Edward Holdsworth
TALES FROM TED HOLDSWORTH
.....During the war, I was an engine-mechanic in the RAF. Some air
fields' names make me smile: "Sealand," "Halfpenny Green," "Moreton-in-the-Marsh,"
and, in Wales, "Llandrog". I once travelled by train to another posting,
and in the early hours, while alighting from an unlit non-corridor
compartment, managed to put my foot in the gap between the train and the
platform. As I went down in a heap, followed by my kit-bag and
haversack, I became very much awake! A kindly policeman escorted me to a
waiting room and cleared a large table, where I lay till
daylight—surveying the many sleeping forms of different uniforms and
nationalities in the gas-lit room.
I remember when one camp I was in was transferred from the north of
England to Worcester, in the south. The aircraft (Wellingtons) were
flown down in formation--with just the pilot and one mechanic, complete
with tool box. The only place I recognised was a smokey Birmingham, and
I had some misgivings when my pilot finally indicated what seemed like a
football pitch as our destination.
When I was in Wales, one of our duties was on mountain rescue, with many
trips made in mist and rocky hills, to bring back bodies and salvagables.
It put me off climbing for good. I could never understand why all of the
dead crews' flying boots were not in place on the feet, but lay
scattered among the wreckage. A visit to a "Nuffield Centre" (like a
YMCA) in London, enabled me to witness Gl soldiers performing their
remarkable Jitterbugging--a truly amazing experience!
Back on the airfields, returning aircraft were often met at the end of
the runway, the crews transferred to Jeeps, and the mechanics taxied the
planes to their perimeter bases. It was at this time that I earned the
dubious nick-name of "Flash," for my ability to position my unwieldy
noisy machines as closely together as possible for re-fuelling. This was
no easy feat on a grassy field, in the dark as well as daylight. I draw
a veil over the many mishaps (the blame, conveniently put elsewhere).
Boy apprentices at Aylesbury would march to the cook-house every day,
white pint mugs in their right hand, eating "irons" in the left. They
had their own brass band, which was led by the goat mascot, who had his
own place at the table, where he ate breakfast-unguarded caps, bootlaces
and anything else within his reach. I was at this camp on VJ night, and
will always remember the Naafi piano being played on the square at
midnight by the commanding officer, and the goat had become very drunk!
BY Ted Holdsworth
This is also on Famiies at War (BBC site) click here
War