En beretning fra Hugh Bone

 pilot i RNAF487, han lever stadig, i Gøteborg Sverige :

Service record, Hugh Bone

 
Richard BOB Peel, your father was the navigator crewed with Squadron Leader Bill Kemp on operation  Shell House Raid  Carthage. I can´t remember whether he was Bill´s regular navigator. As a humble Flight Sergeant pilot during the war I mainly came in contact with other NCO air crew, other that the CO and Flight Commander. When I joined the squadron I was put in B flight commanded by Bill Kemp. Great guy, I was commissioned immediately after VE day and while only a lowly PO then FO I became good friends with Bill. Perhaps you know more about his subsequent life than I do. My eldest son has lived in NZ for the past 35 years and on various visits I have attempted to trace Bill without success. He´ll be dead by now, that´s for sure, same as most of us from those far off days. Bill was a double DSO and double DFC and was torn off a strip by Basil Embry for not wearing the ribbons.  
 
Bill was one of those rare creatures who actually enjoyed the thrill of risking his life on ops. If, when on night ops, there was a particular sector that was more heavily defended than others,  Bill would always do that particular sector.  
 
He was a fish out of water once the war ended and put in for an immediate transfer to the far East where the Japanese war was still being waged. Turned down and he found himself promoted to Wing Co. without the slightest ability for administrative work. And on the demob of our Adj., Bill made me his Adj and I was more useless than he was!  
 
 Could tell you some hilarious tales of that period of our service! Rank meant nothing to Bill, he was in his element fighting the war. Before joining the RNZAF he had been an abbatoir assistant, Jack Dempsey was a school teacher and Dickie Henderson a shepherd! If you had been serving with Bill during the war you were his bosom pal, regardless of rank. New squadron members joining us after the war were treated very coolly by Bill, I often wonder how he made out in civvy street.
 
I did 34 ops up to VE day, one short of a tour. On May 13th 1945, we provided the air escort to the naval vessels that were returning Prince Olaf of Norway back home and it was recorded as a wartime operation, so I successfully completed my 35 op tour.  Also Bob Peel was on this run May 13 1945, it took some 5.30 hours there and back 
 
Funny, all the Mossie enthusiasts such as Derek Carter and writers such as Michael Bowyer quote, as you did yourself, all the Mossies  serial numbers. I doubt whether there were many of us that flew them knew the serial number of our aircraft.  
 
When I joined the squadron, on my first few ops I flew whatever was going spare, usually one of the older and slower Mossies. I know I got stuck with Q Queenie three times, the slowest kite on the squadron. After about ten ops I got my own kite  EG  W for Willie, which in itself was an aging aircraft. It had two advantages, rumour had it that no Willies have ever been lost, and, more importantly, it was due for a refit.  
 
So it was that on my 16th  OP  I was able to fly a brand new W which was mine! A great thrill to a 22 year old to be flying his "own" aircraft, especially such a great aircraft as the Mossie, or Queen of the Skies as we called her. But I certainly couldn´t tell you its serial number, it was just Willie to me. 
 
I should have attached a squadron photo to this letter. No doubt you have them all but I could have identified myself. I´ll send one on separately. Anything further you might wish to know I´ll be only too pleased to help, but, as I say, I only really got to know the officers on the squadron when I became one myself.
 
 So, From Göteborg to Fanoe, cheers for now
 
Hugh Bone (Ex Flying Officer 201207)

 

more Hugh Bone
 
 As I said, the  King Olaf convoy escort was May 13th. I seem to remember that we spent two hours formating up and down Oslo fjord and as we came off, another four aircraft took over. Another thing that I recall from that flight was that on the way back to Lubeck I spotted a surfaced U boat and told Wood Samman I would take a look. Dived down  to sea level to the echoes of Patterson screaming all sorts of nonsense . Flew round  the sub and took its number and reported it to base. They were able to pass on the information to the navy who were grateful for the information.    That Patterson was a right nutter!
 
It has now occurred to me that you asked, not why I moved to Sweden but why Lessebo. Strange course of events really. I had two children from a failed marriage when I met Gunvor in 1955. It was at the British Institute where our Rotary Club was offering hospitality to foreign students. Gunvor was acting as a nursemaid to a family in Beaconsfield.  
 
 My eldest must be the same age as you, he was born in May 1946. He´s a double MA from Cambridge and London and is a consultant engineer in Auckland NZ. Daughter a teacher married to a teacher in Colorado. Being Swedish, Gunvor was soon in contact with other Swedes in the Upminster area. Anna-lisa and Nils Gneib, a girl named Birgitta and another named Brita.  
 
 When we were contemplating selling up and moving, our friend Birgitta had already moved back to Sweden and she suggested Lessebo as that is where she had moved to. Nils was working as an engineer for a British firm that was taken over by a Swiss company  and Nils decided to move back to Sweden.  
 
 Shortly after we had moved, Brita Marshall wrote and asked whether there were still openings for physiotherapists in Sweden. We had been introduced to a physio at a party in Växjö so we asked her and by strange coincidence, she knew Brita as they had studied together. Fixed a job for Brita and within the course of two years, all the company of Upminster Swedes were back in Sweden and within spitting distance of each other! We made one big mistake. There was land for sale in both Lessebo and on the outskirts of Växjö and the price was the same. We chose Lessebo and come the year 2000 the price of the Lessebo house was only a third of what we could have got had we built in Öjaby.  
 
 Thats life. Lessebo was very peaceful and our house backed onto pleasant woodland where we could walk our dog in peace, so no regrets.
 
And a potted history.  
 
 I started work at the head office of the Royal London Insurance Co the day after war broke out and spent two years there before joining the RAF. Quite hairy at times during the London blitz. At the time of demob I was drawing around £15 including allowances and I was offered £5 a week if I returned to the Royal London. Just wasn´t on, half of that would have been absorbed by train fares.  
 
 So I reluctantly entered my fathers retail footwear business and then bought my own in 1949 in Upminster. Expanded to a second business in 1960 and things were humming along merrily until 1970/71. Reached the stage where I could afford the time to have a couple of rounds of golf during the week. But then the revolution began, shopping malls started springing up everywhere and new roads in the progress of building. Both my businesses were affected by road closures while new roads were being built and I could see the warning signs.  
 
 So I sold both businesses and moved to Sweden. It was a chancy step, I had no qualifications, having been self employed for nearly 30 years but I had savings and capital from the sales so it wasn´t too chancy. I settled down to leading English conversation courses with TBV and guiding tourists at Lessebos hand made paper mill. Financially I wasn´t much worse off than when I´d been in business and it was certainly more relaxing. Certain loss of status, I´d been a Rotarian for 23 years, including President in 1969/70 but status has never concerned me, I´m quite content to melt into the background.  
 
 We had a large 8 roomed house in Lessebo with two large förrads and two bathrooms and 1100square metres of garden. Just loved it for up to 28 years, after which it was getting to be too much work, a lot of gardening, a large house to keep clean and in good repair, and a lot of snow shovelling during the winter. We hummed and haaaad for a couple of years and then our daughter in Göteborg pushed us into moving. Her husband had died at the young age of 60 and she had moved from a large house in Västra Frölunda to a beautiful flat by the side of a harbour on the Göta Älv.  
 
 There was one for sale just 200 metres along the promenade from her flat, ground floor, facing the harbour with a small garden area in front maintained by the housing association and we grabbed it. A fast ferry, the quay being close to our flat, takes us into the city centre in comfort while 300 metres in the other direction takes us to a bus stop with a very fine service to all parts of the city. We have been here just a year and wish we had made such a move two or three years earlier. The down side, and an unhappy down side is that my dear wife has suffered a stroke which has left her partially disabled and caused partial dementia. What can we expect, we are old and have had our life and it has been a very good life.
 
But you contacting me has given me a great deal of pleasure.  
 
 It is fun to talk over the old days with someone who is interested and I´m so pleased to have learned more about your father. As I said previously, he is one of the fellows that I remember quite well. The 1943 extract gives his age as 38 so he would be 39 when I joined 487.  
 
 I realise that there are very few of us left now, and those that are still around are men who, like myself, came onto operations during the latter stages of the war. It makes me feel somewhat of a fraud when I know that many of those with whom I served had a history of long service and experience that dwarfed my 35 operations. Bob Kirkpatrick and I exchange e-mails at least twice a week and I really appreciate our friendship especially now that dear old Curly Waterer is no more. I was Curly´s best man when he married in 1955 and he was my best man in 1957.Curly flew on that ill fated Clarion op and they lost an engine to flak but got back to base in one piece.
 
salt spray 

 

if it was a problem we had a windscreen wiper. Flocks of birds were the greater hazard. I once had birds splattered over the windscreen and couldn´t see a thing. Fortunately I wasn´t in formation or it could have been nasty. The wiper had little effect and I had to make an almost blind landing. My nav could see a little better on his side and he gave me a running commentary and between the two of us we put the kite down in one piece.
 
 Speeds
 Low level cruising speed was around 240mph (386kph)
Maximum at low level was around 275mph (442kph)   (but you were advised not to fly for more than 5 minutes at this speed straight and level for fear of engine damage ) 
Top speed I achieved was 400mph (644kph)  
 
 After the war there were exchange visits between the Army and the RAF. One occasion I gave a Major Ward a flight in the Mossie and he asked if it would do 400mph. I told him that pilots notes approved it but I´d never tried. But we climbed to a good safe height and I trimmed for a high speed dive and reached 400 with the poor old kite shaking like a leaf. "Thank you" he said "It has always been my ambition to travel at 400mph".  Slow motion these days!
 
Drop tanks.  
They fitted on the wing bomb bays. Press the bomb tit and away went the wing tanks.  
 
 That reminds me of an early wartime tale. My girlfriend and I, against all parental instructions, were having a lovers tryst in the local woods when the sirens blew and shortly after came the wum wum wum of desynchronised engines. Next thing there was the high pitched noise of a falling bomb and we flattened ourselves on the ground. Thumped into the ground close beside us and there was a heavy smell of oil. We thought it was a failed incendiary, made an anonymous phone call to the police and kept it a secret from our parents as to where we had been. It wasn´t until I was on the squadron that I realised what Mavis and I had encountered,  
 
 It was a drop tank from a German bomber.
 
The MkVI [like your dads] had a flat windshield to allow for a gunsight. The MK2 had a metal strip in the middle to allow for two slightly slanted sides, two piece w/s, neither had washers nor wipers. On the left side window there was a little vent that could be opened, some tried to reach thru this and wipe the w/s. Not possible with the wind and all. You could get a little peek thru this but not much. My method on Carthage was to kick hard right rudder frequently and skid the a/c so I could get a glimpse ahead. Much to the dismay of photographer Hearne.
 
Sea Level
my FPU Mossie  ; we were at very low levels  both over land and sea. The report of our photo attempt said, height of a/c ,0, speed 300 mph. very bumpy.
 
Copenhagen, handstand
 I'm not sure who did the vertical turn, probably Archie Smith , 464, as he turned to get away, the flack was very heavy coming from the east. Probably from the ships in the harbour.  
 
Over Copenhagen
We got a 20mm thru the starboard engine, fortunately an armor piercing, at least it didn't explode, and it only buggered up our pneumatics.
Fl/Lt RS Undrill RAFVR was a Beaufighter nav in the Middle East. His first pilot was a Sqdn/Ldr and they shot down two JU 52's before they got shot down in Egypt, pilot was killed but Undrill survived. After rehab he was assigned to another Beau pilot and they were sent to Malta where they were straffed by ME109's on take off and crashed on the airfield before they got airborne. Both suffered burns, the pilot so bad he never flew again, Wally rehabbed in England. I met him at #9 OTU Beau's in April 44. At first he was a rather reluctant navigator but when we got sent to Mossies he brightened up and I was very fortunate to have an experienced guy in the right seat. Wally [RSU nickname} ended up as W/Co Wilson's nav after the war and then in the reserves as a Sqdn/Ldr nav instructor. He " went for a burton 20 or so years ago} oggin, ocean, burton, death in his vernacular.
I've always wished Wally could have been with me on Carthage , I think we would have had a better result. He took many pictures in a couple of training flights in ? and could have done the same on Carthage. Hearne was a practiced photographer but no navigator and after Tisso I was on my own and by the time we got to Copenhagen there was so much smoke and confusion that I just trusted to luck. As they say if it wasn't for bad luck I wouldn't have had any luck at all.
 
Hello yet again Robert,
 
In reply to your queries :-
 
No, you don´t need to forward anything of mine to Kirk, he´ll have had it long ago. Kirk, being American, was demobbed and repatriated shortly after VE day and I lost contact with him. It was while I was on the Mossie forum some three years ago that I picked up his photo and was able to find his e-mail address and we have been corresponding ever since, usually twice a week. We had exhausted our 140 Wing repetoire until you came along! And very welcome.
 
Yes, Ken was all of six foot two and me only five foot six. There was room enough for him, the nav seat was set back slightly compared to the pilot and he got sufficient leg room. I have never had any hangups about my stature as some shorter people do, but it is funny, human nature I suppose, that so many people automatically think of the taller person in a group as the dominant or head person. During our long association together, we had occasion to land at other airfields for various reasons. With our flying kit on, our brevets would be covered, and the ground crew inevariably went straight to Ken for instructions. Ken would always need to turn to me and say "He´s the pilot". There was a lot of friendly rivalry between pilots and Navs, they called us bus drivers and we called them passengers. It still give me a chuckle when I think about our time at Brussels Melsbroek. Our mess was the other side of the airfield to our billets and we were assigned a 15 cwt Morris Commercial. I´d had some driving lessons five years previously but didn´t dare try driving a truck and none of the other pilots could drive a car but dear old Ken jumped in and declared he could drive and the others applauded, one up for the navs over the pilots. However, first time he drove us it was pretty evident he hadn´t a clue but he insisted it was only because the vehicle was unfamiliar, no problem, he´d soon have it sorted. So we shunted off around the perimeter track, came to the mess and Ken, having no idea how to brake properly, drove straight into the mess wall giving us all a good shaking and bending the 15cwt. After which we were given a driver and for the next 14 months, before we were demobbed, Ken was called Commer Guy!
 
 
A few months before demob, when we were with 107 sqdn and so comfortable in our brand new quarters in Gutesloh, we were sent to Munchen Gladbach to spend a month under canvas. Groans from all sides except Ken. He had put in for a EVT course (education and vocational training). Had to fly to Munchen but would go on from there. I was standing in a field, whacking tent pegs into the ground when Ken came along to say cheerio and have a little gloat. In the middle of his teasing, an admin sergeant came along to say that the CO wanted to see me. Went there with another nav called Hugh Cohen to see Paddy Maher (a man even shorter than myself) Paddy told us that as we were both going spare, we were to crew up and do the Nuremberg Courier service for a month. We couldn´t believe our luck, this was a prime assignment. Fly to Nuremburg, spend a couple of days there, then take the press dispatches (and Lord Chief Justice Birkett´s laundry!) to Blackbushe where we would be free for three days. Then back to Nuremburg. We were given Press passes and so sat in the press gallery and were above and within spitting distance of Göring and Ribbentrop and the rest of the unsavoury gang. Billeted royally in the American officers mess and we got a full PX ration every time we flew in. The Yanks had it made, masses of chocolate and gum and cigarettes (used to smoke in those days) and there was free coca-cola and fresh orange juice on tap. Poor old Ken was beside himself - I´ll cancel my course he said. But we´d only been given the assignment because we were spare, so he missed out on that. We were our own masters for a month, completely free to do what we wished as long as we did our flying schedule. Marvellous!
 
One other story that has its connections to the war. When I bought my first business in 1949, it was with equal shares of my capital plus 50% from the Norvic Shoe company (now defunct). I had to agree to buy 50% of my stock from Norvic and one spring morning found me in their salerooms where I was introduced to the representative, one Charles Wood. Immediately I saw him I thought "I know you" but then it dawned on me, he was the spitting image of an American character actor called Roland Young. We went through the motions and while I was buying the inevitable question came out, as it always did just after the war "Were you in the services?" Said RAF and he said so was he, what section and so it went 2ndTAF, 2 Group and then 140 Wing with Charles jumping up and down and telling me that he had been the Senior Admin officer on 140 Wing.And it then clicked in my mind, I had already connected his face to Roland Young when I was on the squadron, but not mixing with senior administrative officers, it was at a distance. Charles and I got along fine together and for all the years I was in business I´d be seeing Charles  and chatting about old times. "Do you remember old so and so" he would say " Dopey idiot, he went into the ministry when he left the RAF. And he married that WAAF officer, stupid fellow, didn´t he know she´d slept with practically every officer on the Wing and a few others at HQ"  Right up to leaving England I had reminders of 140 Wing through Charles.
 
But I must now do something more than chat about old times.
 
Cheers
 
 
Hugh Bone, continued :
 
Regarding the photos I sent, I can name most of the aircrew in the top one, in the sergeant´s mess in Rosieres,  if it is of any interest.

 

Photos

 
Chuck Harte, Curly Waterer, Simmy Simms, Press-on Pygram, Ken Guy, Alf Leeming, Doug Chapman and Stan Etherington  -  me in the centre standing over Blip Bradshaw and Jock Rattray.   I understand that stan Etherigton is still kicking the gong around.
 
Pygram and Rattray were lost soon after while Bradshaw went LMF. He had met, and become engaged to, an ATS girl he´d met while at Thorney. After half a tour without problems, he went to pieces after the engagement and was posted so his driver,  Pilot  Alf Leeming, was without a nav for a while.
 
A few anecdotes on the lighter side 
 
There were two 140 Wing ground staff sergeants who attached themselves to 487with whom I had a long friendship for many years after the war. One was Charles Watson, a lovely fellow, full of humour and always good for a laugh. While at Thorney, we had an Ensa party to entertain us and one of the acts was eight men, standing four by four facing each other with their arms outstretched while a ninth man took a running jump and landed on their outstretched arms.Charles declared that this was easy and said he would demonstrate. So eight of us stood with arms outstretched, assuring Charles that we would play fair. He took a running jump, dived clean over our arms and landed with an awful crash on the far side floor. Fortunately didn´t break anything and we lads laughing our heads off.
 
A week or so later, some RN petty officers were temporarily billeted on us and Charles had one in his room. One afternoon, the PO was having a kip and Charles thought it fun to dress up in naval uniform. Came down to the mess, flung open the door and danced in singing a hornpipe. Unfortunately, a bus load of NCOs from a neighbouring station were in the mess at that time so poor Charles was most confounded! He scuttled off out as fast as his legs would carry him.
 
On arrival at Rosieres we found there were no showers, so Charles and another decided to make one. They rigged up a Heath Robinson contraption inside a makeshift cabin carted an ample supply of water which they heated by means of an open fire. Got the water nice and warm and Charles decided to be the first one to try it out. Had just undressed and the first water pouring over him when Whoosh! The whole contraption caught fire - they had been using paraffin to get the fire going. They said it was quite a sight to see Charles streaking starkers from the flames!
 
It was at Melsbroek that Charles was awaiting a parcel from home. Every day he enquired and every day heads were shaken. Charlies parcel became a by-word and in the end we decided he should get his parcel. We rigged up a very genuine looking parcel, and it was great fun to all crowd round Charles as he opened the parcel that had arrived at last. Only to find it was full of rubbish.   Charles being Charles entered into the spirit of the hoax and joined in the laughter. Lovely fellow.
 
The other sergeant was Harry Winrow of Flying Control. He became very good friends with Ken and Curly and I and when we were operating we always returned to find a bottle of beer lying on our beds. It was Harry´s  good luck emblem, we would always return to pick up our bottle of beer. Harry was a county cricketer, played for Notts, so he became the backbone of 487s cricket team. Great rivalry with 464 whom we always beat because of Harry, much to the Aussies chagrin. Went to a number of county matches after the war and was entertained in the players dressing room. Great fun.
 
RNZAF
 
I was very proud to be a member of a NZ squadron, great guys, top rate pilots and very unassuming. Quite unlike the Aussies. They were great aircrew, the best you could wish for, their only fault was that they kept telling everyone how good they were.  They over did it one night.All three Squadrons were operating, 21 on first then 487 and then 464.  It was bad weather and when 21 came back they reported very little sucess as the weather was even worse over the battle area. Then we did our patrols, weather atrocious, bombed on Gee. Then 464 returned with tales of trains straffed and attacks on troop movements and we all knew that it wasn´t true, the weather couldn´t suddenly clear up immediately 487 left the area.  They just had to be better than the rest of us by making false claims at debriefing.
 
Carthage Shell House
 
Both Kirk and I are bemused at all the coverage and interest there has been in this particular raid. Amiens, Aahus and Odense were equally important and by and large more successful. Carthage took place only 7 weeks before the end of the war, which we all could see was imminent.  
The Danish resistance have always claimed the raid was justified and a success but I wonder just how much they have been trying to salve their own conciences. As Sismore said while planning the raid, six aircraft were all that were needed. In the event, those first six aircraft actually achieved the raid´s object. After that, because of Kleboe crashing, it all went horribly wrong.  
Only 7 weeks before VE day and 82 young innocent Danish schoolgirls lost their lives. The majority of them could still be alive today if the raid hadn´t occurred. Some Danish resistance prisoners were set free, some were killed.At this stage of the war, were those few men more important than the many lives of young girls? Difficult to answer. 
Had the raid not taken place and the resistance prisoners executed then we would be blaming ourselves for not acting, not knowing that the raid, if it occurred, would kill so many young children. 
But that´s war, the basic principle of war is to kill the enemy and if there are innocent casualties then we say it can´t be helped.  
 
............................... food for thought.

Hugh Bone - second lesson:

As you are interested, I´ll elaborate a little on how I earned my entry to the Caterpillar club, but I´ll answer your questions first.
 
 Bailing out on a Mossie
 On the right hand side of the door, looking at it from the inside, was a red handle. Give this a vigourous pull and it removed the door hinges. You then, without touching the normal handle, kicked the door away. There was the danger of coming into contact with the tail plane, so the drill was to dive out head first. During training there was a cockpit mock up from which we were taught how to dive from the cockpit if needs be.  
 
 We also did mock jumps from a tower with a body harness that let you hit the ground at the same speed as a parachute jump so you could learn how to fall without damage. Too bad if you got out safely and then sprained your ankle or worse when trying to escape from enemy territory. You were advised to bank the aircraft to port which would lift the tail plane out of your exit line.  
 
 Agile young fellows that we were, there was no difficulty in making a quick exit.     
 
 Bailing out November 26th 1945.
 
With 10/10ths cloud from ground level up to God knows what height, a dead radio and no navigator , it became increasingly obvious that our only salvation was to bale out. While beside me sat an army lieutenant experiencing his first ever flight in an aircraft. I broke the news to him in as nonchalant manner that I could muster but he became, quite naturally, very agitated. Couldn´t we fly on in the hope of breaking cloud, how much fuel had we?  
 
 A pertinent question and there was sufficient fuel for at least another 90 minutes flying time. Tell him that and I´ll never get him out I thought. Trusting that his knowledge of aircraft instruments would be rudimentary, I told him that there was only sufficient fuel for 20 minutes at the outside. Instructed him to count slowly up to five once he was clear of the aircraft before pulling the rip cord.   
 
 Picked up his nav parachute from the floor and clipped in place on his harness and then told him to pull the red handle. He did this so half heartedly that the hinges remained firmly in place. so I leaned over, gave an almighty tug and out came the hinges. But the door of course stayed in place as the slipstream held it tight. Same business with kicking the door away, no power in his kicks so I once again had to do it myself.  
 
 And that was the first moment of truth, deafening noise from the starboard engine and freezing cold cloud outside. I was completely unable to get him to dive out, sat there with his legs dangling in the slipstream so I gave him a push and unbelievably he managed to grab hold of the door jamb and I could faintly hear him shouting "I´m scared". I leant over and prised his fingers open and he was away. And I must say that it was then that my courage almost failed me. I´d maintained a calm and assuring manner while he was there but now I was alone, headset discarded and the enormity of it all was overwhelming.  
 
 Many hundreds of thousands of men and women have taken up parachuting as a hobby - their choice. Hundreds of aircrew baled out during the war when their aircraft was hit, but they did it in haste. There I was with a perfectly good Mosquito, brand new in fact and nothing the matter with it at all and I had all the time in the world to think about what was happening. Suddenly realised the aircraft was in a steep diving turn so I straightened up, gave it a slight bank to port and dived out. No sensation of falling, couldn´t see a thing but I wondered if I would stay in the harness when I pulled the ripcord as I wasn´t wearing my own ´chute which was being repacked.  
 
 The one borrowed was, like the aircraft, Bill Kemp´s and he was a brawny six foot something while I was  five foot six nothing! Pulled the ripcord and felt a massive wrench under my armpits and in my groin, but I was still inside the harness! After the deafening sound as I baled out it was now all deathly silent. Then I could here the sound of an aircraft approaching, someone else out in this weather? Came closer and closer and how close I couldn´t tell except from the sound it seemed it was flying straight into me. Faded away but a few seconds later the same thing occurred and I realised that it must be my own pilotlless plane that was circling above me. Fortunately that was the last I heard of it.  
 
 When I finally broke cloud I was close to ground level. There were ploughed fields below with a road running through them on which there was one solitary cyclist. I shouted to him but he naturally didn´t see me, just looked over his shoulder in a puzzled manner. By pulling my knees up I just managed to avoid telegraph wires and then dropped into a very muddy field. There was sufficient wind to pull my chute gently across the field and I became enveloped in mud and the quick release button on the chute became so full of mud that I couldn´t  get out of the harness. I was frozen stiff and was very fortunate in that a man emerged from the only farmhouse in sight, saw me and took me in.  
 
 Lovely people, I was somewhere near Fleurus in Belgium. They stripped off my uniform and set me beside a roaring fire with a bowl of thick hot vegetable soup. How she did it I´ll never know but in the two hours I was there she cleaned and dried my uniform so that it was like new. I was then picked up by a US jeep and taken to Charleroi, I was in the American sector.There I found Gil Rushton sitting on the floor in a US orderly room.  
 
 Without going into detail, we were treated abominably in the two hours we were there. Our request for a cup of coffee, which the Yanks in the room were enjoying  was answered by "the war´s over bud. There aint no lease lend no more". Had similar reception when I had to force land some months later near Bremen yet was treated like royalty when living in the USAAF officer´s mess in Nuremburg.
 
The upshot of all this was that Gil and I were granted five days leave in Paris in the company of my NZ friend Alf Hewitt, and Gil was over the moon that he, like myself, was awarded a gold caterpillar by the Irving parachute company for having saved our lives by parachute. Not many army officers that earned a caterpillar.
 
I went back to the farmhouse a week or two later and took them half a dozen packs of cigarettes and some chocolate. They might have kept it for themselves but such items were worth their weight in gold on the black market after the war.
 
Here endeth the second lesson!
 
107 sqdn:
When 497 (renumbered 268) was finally disbanded in February 1946, Ken and I were transferred to 107sqdn. They weren´t sure what to do with us at first so Ken was sent off on some course or other and I was sent to Wahn where we were building a new airfield. Ostensibly I was to be put in charge of a  party of Germans who were working in the carpentry building. I flew in around lunch time and was immediately befriended by a couple of 107 bods, Johnny Barr, a F/O navigator and 107s Army Liason Officer, Captain Johnny Manley.  
 
 While we were eating lunch, a Dakota flew in and out poured some twenty odd  group officers, ground staff Group Captains and Air Commodores. Whow! I thought what are this lot doing here. After lunch, the Johnnies asked whether I would like them to show me round Cologne in the evening. Seemed a strange offer as Cologne had been razed to the ground but they assured me that there was plenty of interest to see, so I thanked them  and thought what nice types, inviting me out so soon after arrival. Came the evening and when I met up with them they suggested I carried my service revolver. Just a precaution they said, there are still a few of these werewolf nazis roaming around but they give no trouble if they see you are armed. Took their word for it, after all, it was the first time I´d been in Germany, they were probably giving me good advice. We drove a 15cwt, stopped only at the officers mess where we picked up two large sacks and were then on our way. Just something we have to deliver they told me. Ended up beside a low building, Johnny Manley removed the distributor and in we went. Into an office where sat a young well groomed German and the Johnnies emptied the contents of the sacks onto the large table.  
 
 Thousands and thousands of cigarettes, it was a black market deal. The sacks were quickly refilled with German marks and that was the end of the transaction. Got outside and the 15cwt was surrounded by about half a dozen shadowy figures. "They are here again" said Manley "get out you revolvers" and as he spoke he fired a couple of shots over their heads "Oh my God" I thought, "what have I got into". Got to the truck, a hasty start that wouldn´t, then Manley remembered the distributor while Barr and I stood either side, revolvers at the ready. Then we were off and to safety. Back at base, Manley split the money into separate bundles, handing both Barr and I a fistful - our cut! Then into the mess where all the loot was distributed among all these staff officers.  
 
 They had flown it  to do a black market deal. Except they didn´t do it, leave that to junior officers and if we´d been caught some of these officers would have been presiding over our court marshal. I discovered later that they had made this trip on a number of previous occasions but word had obviously got round that large sums of money were being transported and there had been an attempt to ambush them. No one was prepared to accompany them so they spun me a tale of an innocuous evening out to back them up.
 
I soon discovered that Wahn was one great seething black market. I shared a room with a Flt/Lt Hussey who was one of 138 Wings Flying Control Officers. Stacked on tables and in drawers he had a mass of cameras, binoculars, watches and jewelry. He had been going round the countryside "confiscating" all this from the local residents. When he was demobbed, he told me, I´m coming back to France with my wife and we will live a life of luxury for a whole year before I start work again. How would it be possible to finance such an undertaking I asked. He just tapped his nose and said it was all in hand. Certainly was. After I was demobbed, I was working in the front garden on a Sunday morning when the paper boy came with my Sunday paper, and there, in headlines on the front page was Ex RAF officer jailed for three years. The story went on to say that a Flt/lt Hussey, who had been a flying control officer, had sold the Fido installation at Brussels to a scrap metal merchant . Fido was a fog dispersal installation, miles and miles of piping which, when lit, helped to disperse fog. This was his "nest egg" to pay for a year in France. How he ever thought he could get away with it heaven knows, but some of these fellows were so deep into black market activities that they thought they could get away with anything.
 
I determined that I would steer clear of the two Johnnies from then on which was easier said than done when we were only a handful of officers at Wahn at the time. Then there was a Squadron Leader who was in charge of the furnishing of the messes and living quarters. Once a week a Dakota flew in and furniture was put aboard. Seems this officer had recently purchased a house back in England and was furnishing it courtesy of the Ministry of Defence. And he got away with it and on discharge entered the ministry as a Cof E parson!
 
But for me the worst was to come. After 6 weeks at Wahn, I was to return to Cambrai - in the company of the two Johnnies. Now Johnny Manley, for all that he was a rogue, was a most intriguing character. Tall, slim and elegant, always carried a cane and had the reputation of being an expert in unarmed combat. He had been serving in the far east before joining 138 wing. He was in charge of making an inventory of everything that had been left by the Luftwaffe.  
 
 Now, there was a large lake behind Wahn, and on it were not one but two motor torpedo boats. These had been stripped and converted into normal motor cruisers. Johnny Manley reasoned "One would be unusual , but two? No way" and decided he would have one for himself. His home was on Jersey and when we were posted back to Cambrai we were given 5 days to make the trip. By road it was a long one day haul or two easy days and we were allowed to take two or three days in Brussels if we wished (Brussels was BAORs leave city and officers could stay at the Palace hotel which was the leave hotel) Johnny Barr and I took a 15cwt directly to Brussels, while Johnny Manley had the motor cruiser loaded onto a 3 tonner and drove as fast as he could for the nearest point on the French coast to Jersey.  
 
 Some old family retainer came over to France and when the vessel was unloaded he took it over to Jersey. Then Manley high tailed it to Brussels and joined us early evening of the second day. Went into the bar and bought a round of drinks, Manley said Cheers, drank it down with one gulp and then smashed his glass against the long mirror that stood behind the bar. An army colonel bore down on him in anger but within a couple of minutes they were talking like old friends, Manley had such charm. Bought the colonel a drink drank his health - then smashed his glass against the mirror again. The colonel went purple, then burst into laughter and told us to go before he took action. So off we went, I tried to cry off but it wasn´t easy to avoid Manley´s persuasive charm, so I tagged along. We went into one or two bars without incident but then went into one where there were some peculiar looking characters and as we entered, a man came in from the back, frilly dress and a tutu skirt and heavily painted. (I will now quote from the memoirs that I wrote about 35 years ago)
 
"Oh my God" drawled Johnny, "This is a queers hang out. I can´t abide nancy boys" and he gave the gay a hearty shove with one hand and swept the bar clear of glasses with the other. The queer in his tutu scuttled away behind the scenes from which two heavyweight bruisers emerged. "Let´s get out of here" I said and both Barr and myself made for the exit but Manley stayed put. As we escaped through the door it was slammed and locked behind us with Manley still inside. From what we could hear from inside the bar it was evident that Manley was taking a beating and we kicked the door and shouted for them to open up.  
 
 We were very relieved when a Military Police patrol drove up in a jeep. "Thank God you have come" I said "they have our friend in there and they are beating him to death". We received a frosty reception. "It isn´t you we have come to assist sir, we had a call that three officers were creating a disturbance and we have come in answer to that call"
 
The patrol sergeant banged on the door. "Open up inside there, this is the British Military Police". There was the sound of bolts being drawn and the door was opened, not by the proprietor but by Manley. Inside it was a shambles, overturned tables and chairs and lying unconcious in the midst of it all lay the two bruisers. Had I seen this in a B movie I would never have believed it. Despite his slender build and deceptive drawl, Manley really was an expert in unarmed combat.
 
"You really should do something about this place" Manley said to the sergeant "Nancy boys protected by thugs and goodness knows what else".
 
"That is all very well sir" replied the sergeant "but I´m afraid you gentlemen are under open arrest and must follow me to the Provost Marshall´s office. As we drove through the streets of Brussels the sergeant turned to me and whispered "Did he really put those two out on his own?" I assured him that Manley had done just that. "Cor" was his awed reply. At the PMs office we made a statement and were told to report to the Provost Marshall himself the next day at 10.00hrs. I could see it all clearly, I´d be court marshalled, drummed out of the service, how I rued the day I´d got mixed up with these two fellows, especially Manley.
 
With Manley´s gift of the gab we decided he should speak for us. The PM was a big burly full Colonel and he listened to Manley´s version of events with occasional comments from Barr and myself. Then the Colonel spoke. "You can consider yourselves very lucky young men. In normal circumstances your offence would be dealt with utmost severity. As it is, I can only pass on an unofficial thank you. We have had our eye on this bar for some time but haven´t been able to collect sufficient evidence to close it down. As the result of your little escapade last night we have now closed the bar as from last night. I can hardly punish you for having done me a favour, so the matter will go no further and will not be reported to your commanding Officer. But I would be obliged if you would leave the city today, which might well be the safest thing for you to do" We assured him we were proposing to leave that day but as we were taking our leave the colonel said to Manley "By the way, how did you manage it? After all ---- " Manley explained his unarmed combat training and some of what he had been doing in the far east. "Incredible, incredible" murmured the Colonel "Well, mind you don´t find yourselves in this position again and good day to you gentlemen". And that was that, I must say we all breathed a sigh of relief, to be thanked rather than charged was certainly a volte-face.
 
Nevertheless, I kept well clear of them when we returned to Cambrai which was fortunate. When I walked into the mess the next day there was a huge hole in the wooden floor. Celebrating his return, Manley had himself a midnight bonfire on the mess floor, and that is what it was like, a real mess. He was posted shortly after!
 
 
FOOTNOTE. This sounds an incredible tale I know but it is gospel truth with no additions.
 
I don´t know whether you have read any of George MacDonald Frazer´s books about Flashman. He also wrote two biographical books "Quartered safe out here" and a trilogy about McAuslan, the dirtiest soldier in the world. McAuslan was a composite character to add humour to what was Frazer´s memoirs of serving as a newly commissioned officer at the end of the war. In one book he wrote about a character that he called "Errol" as he looked like Errol Flynn. This Errol had been in the far east, was an expert in unarmed combat and could charm his way out of the most difficult situations. This must be the same man I thought, there couldn´t be two of them, and I wrote to Frazer, never expecting a reply. But it seems that he was meticulous in replying to anyone who wrote to him and this is his reply.
 
Dear Mr Bone
 
No, I´m afraid your Manley wasn´t my "Errol", whatever the similarities there may have been. "Errol" couldn´t have been in two places at once, and in 1946 and 1947 he was entirely occupied in Palestine and North Africa.
You say there can´t have been two of them but I disagree, the woods were full of them, extraordinary eccentrics who were frequently a nuisance to all concerned, but as I´ve said about "Errol", I doubt if
 we would have won the war without them.
Thank you for writing and sharing your recollections
 
Yours aye
 
George Frazer  
 
To the regret of his thousands of fans, he died last year when everyone was hoping for one more Flashman book.
 
Phew!
 
Hugh