Pilot’s Memoirs – John Caulton

I’m Cyril Whittaker, and I’m interviewing John Caulton who was a pilot in of some repute during the war. John, how did you get into the Air Force to start off with?

In 1940 I was working in Hastings, and and I put my name down and volunteered for the Air Force. And at the time there weren’t a lot of planes, so they they gave us twenty-one assignments and four subjects to do. And then we did those, and we [were] examined on those, and when the time came there was room for us, they brought us in. But in the meantime, we had our medical and then our interview for the grading, and the innoculations and vaccinations, all before we went into the Air Force. I had those in Wanganui ‘cause I moved to Marton after Hastings.

So you actually joined up in Wanganui?

No, I joined up in … well, I went into the Air Force in Wanganui from Marton, but no, I joined up in Hastings … well I volunteered in Hastings, put it that way, but I did all my medicals, and [the] Selection Board was the Board [??] So in 1941 I went to Levin, to Weraroa, where we did our ground training in Course 20.

Then after we passed from there we went to New Plymouth on Tiger Moths for EFTS [Elementary Flying Training School] and met Allan Sievers; he was my instructor there; went through with Allan and finished that course. And then part of our course went to Canada, and the rest went down to Woodbourne and went straight onto Harvards from the Tiger Moths. That was quite a transition from the Tiger Moth to a Harvard, it was only about three hours and you were up and away. And it was a very nice plane to fly, and – we don’t want to go into the whys and wherefores of Woodbourne, I suppose, but it was a bit different to most places; we had our own Airman Pilots Bar – only one in the country. And then went through the different courses there, and then we passed out with wings. There was no Wings Parade as such; we went along to the Stores to move overseas, and they got slung along the counter as, “There’s your Friday night”, so a week’s worth.

And you got those in Blenheim?

In Blenheim, at Woodbourne. And then we came home for about a week’s final leave on our course, and straight onto the ‘Warwick Castle’ down to Lyttelton, and from there, straight through across the Pacific, through the canal – got off there for a day, or a half day – and then up to Halifax, Nova Scotia where we stayed for about a fortnight, ten days, ’til a convoy was formed. And then there was [were] five troop boats – I don’t know how many troops on – and fourteen war boats scattered around us, which was very comforting going across the Atlantic at that time. And we arrived in Greenock in Scotland; there we met all the English smog of the industrial haze that was there at that time. And it was thick.

What time of the year was this?

Well, I can’t remember … should’ve brought my logbook, shouldn’t I? It was winter there, I think, I’m not sure. Oh … well I have to go back and think about it. And even the grass was black in some parts as you went through. We went right down to Bournemouth, which was a PDC [Personnel Despatch Centre] where you waited for a posting. Then we got up to London and round about, and then after, I don’t know, about three weeks, we were posted off to a place called Tern Hill and did an AFU [Advanced Flying Unit] which was just a familiarisation, on Masters. And then we went from there to Redmoor, which was the bit over near Wales.

How many hours approximately did you do on Masters?

I should’ve brought the logbooks, shouldn’t I? Not many; I suppose about ten … just a rough guess. It was just to sort of familiarise yourself with the area of the country and the conditions that you’re flying under, because there’s a lot of industrial haze and fog, and completely different. And no landmarks that you knew, so it centred you in. I did fly a Hurricane there – the only one I ever flew – and then someone landed with the wheels up, so that buggered all that up too. Then we went on to Spits [Spitfires]. And we had Masters there, and Master 1 had an inline motor, the … I should know it, shouldn’t I?

Was it a Kestrel or a ..?

A Kestrel … Kestrel motor, yeah. And they had the the 2s which were – I think they were American made, I’m not sure, I think so. And they were adequate, but it was totally different when you had no one to tell you what to do. You had to go.

The cockpit layout of the Master would’ve been similar to the Spitfire, would it?

Yes, very similar. English style, you know, the main centre panel with about five instruments and then the other bits appeared. The cockpit layout – you had to go through the different checks for, you know, emergency checks and stuff.

The boost would’ve been in inches rather than in pounds?

Yes. Yes, it was, as against the Harvards here.

From there I was retained for one full course as a staff pilot, which was only a matter of taking someone up in the Master, and then taking others up for formation flying and supervising that. And that was invaluable, really, because it just gave you that extra confidence and experience in the Spit, before I joined the squadron.

And the operational training, what Mark [Mk] Spit was it?

It was a Mk 1 … well, there were Mk 1s and 2s; the Mk 1 we had, which I’ve already said once that it was the pump action one … it wasn’t too bad, really, it was it was just a selector pin and then a long handle pump that came up with EZ Reach and you just pumped it down.

And there was a bit of porpoising while you did that?

Oh, yes, yeah. Well, it was like most takeoffs in Spits – I could come back to another episode about that, which was unusual. Every takeoff you had to change hands from the left to your right to bring your undercart up anyway, but the pumping up – you know, it was more accentuated I think. But no one saw you; if they did everyone was doing it, you know, so … or a lot were doing it.

So then I was posted to 616 [Squadron], and that was Spit[fire] 6s, which were … pressure cabin Spits were a bit of a failure, they had a very extended wingtip … sharp wingtip.

High level, were they?

Yeah. And a cockpit that you clamped yourself into; but the motor wasn’t sufficient to take it up to those heights, you know? So there was only two squadrons. And then I think they went to a [Spitfire] 7, which was similar with a new motor, but they didn’t really need them at the time they became due.

So then we posted after a while from there to 132 [Squadron] at Martlesham which was up on the Suffolk Coast, where we did lots of convoy patrols … coastal convoy. And that was interesting; lots of bad weather, and also quite a lot of scrambles for observation planes and stuff that came over to that area, you know, to check out on the convoys and what-have-you.

And from there we sort of moved around, and I stayed with that squadron until ’44 when I was shot down. But you know, we had different COs [Commanding Officers] over the period; we had one CO who was an Austrian count – American citizen – in the RAF. He was a wonderful bloke, but he was killed one day coming out. It was a mixed squadron with lots of different nationalities; we had just about every one. We didn’t actually ever have any Poles ‘cause they usually went to their own wings and their own squadrons, but we had Norwegians at different times, and fellows from the Commonwealth; one from Barbados and two from Jamaica, so it was really a cross section of …

Cosmopolitan …

Yeah, it really was. Great blokes, really. I stayed on that squadron; we moved around quite a lot. Every couple of months or three months, we’d move to a different location for different duties. But after the shipping patrol – the protection up on that coast – we went down to near to the South Coast, to a place called Detling near Maidstone. We did escorts to the 9th Army Air Force, which were Marauders. We did quite a lot of those, and for a year they were just sort of in and out of France at about eleven thousand feet. It was pretty quiet, really; there was lots of ack ack [anti-aircraft gunfire] and stuff like that because they flew in tight formation, and when they were over the target they really got peppered. But there wasn’t a lot of, aerial activity; now and again they came through in a rush and went, but most of them were on the East Front – most of the Germans, I’m talking about now. They were on the East Front, or back and looking after the Homeland. So they didn’t come up on any … oh, now and again they did but it was very brief. So we did a lot of escorts and some low level, which were exciting.

No defence over England?

Yes. At night time you might be on late, but it’s handed [out] one hour after sunset sometimes, and then the night fighters took over, you see? So the night fighters by that stage were, you know, pretty proficient, and there wasn’t a lot of … they used to get the random raids with [Focke-Wulf] 190s with a 500 kg on, and come over and bomb London and things like that, but pretty scattered, and no heavy raids. All the stuff was out on the East Front, which was good for England but no good if you wanted to knock anything down. We had the occasional, brush with 109s and 190s.

But my first trips on that escort … we went to Cherbourg area and at that stage we had [Mk] 5Bs which were no match for 190; and three 190s chased us out of France, virtually. Our CO at that time wasn’t very well liked; he didn’t give any instruction. I was flying three in my section, and in the old days we used to fly line astern fours, which was pitiful really, because you had no radius of action. And these three 190s chased us out; we had no instructions from the CO. And the fellow behind me was attacked and he was shot down, and the next thing I saw this radial engine right up behind me which wasn’t very comfortable, and by the time I’d spun round I’d blacked out, and I was going back the wrong way. I was going back towards France until I woke up, and … well, not ‘til I woke up, but ‘til I came on grade. So the [Mk] 5B was no match for the 190.

No.

But neither was our CO at that stage. It was just one of those situations.

It sounds like a disaster going somewhere to happen.

Well, it could’ve been, yeah. You’re a sitting duck really, with no instructions. The one that was shot down behind me, he was picked up; fortunately bailed out, and he got shot in the backside. And I was watching that when this thing pulled up to me, and then I blacked out. But some Poles had seen him bail out, and they gave the Air-Sea Rescue a call and circled him, and brought him back home.

Shortly after that, we got our … they changed our [Mk] 5s, or they rehashed our [Mk] 5s in the way of taking the wingtips off and cropping the engine blower which gave us another couple of hundred horsepower. And then it made quite a difference. They just took the wingtips off and put a wooden … what would you call it? Panel, I suppose, in the wingtip. They just took them away one week and brought them back the next week.

So we carried on with the[Mk] 5s for a while, and then we got our [Mk] 9s, which was a wonderful moment because [it was] a totally different aeroplane – it was the same aeroplane but it had a totally different motor with the two stage blower.

And different performance?

Totally different. Yeah.

But the little story I was going to tell you about, we waited for these new [Mk] 9s to come in, and the Area Command, you know, the Transport Auxiliary, wasn’t it? Yeah; they flew them in. We were down on Romney Marsh at the time on what they call Sommerfeld Tracking, which was just strips of wire laced with steel. And the first aircraft landed – because we were very eager to see these and get our hands on them – and it taxied up to the tent; we were under canvas down there. And the helmet came off and the hair was shook out, and it was a girl. Perfect landing. And very short runways too; we had only two eleven hundred yard runways in the shape of an ‘L’. So then we waited for them to take our other aircraft away, and she was first in and first out, so we were all lined up to see what sort of a porpoising sort of a takeup it was going to be, and a very critical sort of crowd gathered round. And most people used to wait ’til they’d get about six feet off the ground before they changed over, just in case you hit the blades. And what was then termed as an operational takeoff is when someone got up a bit more speed, held it down, and then took the wheels up from the ground. But she had to change hands again, you see, and this is what happened. She knew she was under critical glances and she did this wheels up … the wheels came off the ground and went up. There was about a six inch clearance from the prop [propellor] at that stage, you know, ‘cause the tail was well up. So everyone quietly went away and [chuckle] said nothing. [Chuckles] Yes.

Takes you down to size.

Yeah, that’s right, yes. [Chuckle] I mean, to see a girl ride a motorbike those days was something unusual. We knew the girls were in transit; quite a number of New Zealand girls were over there … one from Wanganui …

Trevor Hunter.

Yes – I met her over there; she was a little old thing. I never saw her flying. But they used to fly three and four different kinds of aircraft in the one day, you know, it was just amazing; just with a book with the pilot’s instructions.

You wouldn’t remember her name, that one?

No, never found out … quite an attractive girl too, I might say.

There was a Jenny Broad that used to do a lot of that …

I don’t think … was she a New Zealander though? Jenny Broad?

No, she was an English girl.

Was she? I don’t know, I never found out.

She ran a shop in Norfolk Island. That’s how I …

Is that right? Is that right? Yes, some amazing people. So where are we at then? And so then we got our [Mk] 9s, and then we got a new CO too, which was even better – this was the Austrian – and a couple of new flight commanders at the same time. But most of the other pilots stayed, and we just carried on doing the escorting that we’d been doing and any other jobs that came along. Sometimes there was, you know, a sector reconnaissance for weather over France, and then we started using 500 pound bombs on the B1 sites, which … there were about a hundred and ninety-seven from memory … sites round from Belgium or Holland right round to Cherbourg. That was interesting, and different. There were more bombs – I think there must be more Frenchmen killed than anyone else with those, ‘cause they went all over the place. Twelve aircraft going down, all trying to aim and stay out of the other person’s way.

Yes.

I don’t know; never saw that side of it. And I also used to think how lethal it was, not so much at the time but early on we had a twenty-two gallon tank which took us over to France – this is the [Mk] 5s – and then when you got over there we just dropped them. Or … I’ve got to say sometimes they were dropped on the sea; most times they were dropped inland. And as I say, I don’t know how many Frenchmen got [wounded] with those things. You’d see a wing going over with twenty-four aircraft, and twenty-four tanks come fluttering down with a little bit of petrol in them. And there was no TV [television] those days to tell us what was happening on the other side.

And then we had the forty-five gallon tanks which were a little better, and the bombs went on the same sort of an attachment on the aircraft as the forty-five gallon tank did. That was interesting and different. I don’t know how many we hit .. never did find that out. They probably didn’t want to tell us.

They were a bomb that used to have a nose fuse; from memory I think it was twenty turns. It spun off once you’d dropped it. So then the aneroid …

Capsule took over.

… cap took over there, and then it exploded above the ground, ten or twelve feet, I believe. How I remember that is because we were given one to go and practise on, a bomb down off the coast. There were a lot of wrecks off the coast, Kent and Goodwin Sands. When I’d come up from dropping mine, as I thought, my Number 2 said, “You’ve got a hanger.” So I tried a couple more times, and by that time I had apparently bent the carrier; it wouldn’t come off. So you sort of had three options – you either drop the bomb, or you drop the whole carrier; or you bailed out; or you went back and landed, hoping that the nose one hadn’t spun off. And so I couldn’t even drop the carrier as well, which … normally you dropped your tank off with that carrier. So I went back to Detling, hoping there weren’t too many Bs and things around as I landed. If there was a cap at the end you don’t want anyone throwing any dirt up or anything like that, you know, that it would hit. Anyway, it was just electrical failure as it turned out. I didn’t like those things close-up.

No, they wouldn’t be healthy.

No. [Chuckle]

Were they more anti-personnel?

No, I don’t think so, I think they were high explosive from memory, but this type of … what would you call it? Cap or a gun, or a … there is a name for it. It was made slightly different to the others. Sometimes they had poles on them, apparently, but these ones were just an aneroid, and they built up and they’d be exploded when the pressure built up. So that was a bit of excitement. Everyone got a shout at the bar that night sort of thing, once you got back. It wasn’t as bad as what we thought it was going to be. [Chuckle]

So then we moved around at different times, down to Cornwall and up to Scotland on, you know, a fortnight rest period; but mostly it was around the south and east coast of England.

And then we got another CO after we lost [?] Mansfield, and it was a friend of mine, Geoffrey Page, who was one of the original guinea pigs. He was shot down in the Battle of Britain; very badly burned. He came to us again at Detling after we’d come back from under canvas; we were down under canvas at this place on Romney Marsh.

Would’ve been fairly cool?

Well it wasn’t too bad, and the summer was quite good. The summer’s not bad, weren’t back to winter quarters. But yeah, we had lots of little happenings there; you can’t relate them all.

And then we moved down to Ford near Tangmere, and it was from there that I went on my last sortie. I’ll come back to that.

Just before that happened we were escorting about three hundred of these 9th Air Force Marauders, and Geoff was our CO at the time. He saw this vessel moving pretty fast down the [River] Seine while leaving a wake, and he called up and asked permission to attack it, which was denied in the first place. And then when the bombers withdrew he was then given permission to go down and investigate or strike. It was obviously a fast boat; it wasn’t a fishing boat. And it turned out to be an E-boat. And there was twenty-four of us had a go at it so I’ve got one part share of an E-boat, because it was found, apparently afterwards, to have sunk. But I think the interesting thing about that was it was the communication between the Y Service, which was listening into all RT, [radio telephony] and the German RT, and the French Resistance and the espionage on the other side. I think it must’ve been confirmed by someone over there that it was an E-boat, and we came across the high bank and there they were walking around the deck; and everyone had a go and they didn’t even fire back – not at me, and I was about the eleventh down. I was in the first bunch. The whole wing went down.

Didn’t have much show, did he?

No. He didn’t really, no. The main worry was getting out of the road of someone else coming down behind you, ‘cause we’re all attacking one after the other, just a crocodile. And then whilst we were there, Geoffrey, who was CO at the time, Geoffrey Page – we were finding no opposition, no enemy aircraft – so he got permission to get these long range slipper tanks, ninety gallon, to go into Germany. And our squadron were the first squadron into Germany apart from the the PRU [Photographic Reconnaissance Unit] ones. And they got one; it was a JU42 [JU52] which was a single engine Junkers – I think they were Hitler Youth that were flying it [?that?] day, so that got knocked over.

Three days later we got permission to do the same thing again because there was a thousand bomber raid on Berlin on that particular day, and the idea was to catch the refuelling, rearming on the ground coming in or going out. So it was 29th April; we went on the second one. It was low level all the way, of course, and we were going right into Germany. We got as far as … well, into Holland, all low level all the way, as I said, so that we could get underneath the radar. It was quite pleasant, a reasonable sunny day.

As we got into Holland a ways it started to roll in – the industrial haze really, from the from the rural areas I suppose.

Fog …

And I was flying on the right hand side; there was [were] just six of us, three pairs. I saw the outline of this aircraft, so I reported it to Geoffrey and turned [a]round and went after it. And I thought I was catching him rather fast ‘cause he was getting bigger very quickly; and he was coming directly toward me, as I was he [him]. It was all over in a matter of a few seconds, and I turned [a]round to go after him again after the first pass, and noticed that there was a big plume out behind me which was my petrol tank. So I got rid of that. By that time we were right over the top of Arnhem, and everyone was getting shot at. Geoffrey Page was the only one that wasn’t hit that day – my CO. He lost his Number 2 a little while after that. I could see my oil temperature was going up, so I decided that I’d had enough, and I wasn’t going to get home, or didn’t look as though I was going to get very far. I got about twenty, twenty five miles away and it packed up … the motor packed, and it was all at low level so it was too low to bail out. So I had to pick a field very quickly, which I did, and came in to land. And because there was oil all over the [wind]shield I thought it was a flat piece of ground, but it had a small grass grown … I suppose a three foot-odd deep canal or waterway that had been, you know? And I stuck in the far bank of it.

Came to a grinding halt?

Yeah. The prop and the radiators just caught, and the next minute it was a full stop. So it was quite … yeah, mind bending and numbing …

How much damage did you do to yourself?

Well, I hit the gun sight and smashed my kneecap in three pieces, which was – well, it was all bad for a moment or two, you know, ‘cause the gun sights are pretty hard; you had no protection. Didn’t have a Bowen down those days, as you know.

So rattled around there and it was very quiet, until I could hear what I thought was going to burn … the motor was very hot. So I got up and fell out the side, and [was] sitting there feeling very sorry for myself; and then a young fellow came running over, a Dutch boy. He was very keen to help and helped me up on my feet, and I took one step and fell over again. And I had thought that … well, I didn’t think I had a leg there ’til I put my hand down and found it was still there.

Within … oh, I don’t know, just a matter of minutes … there was suddenly a German soldier with a Tommy gun and a tin helmet; the full treatment, you know, just the thing you’d never want to see; quite close, standing right behind me. So I wasn’t particularly interested in him, but he came round just to see that [if] I had any side sidearms, ‘cause they all carry sidearms, even the ordinary soldiers. But we never carried a revolver ‘cause the five shot revolver was absolutely useless anyway. He was quite happy once he found I didn’t have anything in the form of a weapon. Then he went over and had a look at the aeroplane, which I was only a few yards from. And then he ordered us to go back to the post, which was where he’d come from. It was a garrison of about … I don’t know, I would say ten or twelve men … patrol the area round about. But they were Luftwaffe soldiers; they weren’t army soldiers. They were all in blue, which is very similar to our blue.

So you were fairly close to an airfield then?

Well, I don’t know, it was a good way from there to where I got taken to that night at Arnhem, so I think they had them scattered around, but there could’ve been a landing ground or an emergency ground nearby; I really don’t know that. They weren’t terribly worried.

A priest or a pastor came along, and he and the Dutch boy helped me across the canal and back towards the post. As I got across the canal – it was just a small canal, you know, about twelve, fourteen feet, I suppose – there wasn’t really a bridge; it was just all of us alone which was a bit of a worry, but we got across. The lady at the house right opposite where we crossed, who was the boy’s mother as it turns out – she wanted me to come inside, and you know, I declined, I didn’t want to involve her at that time. And I was a bit dazed still, I suppose. And when I got around the other side of the house I heard a voice, and turned round and there was a girl coming along with a lovely big glass of milk, which really set me right … well, when I say set me right, it took the taste out of my mouth, I suppose.

I didn’t have very far to go, about a hundred yards or more to go back from there to this post, and I handed out my money pad, which was … we used to get a wallet of money – Belgian, Dutch and French money – so that you could pay your way if you did get knocked out. I gave it to this priest or pastor or whatever it is, and he took my name, so whether he ever had any contact, I don’t know. He said he could get the information back; whether it was right, I never did find out.

Just before I landed I told Geoff what’d happened, and I was on my way home, and his clipped comment was, “Sorry, I can’t help you, old man, but start walking.” You know? [Chuckles] That was the last thing I could possibly do; I was having a struggle stumbling at that stage, after that. So I got back to this post and there I sat on my own. They just put me into a room, and I was left to think about the pros and cons. And I thought, ‘Well, bloody awful way to finish’, you know? Could’ve been worse, I suppose.

Anyway, I’d been there a matter of, I suppose … I don’t know, I lost track of time and dates and what-have-you … an hour or two or an hour and a half, and a car pulled up. I could see that through the windows where I was in this room, and I saw this chap coming across the little bridge in his Number 1 Blue. And then I got a knock on the door, and I bade him ‘Come in’, and he saluted. And I stood up and acknowledged that. He said to me in reasonably good English, “You were in the Spitfire?” And I said, “Yes.” And he said, “Well, I was in the other one.” That was the other plane; I don’t know whether he said it was a 110 [Messerschmitt 110] or not. It was a 110.

That was the sort of the start of it, and he had a great smile on his face … very pleased with himself.

And I should recount at this stage that after the attack on him, or his attack on me or the mutual one, Geoffrey chased him into Arnhem which was in that very area, set him alight as he had his wheels and flaps down to land, and the aircraft burned, and the three of them got out. That was all just prior to him coming to see me on this day – I didn’t know this at that time, but subsequently, twenty six years later, I found that out. He shot me down; Geoffrey shot him down; and we all met at various times.

Remarkable story.

It is really, ‘cause very often if it happens at altitude you don’t know who was shot down by who, or it’s unlikely. They do find out; for one reason or another they can with these historians today. And I should put it in here, I suppose; when Geoffrey shot him down that day and the aircraft burned, they got out of the aircraft before it rolled to a stop. They dived into a slip trench of some description, and he watched the aircraft burn. And he’d been down to a place in Belgium where he’d been stationed – this is Hans [Joachim], the German – he’d been down there that day to get food and booze, and of course it all got burnt. He had a ham and bubbly, or booze of some kind, he didn’t say bubbly.

In the aircraft?

It all got burnt. Now when Geoffrey and he met – I don’t know what year, but in the seventies, after I’d met him in ’72, so it must’ve been ’74 or ’75 – they recounted their engagement and what happened; and he’d got out of the aeroplane, but he had to watch his ham and all the booze being burnt. Now Geoffrey Page at that stage was living in Switzerland, so after this international pilots reunion that they had in Germany, when Geoffrey got back to Switzerland he wrapped a ham up and sent it off to him.

[Chuckle] Lovely!

To make up for the one that he’d lost that day. [Chuckle] I’ve got two cables or telegrams … cables those days, wasn’t it? No, they weren’t, they were both letters, that’s right … brief letters. One from Geoffrey saying that he’d sent a ham off to him, with a copy of the letter from Achim saying, “Thank you for the ham”, and he’d like to like to frame it; and then one from Achim to tell me that he’d sent it off to Geoffrey. So it was a triangular meet, that one.

So we had a talk in in the room, and then he said would I mind coming out to have some photographs taken? And I said, “No … what have I got to lose?” You know? So I went outside, and at one stage I was standing there a bit dejected, I suppose, and he turned to me and said, “Don’t look as though you’ve just been shot down – cheer up.” You know? Or words to that effect.

So we talked a while there, and they were very anxious; this is about five weeks before the invasion.

And he really wasn’t inquiring. They said, when’s the invasion going to take place? And I said that Churchill hadn’t told me and if he had, I wouldn’t be telling him. “Oh!” Shouldn’t’ve asked, you know, shouldn’t’ve asked. [Chuckle] But three of his crew were there, and this other fellow who was a [an] intelligence officer – he spoke very good English – or a Nazi party commissar type of person, you know?

Yes.

They had those, and I know that ‘cause he told me afterwards that they had those sort of fellows with them, the Nazi Party; like the Russians had the commissars that [who] would shoot anyone that [who] went the other way, you know? They had great powers.

Anyway, we had some photographs taken. We talked a little while, and after we’d discussed about the invasion I said, “Well, you haven’t got a show; you might as well throw in the towel.” He said, “Oh, we’ve got lots of surprises”, you know, which they didn’t have; hadn’t flown the V1s ones or [V]2s at that stage. So those, I gather, were the surprises, you know, but they hadn’t happened at that stage. So that was the sort of manner; this fellow that spoke pretty good English, he was a bit arrogant. I upset him by asking if the camera was one they’d got off a Fortress or, you know, a crashed Fortress or something. German cameras are the best, you know, so it was obviously a Leica or something.

Yes.

So he wasn’t at all pleased with me. So then after a little while they went down to the aeroplane … to mine. That’s the last I saw of them apart from going past on the way out, and they’d liberated the dinghy and had the dinghy sail up as they went past in their car, which was only a small four-seater.

I was then, a little later, picked up … oh, another car arrived. These two very severe policemen, as they turned out to be; they were field police.

Not SS?

No, no, field police. They were in a bright green uniform. They were really spooky looking types; they were very pale, almost yellow skin; fine features; mean looking types, and they’re Field Security Police, and they had a chain around their neck[s] with a big oval brass plate on it. And they were something else. I sort of smiled at the plate business, but after being in their presence for a little while they just told me to get in the car in no uncertain manner. And it [there] was barely room for me to sit in the back – with my leg it took me a long time to get in, and they weren’t really waiting for me, they just dropped the seat on the bad leg. We went for about … oh, at least an hour, may’ve been longer … and it was just getting dark when we got to … as it turned out it was Arnhem; back at Arnhem.

I was taken out of the car. I didn’t know if I was going to get there by the look of these two fellows; they were most unpleasant. But anyway, they dumped me there and I was taken over by this local jailer at the at the airfield – I suppose he was Air Force, he was in blue, shoved into a cell, and he screamed; performed, and I’ve said this before, but there’s no one can scream like them. When they pack sidearms or a Tommy gun, you don’t know when it’s gonna go off. Yeah, you don’t know how far they’ve worked themselves up, you know?

They seemed to work themselves up, even amongst themselves – a corporal will scream at a private and so on. The one that screams loudest seems to win. And he was most unpleasant. I thought he was an old man … he was about forty-five, and you know, I was twenty-four at the time so [chuckle] … sort of puts it into perspective. And he kept on pushing me and I couldn’t … I could walk all right, I could stand on my leg, but I couldn’t bend it without a lot of pain. He kept on pushing me, you know, and screaming at the same time.

I don’t know what was going to happen next time.

I got pushed into this cell; nothing in it at all except a stool and a bench, wooden bench. No blankets, nothing. I couldn’t get comfortable, even sitting down I couldn’t get comfortable.

So I decided to get up on this bench, and the the stool was, from memory, about six inches lower than the bench; and I could stand on my leg. And I got up and on the stool and stepped across, and then eventually got laid down. There was a lot of wheezing and grunting; and I’ve been there for … half an hour? I don’t know, time goes …

And the door opened and in he came again, screaming and performing again. “Out!” I had to get out of there; all this performance getting off the bench without bending my leg again, and cursing him; and put into another cell exactly the same as the one I’d come out of. He was just being, you know … Both, speaking together: Bloody-minded, yeah. Yes.

Because you see you don’t know whether his family got written off in air raids or what, you know? I’m trying to look at the other side of the coin. But he was most unpleasant.

So anyway, I thought, ‘Well, bugger him.’ And I got up on the stool, put it over against the bench, stood up on the stool, and went to step across; and it was a rickety one, you know? It needed a bit of glue. And it went from under me and I ended up against the wall and sitting on my leg that I couldn’t bend. And the door was flung open – I don’t know what he thought – and he rushed in and he saw I was in strife and he went to help me up. And I remember taking a swipe at him because I was in real pain – he’d been such a bastard to me before that I didn’t take kindly to him. And he rushed out and he left the door open. The next minute he arrived back with a couple of Americans, and he gave them instructions and they lifted me up. I got my leg straight again and I was taken and put on a mattressed bed in another cell – I don’t remember what it looked like, I can’t remember that. Then he rang for the doctor, and the doctor duly arrived.

So he had a heart?

Yes. You know, you’ve got to admit … what happened to his family or why he was nasty, because as I’ve said before, you know, they called you terrorfliegers … terror flyers … or murderers of frau und kinder, which was … he didn’t need me, it was already … so whether he’d lost family, I don’t know. It was just showing another human nature, you know, because it was quite noticeable, even the statement ‘I didn’t take kindly to him’.

So anyway, he sent for the doctor and he duly arrived. He examined me and put a splint on my leg so I couldn’t bend it. It was more of a bloody hindrance than anything really, but then he gave me an injection with a needle … about a three inch male sized needle, which I didn’t take too kindly to. You know, I could just imagine hitting the bone and breaking off or something like that.

I’m a bit cagey about those needles. But anyway, he motioned for me to take down my pants, and then he threw it like a dart and … went in my backside, and … well, I didn’t feel much at all, really.

So then the night passed, and then next morning a bus arrived. With this big raid on Berlin the day before – the same day as I was shot down, the 24th – there was a thousand bomber raid on Berlin, and [of] course the Yanks used to come … you know, there was what? Was it seven or eight in a Fortress? And they came down like confetti. So we had a full bus, and the bus took us … I think we went on a train ride … took us to the train, then we went on a train up to Amsterdam where we stayed in just a big room. We were just incarcerated and left for about a week. Time sort of … you didn’t have a calendar and you didn’t have a pencil, so … about a week. And then we went in from there into Germany by train to Dulag Luft, which is to Frankfurt, the interrogation centre [and] back into solitary again. You know, you win some and you lose some. The first interrogator I had there was … not an interrogator, an interviewer, I suppose; he was a young fellow, and he spoke quite good English. He came in with a Red Cross form, which was a bogus one. It had your name, rank, and number on the top, where you were born and so on down, and then what was your squadron, and where you came from and all the rest of it. So I said, “Oh, yes, I’ll fill that out.” So I took it across and put my name, rank, and number down and handed back to him. “Oh, no”, it wouldn’t do, you see? So this went backwards and forwards across this table for four or five minutes, and he tried to explain that I had to fill it in. And I said I didn’t have to, and that was that. The only swear word he knew, apparently, was ‘bloody hell’. So he stood up and said, “Bloody hell this, and bloody hell that.” So I stood up and said – well, I was nice to him and he wasn’t, and I wouldn’t be spoken to like that. He buggered off; never saw him again. So [chuckle] that was the win.

But the previous night, we were put into the cell; I was put in first to this cell, and there was [were] lots of stools there, so I made myself comfortable. It was very small, underground. Then the door kept on opening and more people were being pushed in ‘til there was standing room only. And I thought it wasn’t good; mostly Americans. I don’t remember whether there was anyone else but Americans, but anyway, I said, “This is not good enough.” So I went across to the door and I hammered on the door until it opened, and oh … took me about ten minutes to get a response. And the door opened and this strange looking German – elderly fellow at that stage, you know, he was fifty-five or sixty perhaps. I said, “Take me to the Commandant!” You know, I was really going to object. This was before the second instance that I just told you about. So he looked me up and down, pushed me inside the door and shut it. [Chuckle]

You couldn’t win?

No. I got a bit of hurry up from everyone else in the room, they just guffawed for the next half hour. But you learned to win some in little ways … got to, really, I suppose, it’s part of the survival thing, you know, even to getting extra food. I didn’t have any food in that place the first day. It came around in a seven gallon – looked like an oil drum with two bicycle tyres, with all the drippings of weeks down the side. It was just a gruel. I refused to have it the first time; after that you just had to eat it.

Or you got nothing?

Two slices of bread with … I think for the morning it was just margarine, which was rancid; very thin German bread, that was all. Mint tea. Lunch was one ladle full of this gruel, which wasn’t soup, it wasn’t stew. And then two pieces of bread at night with ersatz jam, which was sort of manufactured jam. Nothing else. And you could eat that bread as slowly as you like or as quick as you like – you were still bloody hungry by the time you’d finished. That was their intimidatory way of doing it.

But the fellow that [who] interviewed me each time was a very greasy sort of fellow; spoke good English. He always wanted to shake hands, and it’s very hard to refuse someone that doesn’t, you know … so I just said, “No”, and he wasn’t offended; just took it. But I don’t know, I had about two weeks in solitary, I suppose … at the end of that time, he said, “My name is Schwartz”, he said, “that’s Black in English.” He said, “After the war we will have a drink together.” I said, “No, we won’t.” So that’s the way we parted, [chuckle] and he didn’t seem to take any offence at it, or if he did he didn’t show it. You know, he wasn’t the monster type or the cruel-looking type – I wouldn’t’ve said that to those first two fellows that took me to Arnhem.

So from there, I went to the camp at Sagan, which is now part of Poland. I was there for about a fortnight. Oh, I must tell you one other small incident which is interesting. I went from there back to hospital, way back the other side of Germany again, just another fellow and myself and two guards; no rifles, just sidearms. I was a bit concerned there was no … ‘cause we were riding on German transport trains in amongst civilians. He couldn’t speak any English, but he indicated he was better than all the officers with his sidearms – you know, they all had sidearms. But the little instance I was going to tell you – in the interrogation, the first morning you were taken into a room, told to strip, and they went through your uniform for compasses and the like. I remember him, he just had a pair of pliers. He tore one of my … I had a little button that had a reverse screw; there was a compass inside. He just didn’t bother to look at it, just tore it off. So you know, they were looking for maps and stuff like that.

Yes.

And at the last minute I got down – I was very slow – and I suddenly remembered that I had a half sovereign – and there’s quite a history to this in a way – a half sovereign in a locket that held a Christopher medal in it, and a photograph. This half sovereign fitted in there like … it was an Australian coin. [At the] last minute I suddenly thought, ‘Well, he’ll go through that for certain’, you see, so when I got to the embarrassing stage and got my underpants off, I turned my back for that bit and whilst I turned my back I put my finger up and unclipped it and it dropped into my hand. When I turned around with my legs crossed it lay in this hand, and he didn’t go through my hand. And I knew he’d take it, you know? It was pure gold to him. Can I tell you what I paid for that? I paid ten shillings [10/- or $1], and a dozen of beer, because I bought it when I knew I was going overseas. You couldn’t use New Zealand currency out of the country, so I bought any English money or any American money that I could. I had some Australian notes; they were all right. And I was working for my dad in the pub in Marton; this fellow had come in just after I’d asked a group if they had any foreign currency. When he arrived, I said, “Well you know, have you got any foreign currency?” And he said, “Yeah actually, I’ve got a half sovereign.” So he said he’d bring it in – he was a roadman, he’d dug it out of a ditch at Bonnie Glen. It was an Australian 1861 half sovereign. Anyway, I didn’t like the look of it; I’d never seen an Aussie half sovereign, and I think an English sovereign at that stage was £3/10 [three pounds ten shillings or $7], or something like that. So a half sovereign … I thought, ‘Oh, God, I’m not paying, you know … half that.’ So I could buy my beer at … well, at discount price, staff price; so I said, “A dozen of beer and ten shillings.” [10/-] He said, “That’ll do me”, and that’s what I paid for it. Now I had that coin … oh God, I can’t think of the fellow, he’s a coin collector in in Havelock; he’s gone now. He lived at Lane Road Corner … anyway, he had a wonderful collection; he used to go around the world buying. He’d just been to Australia for an auction over there, and when he came back I said, “Were there any Australian coins in the auction?” He said, “Yes”, and he gave me the catalogue; and an 1861 half sovereign – $1500. [£, or pounds]

[Chuckle] That was an expensive … [chuckle]

Yeah, well you see it was a collector’s piece because there was a shortage of that year, apparently. My daughter’s got it now – she’s got it over in Australia, so I’ve given it to her. And I’ve given her the story too, so that … you know, if she wants to sell it …

It stays in the family, yeah.

Yeah, probably … well, even if she wants to sell it the value will be enhanced, probably.

What, gold itself?

Oh yes. But the Australian ones … the Sydney Mint were only made for eleven years, apparently, and then the British government said no more minting. So Sydney minted halves and sovereigns, and you know, a half sovereign was always a poor man’s sovereign, so it got more wear most times apparently, so I’m told.

So anyway, I kept it in my hand; I don’t know where I put it after that, but I turned around with my knees crossed, and [chuckle] I suppose he saw my knees crossed and let me off the hook. He told me I didn’t have to take my socks off, I remember that. So there I was; so I got away with that.

So then I went all the way to hospital at Obermassfeld and Marnegen – there was [are] two hospitals. One was a recuperation place, and it was run by our own doctors, POWs, [prisoners of war] that [who] had been taken in Greece and also in Dunkirk. So we were operated on by our own, but it was absolutely full of infection from the burns. You know, a lot of the pilots … well, air crew came down because the thing was on fire, and … badly burned. And I got an infection in the operation, so that put me back. And a New Zealand doctor did my operation, a fellow Kymble from Lower Hutt – I think there was [were] two brothers, both doctors … they’re both gone now, I suppose. He did the operation, then I got an infection in it, and then I was really in trouble, you know? Started to think about, you know, taking my leg off because he said, “If an infection gets into the leg you’ll have a locked knee and it’ll be no use to you”, you know. It was the cure that was worse than the operation really, because of the infection. Then they gave me these big tablets … a big pellet like a big peppermint, brick coloured. It was poisonous. It killed an American in the bed opposite me that [who] had very little wrong with him apart from two casts on, and it poisoned him. And it poisoned me, but it all went – I was pretty lucky there. Anyway, went up to Marnegen from there and then back to the main camp at Sagan.

And then in January in ’45, the Russians got up to the Oder River, and they moved the camp … well, they moved it into three parts; one went up to Bremen, the other went down to a place called Buchenwald. There was [were] ten thousand in the camp, air crew. They left us ‘cause there was snow on the ground – I hadn’t long come back from hospital – I was voted off … which was lucky because it wouldn’t have got far, it was knee deep in snow. Lot of fellows were killed; died in it. Then they left us there for about ten days … fortnight, can’t remember. Then one night they shipped us out – took us five days to get to Nuremberg, and we were put into a yankee camp there. There was about seven hundred of us, I think – six, seven hundred of us. Then when the Americans got close to us there they moved us out to a place called Moosburg near Munich. We were there for about three weeks, and then the war ended and we made our own way back to Paris.

So how long were you in the bag then?

One year to the day, all but two hours.

Is that right?

Yeah. It’s a bit like my service number – I think I’ve told you my service number’s 414243, one of the most consecutive numbers that was ever issued.

That was a lucky number to strike, wasn’t it?

Well it was, I reckon it was. I still think it is, I put it on, you know, the odd ticket or two, but it doesn’t win any prizes these days. [Chuckle] So yes, it was 29th April [[19]44 to 29th April ‘45, and I was taken prisoner at three in the afternoon, or three-ish. And at one o’clock in the afternoon the yanks arrived into the town – a little village, really, small town. There was [were] eighty thousand prisoners of every nationality. You name it, they were in that last camp.

The air force were going to be moved out down to the Southern Redoubt, you know, when Hitler was going to finish up down at Berchtesgaden and all that carry-on. That was the word, and that was a bit of a worry because we were going to be hostages at that stage. But it never happened, events all overtook that.

After we’d been there a week they drew up Americans and British into lots. They must’ve thrown a dice; but we drew sixth lot. A friend of mine who’s still living down at Otaki, Alastair Bolton from Christchurch, and an Englishman and an Irishman, we decided to make our own way back. So we virtually hitchhiked. We tried to get a car from the motor department on the camp but the yanks were just demobilising all the cars and trucks, and we wouldn’t’ve got very far. But any command point, you know, by SPs or MPs [Service Police or Military Police] – there were stacks of cars with every nationality’s emblem on them, army, navy, air force, but they just took them off because they got the cars off the road. So we just hitched, and it took us three days to get to Paris just by thumbing rides.

Most interesting story.

Yeah. So we got back to Paris and we stayed there for about ten days. We could draw on our accounts there. And then I said, “Well that’s enough – I’m going home.” And the booze was plentiful. We were there for VE [Victory in Europe] Day; and they had VE Days. The French took three days to make it more interesting.

And then I went out – a small episode there – went out to Le Bourget with a Canadian. By this time Alastair had come home. We got out to Le Bourget, and we were looking around this big hangar – something like they’ve got at Ohakea. And the mezzanine floor when we walked in the hangar [and] looked along … “Where do we start” you know, “to cadge a ride back to England?” ‘Cause there was no air force. And I looked up and I saw a name on a door, W C Heaphy. And I’d gone to school with with a Des Heaphy and I knew he was in the air force. I thought, ‘Well, that’s a good start’, so I went up and sure enough it was Des Heaphy, from down the West Coast.

Wow.

He’s part of the Heaphy track people, he’s part of that family. I don’t know who whether [it] was his uncles or grandparents. So we had afternoon tea, and we had a yarn about old times, and actually, “Why do you want to do this? I want to go home, please … want to go home.” Within half an hour we were on a Dakota back to … south of London, the old airport … Oh, God, isn’t it terrible?

Commercial airport, just out …

Croydon?

Croydon, thank you. Yes, yes, Croydon. Landed at Croydon, where I had a customs officer wanted me to turn out my kit bag, which was a homemade kit bag, mostly with dirty clothes, you know? And in those days you had to … everyone had to open their bags. And I gave him a broadside; I said, “Do you realise that I’ve just come back from a POW camp?” He said, “Yes, everyone turned them out.” So I really turned on him at that stage, I said “I’m not putting all my dirty clothes out in front of everyone here – you can go to hell.” And he got very embarrassed then ‘cause I started to raise my voice, and he said, “Oh, go. Go.” So I went. But he was only a kid virtually [chuckle] … well he was about my age.

So then I wanted to go back onto flying; I thought I’d make the Air Force a career. But by that stage, a year out of my time … first I had to get back onto flying, and that was the hardest part inasmuch as you got six weeks’ final leave and then you were on a boat back to New Zealand.

Geoffrey – I met him the second night I was back at a pub, just by pure chance. This is my CO, later on my best man. So he said, “I’m due to have my tonsils out, [and] I’m due for some sick leave, so how about we see if we can do all the pubs in Southern England, or in Kent?” So I said, “Well, that’s not a bad idea.” He had his tonsils out; it was a little worse [and] he couldn’t swallow too well for a while.

We eventually met up and away we went. At the end of that time I said, “Well I want to go back into flying – what do you think I should do? Who should I contact?” Hard to know, you’d lost all your contacts – they’d moved on and so things had changed. And we got back to East Grinstead Hospital where McIndoe, the New Zealand plastic surgeon – he and McIndoe were great mates – Geoffrey was one of the first guinea pigs of the Guinea Pig Club. And at one stage we were at dinner there, and after dinner he said, “What can you do for John?” He had his own rehabilitation for his guinea pigs, anyone that went through there. He had his own air force, staffed, and he was an honorary air commodore and never wore a uniform. And he knew all the heads; he was very well respected by all the Air Force heads, Portal included.

Anyway, he said, “Well, what’s wrong with you?” I said, “Nothing.” He said, “Well, what happened when you were shot down?” I said, “Oh well, I had my knee busted, but it’s all right.” So in his living room I had to pull my knee up; he said, “Let me have a look.” So he had a look. I said, “Well it’s all right now.” And it was, you know, I was walking all right, bending it and everything else. And he said, “I’ll see you in hospital at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.” So I had to go and get into hospital; there was nothing wrong with me. So he did his rounds and completed the circuit by having me xrayed. And then the xrays came back and I got sent up to the orthopaedic specialist for the RAF. [Royal Air Force] And he said virtually what I’ve just said, that you know, it’s healed now and another operation’s only going to be another injury. What’s the story?” And I said, “Well first of all I want to get married, and I want to go back onto flying.” “Oh”, he said, “well, now …” He had a little think, and he said, “Well, I’ll recommend that you go back onto flying for another year to be reviewed again at the end of that time. How’s that?” And I said, “Wonderful! Thank you very much.”

So then I had to go back and get my flying category. And there was another interesting … you spent a whole day filling up the bottle and blowing up the mercury … all that carry-on. This is in London – it was somewhere up near [the] top of Regent Street. I got to the Chief Medical Officer; his name was on the door, Squadron Leader and his name, which I can’t remember. So I knocked on the door and I was bade ‘Come in.’ There was an Australian doctor or medical officer, and he looked up at me and he tapped the desk and looked down at his notes. This went on for about two minutes while I’m standing to attention in front of [him] and he didn’t say relax or anything else, or ‘At Ease’. He rasped out in a very good Australian accent, “And who gave you permission to admit yourself to East Grinstead Hospital?” So I thought, ‘Oh, well the war’s over and he’s a bloody Australian.’ I said, “A friend.” He said, “What do you mean by ‘a friend?’” I said, “Mr McIndoe.” “Oh”, he said, “how is Matt?” And I remember leaning on his table and I said, “He’s very well, thank you.” And it was left at that. I didn’t enlarge upon that … I’d met McIndoe about three, four times at this stage. And he said, “You’ve got a knee injury?” I said, “No, it’s all right now.” He said, “Well, what category do you want?” And I said, “I’ve got a choice?” He said, “Yes – come and sit down.” So I went round and sat down beside him, and this is as true as I sit here – he opened a book and there was about twenty-four different flying categories. And I got down to about the fourth one which said ‘Fit to Fly and Unfit to March’; and I’ve never liked bloody walking. I said, “That’ll do me.” And that’s the one I’ve finished my career with. [Chuckles] And he was a bloody obnoxious person – quite unpleasant, unnecessarily so.

So I went back onto flying, and getting a job then was the next thing from there. And eventually – I went out to a couple of jobs, and one chap said, “Oh, I don’t like New Zealanders”, and that was a test on at [an] MU [Maintenance Unit] somewhere. And then I got another signal to go up to Tern Hill which I’d been on when I first got to England, and I got up there and I looked round and I couldn’t see a single-engine plane anywhere, they were all … it was a test for an MU again, and they were all Lancs. [Lancasters] So I was thought, ‘God, I don’t want to start all over again at this stage on Lancasters – I suppose I could’ve really, you know … could’ve armed myself for another job but you couldn’t see that far ahead. So I got on to my friend who I’d found down at Air Force headquarters in … can’t think of the name of the street … “Get me out of here!” And he sent me to a place called Bradwell Bay, and it was a straight 7 Squadron; there were singles, and we had Tempests and Spits, and all we did was flying courses. Hadn’t been there very long and the bomb was dropped.

And I stayed on for a while, and we moved again from there down to West Malling in Kent. There was not a lot of future, and the serviceability had gone.

You couldn’t rely on … you know, particularly with one engine. I had three engine failures; one on takeoff, one over London at ten tenths cloud about ten thousand [feet], and I got in at Hendon with a dead motor. And I couldn’t get a couldn’t get a [?] – everything had started to fall apart, really, and the serviceability was terrible really, on a Tempest particularly – bit like a rotary – if they didn’t pull the plugs and daily service it properly you could get compression and complete engine failure.

So anyway, after being down there and satisfying myself there wasn’t any future, I decided to come home. So we came home together on the same boat … my wife; even got a send off in Tilbury by the squadron, and four aircraft flew over, four tenders came over, beat up. Even then you could still fly low flying. You know, you could get away with low flying, put it that way. You wouldn’t any more, today.

So we came back on the [SS] Rangitiki and then went back to Marton … couldn’t get out of that place quick enough, it’s … I mean, the weather’s enough to kill you over there, it’s a bit like an Ireland, you know, it rains most of the time. And then I had to decide what I was going to do. And I had the pub at Havelock promised to me by McDuff – well, not by him, I’ll correct that. His wife; he was ill in hospital and his wife said she wanted to get out, and it was an awful old New Zealand pub, but I had to get started somehow. I’d tried three or four others over in the Rangitikei district, but nothing happened. Anyway, he came out and he was cured and he didn’t wanna sell, so that was the end of that.

So I went up and saw old Rush [Munro] and went from there; ‘bout a year later I was there. He took ill, and I’ve been there ever since until seventeen years ago when I retired.

Now the next part of the story is – how long was it before you got back to see your friend that shot you down?

Oh – right. I had read in a book a statement that he had made to someone that had written the book; and I can’t remember which book it was now – it was a very short one – that he was in the Battle of Britain. He had fifty destroyed, ‘bout half and half … I think half night, half day. He was in Crete even; he had the Crete Ribbon, so he was down in Greece and Crete, so some of them were in daylight; most of them at night, I suppose, I can’t remember exactly. I had seen this suggestion that he’d made in this book that he always wanted to wear a clean shirt in case he got shot – this is Battle of Britain time – over England; he wanted to be shot down [and] at least have a clean shirt on. That was all that was said, so then I realised that he must be still living, because you see the war went on from the date that I was shot down, and one year plus. So I knew that he was alive; this is twenty years later, probably.

And then my daughter finished her nursing and decided to go for a trip overseas, and I told Jill – I said, “Now, you know, when you’re in Germany, have a look through telephone books to find this name”, which was a fairly unusual name … short name, Jabs [pronounced Yarbs]. Anyway, she didn’t have time or she didn’t find it; and got back to England and she asked my brother-in-law, who was in RAF Security, how she could find this fellow. And she told him the story briefly that she knew. By this stage, this is, you know, twenty six years later, or twenty five years later then I think – he got onto his opposite number in the German embassy, and they knew him by repute. He was a councillor at Remscheid, and they knew him because of his record. So Brian got this chap, whoever he was – and I never ever met him – to contact Jabs and get his address, which they had to do; they had to clear it with him first before they let it out to me, which eventually came out to me through Brian. So then I photostatted [photocopied] – which I’d forgotten to mention here – the day after the photograph was taken I asked him his name. And he told me, and I said, “Well, would you mind writing it down? My memory doesn’t serve me and I’ll probably forget it”, which he did. And it was just a matter of his name, Major Jabs, the date, then I said, “Well, will they take it off me?” So he turned it over and just wrote … just a piece of paper, folded notepaper … and said, ‘Please let the prisoner of war keep this souvenir of Major Jabs’. So I had that photostatted, sent that in a letter to reintroduce myself to him. Mails took a bit longer then, I suppose about ten days. Back came the photographs that had been taken twenty six years before, so that was the way it went.

So then we decided to go in [19]72 for a trip, and I wrote to him and said we’ll be coming. I went up and saw Geoffrey first, he was living in Switzerland at this time. We went up on the, you know, KD Line on the Rhine up to Switzerland, and then on the way back we drove from … ‘72, the Olympic Games were on in Munich, so we flew back to Munich and picked a car up and then went down and stayed with him. [He] gave us a wonderful reception – did all the things that most pilots talk about, like drink booze and talk about the past. And it was the whole family; my daughter was with us too, so there was three of us. He’s got two sons, or he had two, only got one now, so his eldest son. We went out, you know, we dined out, went to pubs and did all those things and back to the house, met some of his friends. And then every time we went back, we went and saw them again. Now, sadly, he’s not well, he’s got dementia. And he wrote to me three years ago telling me his wife was in the advanced stages of Alzheimers, then. She’s still living, but what like, we wouldn’t know.

A very successful businessperson, he’s in farm machinery. Lister is the name. I gather that he’d uplifted that when the patent [owner] had passed away, during the war, I suppose, I don’t really know. But it’s in the same scroll as the English Lister but he’s not any partner of theirs. He does exporting to Gallaghers in New Zealand, you know, the Hamilton firm, Gallaghers … electric fence people and that? He does all that sort of machinery that they do. And there is now, a sick man; lost one son in a car accident just after we saw them last in ’81. The other boy is now running the factory, or the business generally.

And Geoff Page met him with you as well?

No, when I went back in ’72 I told him about him; I gave Geoffrey his address. And then eventually they met at an international fighter pilots’ reunion where Americans, Germans, Russians, Poles … whoever was invited. They sat at the same table, and I have an account at home of a person that [who] witnessed it. He’s actually Achim’s … they shorten the name, he’s Hans Joachim, but Achim is his abbreviated name; I suppose it’s a bit like Tom and Thomas and all the ones that we abbreviate. I always thought they abbreviate theirs more, but anyway, they sat them at the same table, and I’ve got a photograph at home of them both sitting at the same table. So that was back, I suppose, ‘74 or ‘75ish, so it was a little bit after I saw him in ’72. But I gave Geoff his address ‘cause he had no way of knowing who he was, you see. It was only that piece of paper that I’ve got that I would’ve known who he was.

So I think that’s about all …

He hasn’t been out here?

No. No, he hasn’t. His very good friend, Scheel, who was president of Germany a few years back – he came out here, and I thought he would’ve come out then, but I don’t know why he didn’t, whether it was business commitments or what, ‘cause Scheel came out with his own aircraft. He had a 707 I think … he came out in a 707. That’s going back some years now, I suppose, thirty five years ago at least. He was his gunnery officer, Scheel was, so that was the connection there. And in fact in ’74 when we went over, we arrived late in the evening at Lüdenscheid, which is his town. So he went to a hotel, and Scheel was there ‘cause it was his birthday that day. And we … well they said they were waiting for us, but whether they were or not I don’t know. Just one of those things that you miss out on.

So I think that’s that’s about it.

Well that’s a most interesting story, John. Thank you for sharing it.