “hides” and then up to the Mess some three miles away. We all go about with pistols and carry tin hats. This is the railhead for the Burma road, and lorries are everywhere. Mostly Chinese drivers, and one lorry is only supposed to last about four trips. We drive down to some hot springs where boiling water wells out of the ground. Everything hellish expensive as all the inhabitants have made fortunes out of “lorrying” up the Road.

A beautiful place this. A low depression with rolling hills on three sides, thickly jungled. The earth is red, but plenty of vegetation and flowers abound. The buildings are all wood and chattai, on stilts above the ground in Chinese fashion.

Tomahawks of the American Volunteer Group arrive occasionally but we never see the pilots. They get about 2000 rupees a month and 500$ in gold for each plane they shoot down, so they are pretty hot stuff.

A sudden signal for two aircraft to Rangoon for two months and it is B Flight. Sgt Deakin and Nobby or I. We toss and he gets it and has gone. He hates moving and I like it, but I’m not ready, having just unpacked and not yet being “composed like”. Now I am, I wish the hell I had gone after all, as there will be nothing to do here, until we are re-equipped with modern aircraft.

DC3′s of China National Airways Corporation run Calcutta-Laskio-Kunming. If I had gone to Rangoon I would have seen some more war, and bombers every day there. Am I a fool or not?

(Being a continuation of my previous record ‘Flying and Soldiering’ which I closed, leaving many blank pages, on proceeding to Burma. This is the only book I was able to get in Kohat and somehow a different muse seems to live in it. That is to say, a scribbling, hurried muse, who records beauty, drama and tragedy like a mere official communique. Why? I know not. Perhaps he will change.)

Off tomorrow to Laskio. Route Lahore, Delhi, Cawnpore (night stop), Gaya, Calcutta (night stop), Chittagong, Akyab, He-Ho, Laskio. Sixteen aircraft and a DC2, and I believe 1 squadron IAF, are going down the same route.

Yesterday a party in the Club, and I get a bit whistled, waking up with a slight head, the first time ever, despite my famous ‘Roman’s trick’. Teddy and I get an advance of pay at Indian rates. It lays down we shall draw down pay at RAF Indian rates, but I didn’t get that in Iraq and I don’t see how I’m going to get it in Burma. I take my head down to the hangars this morning and try to load up the Lysander, but it seems to have a hell of a lot of extra kit in it.

RAF vs an officers team rugger yesterday and I score a try. A cypher in last night that we move on 26th, so I will close this book as I must pack it.

Here’s hoping I shall live to open it again.

Teddy Humphries comes back from Lahore and prangs his Lysander – breaking the tyres and straining the u/c and wing. Joe married yesterday, but I’m not invited. I buy a bottle of whisky and we give Jack Moulding a farewell party in his room. Loftus of the ‘Camels’ there and Pete Jennings in cracking form. Yesterday I go with Farr in the Valencia to Miranshah as second pilot. Rather like driving a ship in a heavy sea, but I manage OK. We inspect the “Scouts” Mess but no one in.

Today I go with Bill Tate to Peshawar as second pilot. Hammerbeck goes in a Lysander and attempts to shoot us up, but is outmanoevred by Bill who swings his Valencia into aeleron turns and eventually puts her down to about 160 and chases him down to the ground. Then both landings are done by side-slipping turns.

I call at Grindlays (Bank) in Peshawar and fix up a few things; also I give Hammerbeck a piece of my mind when he starts being rude on the tarmac.

I get Joe Nelson round for a drink last night, with Olga, in the “Ladies Room.” Pete Jennings objects to me ringing the bell so much and spoiling his news, so tears it down. Then he and Hammerbeck come and join us and then we go to the Pub for more whisky and back to the Ladies Room for dinner. I get rather tight but in bed by 12pm. Hammerbeck annoys me. He is always ready to talk about the Western Desert and the hours he has put in. He means well, poor chap, but does get our backs up. Bill Bowden of 60 squadron recently heard over Tokio radio!

What the brassiere said to the hat “you go ahead and I will give these two a lift.” I wrote to Baker at AHQ and told him my moans, but I expect he will be so fed up with us he will return us to the army, or post us to a squadron in India where we can’t complain. I do want to see Burma – now!

More doing nothing and a little baseball with the Sergeants. Yesterday drank with Joe Nelson and Teddy and Joe’s girl Olga who has come up from Bombay, and they hope to marry on Sunday. Alot of whisky, and dinner in the Park Hotel. Joe Nelson from New Zealand, and lately from Aden, and old Jack Moulding – 7 years in the Straits Police – are two people I can sit and listen to for hours. There’s a sort of romance in these sort of people – only I can’t quite place it. Sergeant Moyer, a young Canadian, and Sergeant Glass, a big brawney Australian, are two more. Nought to do but hang about, all packed up.

The train party goes off on 3rd and ought to reach Calcutta today. It rains like hell and we stand about in it as it takes them two hours too long to marshall the train. Then I have to find seats for the followers and the Indian other ranks of A.I.L. section in the dark. A complete shambles with men jumping on anywhere as the accommodation provided by the railway authorities was inadequate. At last they get away, most of the troops intoxicated, and we, the air party, start a deadly existence of waiting, waiting. Clay pidgeon shooting one morning, and we go out on a long range another. But we can’t go before they arrive, which will be 20th at least.

Bill Tait posted here in place of Duncan who retires to Movement Control at AHQ. We give him a party in the “Ladies Room” with ‘Snippet’ Coverton whom I used to know at Pachmari, Mary Humphries and one other. Hammerbeck brews Black Velvet and then we abandon the chairs for cushions round the fire. Potent stuff! I remember Bill Tait lying under a screen, myself sitting on a chair perched on top of him.

Bill Duncan can’t manage and departs, ill, for home. His wife Alison and the rest sit down to dinner with “Tiger’s Milk”, another horrible cocktail of Hammerbeck’s. Why spoil a good liqueur, though I never touch ‘em myself.

Devilish cold and I wish I hadn’t packed my flying boots. In Burma its 14/6d plus Rs72 allowance, less British income tax, payable in India less Indian income tax – I’m sure. Teddy Humphries has written to AHQ about it – but what to do? “Pay to fly with the RAF.”

I celebrate New Year in bed as usual. Bill Duncan overshoots and writes off a Lysander at Miramshah. I have been there three days running on various jobs – doing air to air which was damn bad, though I get one hole on the drogue. (JDW: A drogue parachute – a funnel-shaped or cone-shaped device towed behind an aircraft as a target.)

Today a signal in requiring two Lysanders for shore patrol in the Andamans from Port Blair – only Nobby and Nelson volunteer, whilst I am still thinking it over. Sgt Ridley to go with Nelson and I get rid of my useless airgunner, Sgt Turner too, with them. I am put in charge of enrolling followers and it’s a hell of a job.  A havildar from 7/13th comes down to drill them daily. I am all packed up ready to go. The rail party departs on 6th, and will be in Calcutta on 10th.

I go over with Jerry to visit the Kohat Pass Arms Factory. A most “kachha” idea and no sanitation visible. Small boys turn sort of bicycle wheels which work lathes for boring the barrels. Other men make the various parts and then you can have ‘B.S.A.’, ‘Ishapore’ (JDW: the Birmingham Small Arms company, and the Indian rifle factory in Ishapore) etc stamped on as you choose. One stamp was ‘Ezfield’ (JDW: presumably a mis-spelling of Enfield). Arms are only made on demand but you can choose your own barrel and bolt etc and have the lot put together in your presence with a walnut stock. Martinis sell for 40-50/- and Lee Enfields for 60-70. They also make shotguns, single bore.

Later went riding with Blackwell on the ‘Piffer’ horses and did some magnificent jumping, which I hadn’t done for years.

A trip to Miramshah today to take a spare part over. ‘Springheel’ Jack is a Lt/Colonel and off to Delhi to command 20/6 R. Rifles, a garrison battalion. A farewell party in the Piffer Mess and I stay on late to dinner with Blackwell, discussing Burma and Army cooperation in general. A great party at the Pentons on the 28th – I am in cracking form owing to ‘old Angus’ and Vodka. We play ‘Murder’ and ‘Consequences’ and some pretty rude ones turn up.

Air raids on Rangoon – the day Wavell was there!

We gave a dance on 26th to which all Kohat comes. Hammerbeck brews a very good hot rum punch which is much approved. Jerry Beck very drunk. I have dinner with the Pentons first, which was really the best part of the evening as far as I was concerned. Teddy Humphries arrives last night after being ‘lost’ by the Indian Government in Cairo for six weeks. “Tiny” Irwin swears he is a V.R. (JDW: not sure what this means) to all and sundry, and is trying to push his way home. But now Teddy’s been found they’ll like as not catch him too.

Our rail party has to be in Calcutta on the 10th, so don’t suppose we shall leave (for Burma) before 28th January. Peace establishment, British rates of pay, in rupees I believe.