Ted Gordon's Life in the RAF -Part 1: Chapters 1 to 7

Ted Gordon's Life in the RAF -Part 1: Chapters 1 to 7

By Actiondesk Sheffield

People in story: Ted Gordon,F/Lt C. E. Holstrom, F/O Whittaker, Ray Dickinson, Squadron Leader Pennick, Leader Turrell
Location of story: East End of Sheffield, Lords Cricket Ground London, St Johns' Wood, Brighton, Ludlow in Shropshire, Scarborough College, North Wales
Unit name: 367 Squadron Air Training Corps
Background to story: Royal Air Force

Ted Gordon's Life in the RAF
CHAPTER 1
INSPIRATION
This story was inspired, and started, by having a pleasant afternoon watching a repeat of the film "The Dam Busters" and the 40th Anniversary of this event, which took place at the Derwent Dams on the outskirts of Sheffield the following day.
To go there was impractical for medical reasons, but my wife and I did see one of the Red Arrows pass over our house, doing a reconnaissance run. Later, the visiting Tornado of 617 Squadron passed over and, by mid afternoon, we were rewarded by watching the last remaining Lancaster, "City of Lincoln", going to make his awaited debut for a crowd of some 80,000 people at the Dams, where the crews had learned their skills for this epic raid.
The morning of this event was broadcast on Radio Sheffield, and it was my privilege to pay tribute to the people who kept them in the air. The unsung heroes: the WAAFS, who packed the parachutes, drove crew coaches, and many other duties; the airmen who maintained the engines, air frames, wireless; the air avnouse who looked at turrets and bomb bays. Truly heroes, who waited in home made huts for your return, and wished "God Speed" on operational nights.
Wishing to understand the problems of this raid, some days later we visited the Dam, and it was only then, standing at the back of the Dam wall, did we appreciate the problem, its cause, and its effect.
This story is a personal account of the desire to fly, and a tribute to the many people who helped us on the way. The people of the Air Training Corps, the University Air Squadron before we entered the service, our instructors and officers at ITW's, Gunnery School, Operational Training Unit, and Heavy Conversion Unit; but, most of all, to my fellow Air Gunners, with whom I lived and worked, and unfortunately never saw again, being posted as missing presumed killed in too many cases. For indeed the price eventually paid by fliers was 55,000 killed (which represents 67% of the RAF casualties or 12% of Britain's total service and civilian casualties).
Even today, many years on, the sound of a jet aircraft still draws me like a magnet. Of all the aircraft ,I have flown, the Bristol Britannia was the most enjoyable, having at that time broken the record from Basle, Switzerland to Heathrow, England.
It was not until we landed, that the Captain advised us of this.
CHAPTER 2
EARLY DAYS AT SCHOOL
Living in a village in the East End of Sheffield, life was hard in the 1930's, and there were more than a few "tatty arse" kids. The Council school which we attended had some good teachers, we were not all saints, and the cane and punishment book were often in evidence; nevertheless the hard schooling we went through did us no harm. Leaving school at fourteen years old was not uncommon, so, like me, if you were not so bright, you just had to go to night school and make up for lost time, and work that much harder if you wished to succeed.
Other lads who went to this school also became flyers, and in total there were ten, of which three were commissioned. Sadly, we lost three, one killed and buried in Yugoslavia, shot down after delivering supplies to the partisans; another died in a glider towing accident with a Stirling, the third was a mystery of how he perished.
Aeroplanes were always my first love and, even whilst still at school, I knew most of the ones then flying, but living in the Steel City you were destined to be involved with this metal in some way or other. For me initially it was the rolling of this material, rounds, square, hexagons, flats of various lengths; in mild steel, and stainless; using tongs and hooks to process the billets. It was hot, tough labour, but the team spirit was great. Danger lurked for the unwary, particularly with stainless. I saw a man killed with a rod through his body with stainless steel.
One day the steel got me on the right arm, so they found me an office job, thus allowing me to go to night school.
CHAPTER 3
ENCOURAGEMENT THE START: 1936
To fly to many aircrew was brought on by the expediency of World War II, but for me it was just an advancement of an earlier desire. Many young boys of my age wanted to be engine drivers, bus drivers, and so on, but seeing Alan Cobham's flying circus at Coal Aston near Gleadless really started me off. The second incident was a dream I had of having feathered wings like those of a bird and flying down Droppingwell Road, to land on what was Arthur Lee's Football Field.
This must have been coincidence, for my father worked in the Fitting Shop of this company, and it was my duty to take his dinner every weekday in the old square basket. I was then thirteen years old, and met by accident a man who further interested, me in flying. Being inquisitive as most lads are, I was looking in a railway wagon, at what looked like scrap strip wire, until this gentleman told me it was part of the remains of the R101 Airship which had crashed some months earlier.
My interest was even more aroused and then he revealed who he was, the General Manager of Arthur Lee & Sons, Colonel Sadler, and an ex pilot of the Royal Flying Corps in World War I. After this we walked regularly, down the drive, and he initially taught me much about flying, its thrill, but more so its dangers, for these were days when parachutes were unheard of. He offered to get me into the Air League of the British Empire, but none existed in this part of England, so that was out. He was a kindly, quiet spoken man, a man of leadership and determination, and many years later I understood why he was the General Manager.
You have to remember that these were the days of the DH2, FE2B, Sopwith Pup and Camel, flimsy aeroplanes, and he was a pioneer of what we all today accept as the Royal Air Force, but borne out of the foresight of such men as Lord Trenchard and others.
After these talks I always wanted to go to the Royal Air Force College at Cranwell, but I never did; the only way, I saw it was from the air, and this was some years later.
CHAPTER 4
ENCOURAGEMENT VOLUNTEERING AND ACCEPTANCE
One is reminded of an era which one can never forget, however hard one tries, for this period in one's life was inevitable: You had to go into the Forces unless you were a conscientious objector or totally unfit. For many you did not have the choice, but for some "volunteers" you had the choice, and this was the case for all the Royal Air Force aircrews. In the earliest days these crews came from the University Air Squadrons, in the feeders for the Battle of Britain squadrons. Later on, with the inauguration in 1941 of the Air Training Corps, led by the leaders of industry, this became the feeder ground for volunteers for Bomber Command, Coastal Command, and other duties where flying was involved.
Having volunteered, the aircrew tests and Board were formidable. Medicals were of the highest standard of any of the Armed Forces, and far more failed these tests than were accepted. It was said that U/T Aircrew were the cream of the nation's young men, and in all honesty I think this was true for at my selection board there were twenty of us, and after
three days there were only three. In fact, prior to my board I had tried to join the Fleet Air Arm, but was turned down due to enlarged tonsils, which were eventually removed at the Northern General Hospital in Sheffield. Had these not been removed, I would have failed the Royal Air Force medical and would not have been writing this story today.
In these days, being a member of the Air Training Corps was an advantage, for other than this the Air League of the British Empire was the only organisation for youth, and only operated in some parts of the country. Being an NCO added further to your chances.
Once accepted, you started the hard grind towards flying, and the Air Force motto "Per Ardua ad Astra" is well known, and had to be tackled. In my case, I was accepted into 367 Squadron Air Training Corps located at the City Grammar School in Sheffield, our Commanding Officer was F/Lt C. E. Holstrom, Managing Director of Firth Vickers Ltd, and our Flight Commander F/O Whittaker, an ex RFC pilot, who later took over the squadron. Some years later I had lunch with my old C.O, toured the works with him as a commissioned officer, and thanked him for his help.
Ray Dickinson was the Sergeant, and I his Corporal; many years later my daughter Fiona became a Corporal in the same squadron and I often wonder if it is unique.
CHAPTER 5
CALLED UP!
When your papers arrived, the first port of call was the Lords Cricket Ground London, the assembly point; from here you went to large blocks of flats, which had been requisitioned for housing. In my case it was St Johns' Wood, a relatively quiet area, which became a seething mass of humanity all determined to be flyers in some capacity or other.
Here you were kitted out and given the white flash for your forage, cap, which distinguished you as U/T Aircrew, a honour which many regarded with some degree of snobbishness.
The people you met came from all sections of society, and places, English, Welsh and Scots were predominant in our group, and ages varied from the youngest at 171/4 to 32, the oldest, a11 of whom had ambitions to be pilots, and this is today still the ambition of most lads who want to join the Royal Air Force.
The next stage was splitting into flights within squadrons, and here you got a taste of what was to follow; you met your first Corporal, then the Sergeant, and then your Flight Commander, usually a F/O.
The rudiments of square bashing became an everyday occurrence; to some this was abhorrent, to the ex ATC lads, easy meat.
Suddenly, one day, your name was called to report to the Medical officer, for what you did not know, but soon realised when he proceeded to produce hypodermic needles to give you jabs for -tetanus and other ailments. The effects were surprising; you could be standing on parade and suddenly bodies in some numbers would collapse to the ground, only to be carried to their beds. Others would not get on parade, and were left to sleep the effects off and, in one case, he slept twenty-lour hours, and then arose, as fit as a fiddle, not realising he had lost a day. Not to be affected in some way or another was a rarity.
The cadets who had been manual workers were described as "tough buggers" by the medic teams, who must have got fed up with punching needles into arms of various shades of white to brown, especially when the needles were getting a little blunt.
Now kitted out, and medicals finished, the next port of call was to a holding unit. Brighton on the South coast was destination for the majority, and the Grand Hotel housed many, as did the other hotels on the sea front. The beaches were swathed in coils of barbed wire, patrolled by the Army, and of no use for sun bathing or other forms of relaxation, for this was the front line.
Here teamwork was established, and the main basis was drill. Once again, the Corporals did the bulk of the work, and the main object of this was to produce the best squad of the intake and win the team prize. The Corporals who were the best at man management usually produced the winning team, but during the time I spent there the winning team turned out to be a squad of fliers, who had been sent to Brighton for committing various breaches of discipline. Most senior NCOs, but some officers were included, they were very good and deserved the honour.
To watch and listen to a squad of thirty doing drill with only one click for each movement, is indeed quite a feat.
Lord Formoy, the Commanding Officer, presented the prize on this occasion and all the cadets watching gave this squad thunderous applause.
Little did we realise just how important this discipline and co-operation would be in time to come, but in hindsight it was a vital and important factor for teamwork.
CHAPTER 6
LUDLOW HOLDING UNIT
With the war machine now fully grinding, having recovered from the Dunkirk fiasco, and success in the air with the Battle of Britain, events stepped up a pace, and we were despatched from the comparative luxury of Brighton to a tented unit in the lovely area of Ludlow in Shropshire, a delightful country area, quiet, peaceful and, thank goodness, it was early Summer, for the rains never came. This was the time you relaxed and indulged mainly in organised sport, for our Flight Commander was Squadron Leader Pennick, the famous golfer.
Here, a football inter-country, rivalry was always prevalent and, having a Scots name, I was picked for the Scottish Team. We played ''thirteen games and never lost one. The prize for the winners' team was tea and wads from the NAAFI.
Football was played nearly every day, not in boots, but in gym slippers, with the old leather balls; Lord knows what the present day players would say if they played or practised with this equipment, for if someone played a practical joke and wetted the ball, it weighed a ton and the lacing on the ball could leave you with nasty bruises if you were that unfortunate. The atmosphere was carefree and happy, some were homesick and worried about their folks at home, but the majority had by now accepted their chosen lot, and eagerly looked forward to the next stage. For all it was back to the classroom.
CHAPTER 7
Initial Training Wings
Scarborough, Bridlington, Aberystwyth, North Wales, were some of the places where the Initial Training Wings (ITWs) were located and where you went was just potluck.
When postings came, it was just one mad rush to see where you would go on the posting board. For me I was lucky, it was Scarborough College, thus remaining in my native Yorkshire.
Our C.O. at Scarborough was Squadron Leader Turrell, a most charming man, and respected by all, the right man for the right job, a man who I was to have dinner with some time later; his house overlooked the first fairway at Scarborough Golf Club.
Here for the first time we met some Belgian trainees, how they got here revealed many fascinating stories of escape, for their war started before we met. Some said nothing, being often too painful to remember.
The only incident of note was being awakened by artillery fire and -the remains of a Heinkel float plane washed up on the beach next morning.
Here the work really started, doing Air Force Law, Signals, Navigation, Meteorology, and other subjects, and if you failed in any subjects that was the end of your chance to become a pilot, but not the chance to fly in other capacities, as Navigator, Bomb Aimer or Air Gunner. Wireless operators, Flight engineers, came from another direction.
In my case I failed one subject, as did many others, and awaited my fate. As in any force, the laws of supply and demand were the governing factor, so us failures were posted to another ITW at Bridlington for a second chance. We now knew our destiny; failure was out, success the Air Gunnery Schools at either Dalcross, Scotland, or in Penrhos, North Wales. Few ex U/T pilots failed and I found myself posted to North Wales - No 9 AGS.
Very few seemed to mind that they would not be pilots, and accepted the situation, for the wish to be a flier was still the greatest incentive, and increased the determination to succeed.
Here was the start of the Air Gunner's way of life, and for me the fulfilment of an ambition to fly.