Groundcrew trip

99 Squadron, Royal Air Force

1939 to 1945

INDIA - The Engine Fitter’s Journey

At Waterbeach in early 1942, 620889 Corporal T. Bond, then a 23-year-old engine fitter, was not an entirely happy man. He had just taken over the responsibility for Wellingtons ‘A’ and ‘J’, and ‘J Johnny’ was beleaguered with faults. He and the rest of the ground crew had worked all day through rain, sleet and hail on a freezing January day and still hadn’t bottomed out all the problems. As soon as it appeared to be serviceable, other problems arose, but these faded into the background after pay parade on Friday January 9th – the C.O. addressed all the ground staff and informed them of the Squadron’s impending posting overseas.

Over the next few weeks, rumour piled upon rumour concerning the future of the Squadron. Were they going to the Near East, or just to back to Newmarket? What were these inoculations for? Was the whole Squadron going, or just a handful of aircrew? By the third week in January, the Squadron was diminishing in numbers but there was still no definite news. Meanwhile the groundcrew struggled on with ’J Johnny’ but each test flight revealed further problems. When it eventually became reliably serviceable, it was posted from the Squadron – there was some sadness at the departure of the ‘temperamental old bus’ after so many hours had been spent on it.

February saw the groundcrews engaged in preparing aircraft for overseas, and Cpl. Bond was put in charge of the preparation of the first ‘overseas’ aircraft, and subsequently Wellingtons ‘C’, ‘E’, ‘F’, and ‘H’. These last three departed on 20th February. Fixing oil leaks and changing engines in weather so cold that it took your breath away were precursors to night flights and cross-country flying in preparation for the move. At least there was a week’s leave to enjoy.

With the aircraft gone, there was now little to do except to collect overseas kit and stamp it, sew it and patch it up, interspersed with visits to Cambridge to the cinema, and spending evenings at the “Railway” and the “Star”. There were occasional concerts at the camp, which seem to have been of uncertain quality. Rifles and blankets were issued, unwanted kit was packed and left in the hangar. Then on Friday 20th March, the last retinue paraded at 8 o’clock, boarded a train for Liverpool at 10 and left at 11.30.

After arriving in Liverpool, they boarded the Empress of Russia at the Gladstone dock, sorted out kit, and were eventually towed out into the river. Following an ‘Action Stations’ exercise, the Empress set sail at midday on Monday 23rd, basking in an afternoon of March sunshine. Everybody bade the Old Country goodbye. The sadness of departure was somewhat relieved by the discovery that cigarettes were cheap at 10 for 3d, (but Players somewhat more expensive at 4d.) and chocolate was plentiful. There were many Chinese among the crew, and they tried to sell worthless 1 Yen notes for 1/-, but found few takers. Their dress sense provided some distraction – “amusing clothes and slippers”.

The Empress was part of a larger convoy of up to about 100 ships, which included the aircraft carriers ‘Illustrious’ and ‘Argus’, and the battleship ‘Malaya’. The ‘Argus’ was something less than state of the art – she started in life as a passenger ship, and, unfinished, was converted to a ‘flat-top’ in 1918.

Accommodation on the Empress was spartan, but at least in the early days of the voyage the food was good. Most of the groundcrew had what A.G. Edgerley describes as ‘an abundance of free time’, and the tedium of a long voyage was a little relieved by a ‘housey’ school, sing-songs with a band, the occasional air-raid alarm and games such as darts. In a perceptive moment, Cpl. Bond recalled “It’s strange when neither the (darts) player nor the board keep still, but results attained seem just the same as ashore”. The weather was changeable, with fog and rough seas enlivened by ‘Abandon Ship’ exercises. Going south, the weather gradually warmed up to the point where sleeping below deck at night became uncomfortable; sleeping on deck allowed views of an impressive moon shining on stiller waters. Many observers caught their first sight of the exotica of the southern oceans, including flying fish, sharks, phosphorescence, porpoises, and man o’war jellyfish. It soon became time to don tropical kit – “We all look like boy scouts going out for the day”.

On the sixteenth day, Monday 6th April, the Empress reached Freetown and, in terrific heat, lay up just inside the harbour. The area surrounding the harbour was a pretty place. Quaint houses sat among wooded hills, sandy beaches and trees ran right down to the shoreline. The locals came out in force, diving for pennies and offering fruit for sale from their bumboats. The Empress needing refuelling, a line of locals hauling coal on board in baskets. With malaria rife in Freetown, there was no shore leave. The harbour itself was crowded with shipping, including the new Mauretania and the converted German aircraft float Hanover. The heat was unforgiving, and many came out in a heat rash. Water on board was getting short, and the quality of the food had deteriorated markedly. Many had not had a good square meal for a week. Minerals and biscuits were the staples. One chap committed suicide by hanging himself over the side of the ship. The ship finally moved off at 13.37 on Saturday 11th April, en route for Durban.

While the rations did not improve, at least spirits were high enough for celebrating the ‘Crossing the Line’ ceremony : “Father Neptune held the court together with his wife, all dressed up. A chap all in white read out ridiculous charges & was instantly found guilty with no mercy to be shown. The victim was then led to a chair where he was lathered, shaved with a wooden razor whereupon the chair was tipped over backwards depositing the victim in the trough of water. Needless to say it was all quite humorous & comical.”

The following day, among rumours that the ship was to dock at Durban then take everyone back to England, Cpl. Bond celebrated his 24th birthday. At least the route to Durban was not beset with the regular course changes that had been present on leaving Liverpool, in order to avoid submarine attacks. The monotony of life on board was enlivened by a cinema fixed up in the Sergeants’ Mess, which showed films like Pygmalion, Bandwagon and It’s All Yours. Then on Wednesday 22nd April, the convoy split up, with various ships putting in to Cape Town and the rest continuing to Durban. Approaching Durban, the C.O. gave a lecture concerning Durban, its politics and of the 1500 cases of VD suffered by the last transport to pass through!

The Empress docked in Durban on Sunday 26th April, feet touched dry land at 13.30, and following a short rail journey, the retinue arrived at Clairwood Camp. There were many stark contrasts between Durban and life in England, among which were the lack of a blackout, with the lights of the town burning brightly, cheap food of excellent quality, (braised steak, two eggs, sausage & vegetables followed by an iced fruit salad all for 1/10d), well stocked shops and – the ultimate luxury – large basins of sugar on all the tables of the eating places. Durban lacked only a good dance band –the two on offer were less than enchanting. Cpl. Bond bought a camera, with some small hope of continuous supplies of film. It was a relaxed time to be spent eating, swimming, seeing the sights and, inevitably, going to the pictures. Letters and airgraphs were written and duly sent home. It couldn’t last – departure came on Friday 8th May.

The bad news was that there was only one canteen on board for thousands of troops, and the ensuing queues were horrific – it could take two hours to get a cup of tea. It further rankled that beer and other alcohol were only supplied to Sergeants and Officers. Confined to port because of bad weather, the rumblings of discontent grew when it was discovered that several officers had gone ashore, but the “erks” were confined to ship. This resulted in a near-mutiny, with anything removable being thrown at the S.P.s guarding the gangplank. Hoses were eventually turned on the rebels, and the situation calmed. The troops, nonetheless, remained discontented. The ship eventually took to sea at 11.45 on Monday 11th May. Other than a lack of water, which was only turned on between 5.30 and 8.00 in the morning, it was an otherwise featureless journey to Bombay where the ship put into harbour on 20th May.

Bombay harbour was even more packed with shipping, including a submarine, than Freetown and Durban had been. The troops were kept on board for a further two days before disembarking on Friday just after midday. There followed a lengthy train journey to Barkakana, and then a five-mile march, with full kit, to a camp at Ranchi. Several of the party collapsed in the searing heat. How different from home. It was the beginning of the Indian adventure.