Escape from France

I am writing this at the end of the first week of the new Terminal 5 at Heathrow. The chaos there is considerable and we have first-hand experience of it because my daughter-in-law, Jane, used it on the way to visit her daughters, Harriet and Louise, in Switzerland. “It is amazing the authorities could make such a mess after having plenty of time to sort out any problems. Will they never learn?” were William, my son’s, words. With the benefit of my longer memory the answer to this question is “No”. It is part of our British ness – our sense of humour and our never-absent optimism.

Early in September 1939 two of my Banks cousins, Honor and Margaret, asked me if I would take them to France for their holiday. I could use their Austin 10 car and as they had never been out of England they were much looking forward to the adventure. It was to turn out to be rather more of an adventure than they had expected!

I was not too sure that this was a good idea with the political situation at that moment, but finally decided to ‘give it a go’. We went from Dover and enjoyed a leisurely trip to Cannes as is appropriate in an Austin 10 with its maximum speed of 50/60 mph. We stopped frequently and enjoyed the French food and when we reached Cannes – which didn’t impress us very much - we decided to explore the coast. Menton looked lovely and we decided to make it our HQ for a week before setting out on the journey home. It was while we were there that Hitler marched into Poland………….
I was extremely worried as I felt responsible for my cousins and told them that we must return to England at once. We decided to start at daybreak the following day with the hope that we would not be too late to get a boat back home. With my knowledge to the German mind after my two recent years in Berlin, I knew we had landed ourselves in avery sticky spot.
Our journey back was frustrating. You can’t hurry in an Austin 10 and the situation was, I think, rather over my cousins’ understanding. We kept going throughout the day, not stopping for meals, only to refuel. It was well after dark when we reached Calais some twelve hours after we started to be told we were too late, there would be no more sailings. They had cancelled all boats to England. However, they believed Dunkirk was still operating – but with no certainty that we would find a boat with space there.
We hurried on and with much arguing, and the fact that we had fully paid return tickets for the car and ourselves that finally secured us got us on a boat. This was blacked out and sailed zigzag in case there were submarines about.
I don’t remember what time we reached Dover, but life seemed so calm after the previous 24 hours and we had an unhurried journey to Great Witley to deliver the car and my cousins back home. A few days later we heard Chamberlain announce on the radio that “A state of war now exists between ourselves and Germany” after giving Hitler the chance to back down.

The subject of this addition to my website seems to have wandered a little. It started when, my daughter Linden described the journey she and her husband, Adrian, had just completed in a single day returning from the Scottish Isles, after their holiday there. I suggested it would be interesting to compare their journey, 400 miles, in a modern car with two drivers, motorways but far more traffic, with mine in 1939, 600 miles, in a car with a maximum speed of 60 mph and only one driver. Of course I had more urge!

Booker Elementary Flying Training School (EFTS)

I enjoyed my years at Booker Elementary Flying Training School (EFTS) for three reasons – I loved flying - I loved teaching and I loved my home comforts. All three came together when I married Ann in 1943.

Booker airfield was all grass in those days, and we took off and landed into wind. We commenced flying at 8.00am and flew until 12.30 or 1.00, had some lunch in the mess and returned to our flying at about 2.00pm. At 6.00pm we left the flying to the night boys. Those of us who were flying that night would finish day flying a bit early or might go straight on to night flying and have the following morning off. A busy life but I loved it. There were plenty of challenges to be mastered for we flew in all weathers compatible with the aircraft we flew, Tiger Moths and Magisters. I think most of us became extremely good pilots – as Cecil (Sagittarius Rising) Lewis wrote in his book “All my Yesterdays” ‘There is nothing like instructing for improving one’s flying’.

I had many good pupils and rarely failed to get them up to solo flying. I remember one interesting case of a pupil I had to fail on account of his night flying. The glide indicator at the beginning of the approach used three lights – green, amber or red. If you were too high you saw Amber, if you were too low you saw Red and Green was the correct one. The Amber meant closing the throttle to lose some height. The Red meant open the throttle further until you could see Green. This pupil consistently closed the throttle when the red light appeared and I am pretty sure he had no suicide tendencies. He passed all tests for colour blindness. Once when we were three miles away over the valley above Wycombe and the red light showed I had time to ask him ‘What colour do you see?’ He answered ‘Red’. ‘And what does that mean?’ ‘We are too low’ and he opened the throttle a little which I immediately increase to full throttle and hoped I was not too late!

Later in the war I remember I was with my pupil over Maidenhead when I noticed the sky in the West almost completely blacked out by aircraft. They were on their way to Arnhem. They were also towing gliders and approaching at 140 mph or so in a line so long that I knew they would reach me in a few moments. More worrying was that they seemed to cover the air from almost ground level up to 2000ft. I was at 1000ft and knew I couldn’t fly round this armada or out-climb it. There was only one way left – get down to tree height as quick as you can. It was a frightening few moments as I aimed the Tiger Moth at the ground in a vertical dive and levelled off brushing tree tops at 100 feet or so, as the masses of tugs and gliders, some of them flown by pilots I may have personally trained, swept by. The lowest of them was only some 200 ft above the ground and they kept on coming for the next ten minutes while I crept back to Booker! Obviously we couldn’t be warned to expect this attack on the bridge at Arnhem.

Life was sometimes frustrating. Trying to instruct on a very busy circuit with a pupil almost ready for solo encourages us to fly to one of the nearby fields we used for forced-landing practice. Such a field was within the river bend above Henley. This field had been a mushroom farm and I remember the times we instructors would go there, park our Tiger Moths around the edge and instructors and their pupils would be seen picking mushrooms and packing them into the Tigers’ lockers. We would get going early and our CO. O’Donnell soon found that his practice of standing on tarmac with his stopwatch at 8.0’clock to check any late starters was no longer necessary. Unfortunately the seeds of doubt started hatching – Why? He asked our CFI Jackie Hicks to get airborne early to discover what we were ‘up to’ – in this case ‘down to’ is more appropriate for he discovered all his instructors on their hands and knees at this field picking the best of the mushrooms, and rather than joining us he decide to put a stop to the practice we had enjoyed.

Some of us did not have to fly beyond Booker to increase our wartime rations. I landed on and killed a hare. I did not know I had done so but another instructor had seen it and added that as he was eating in the mess he had no use for it. Ann turned it into a superb ‘jugged hare’ which we much enjoyed – likewise a partridge which my flight commander Davies had killed but forgot to take with him when he went on leave.

For solo cross-country training we used Fairoaks, Sywell and Cambridge aerodromes and it was on one of these exercises we came into contact with the cable of a drifting barrage balloons which I have already mentioned.

One of these cross-country exercises my pupil consistently got lost and I wanted to see what he would do. He said he would land at the first airfield he saw and ask them where he was. I told him to go ahead as I wasn’t sure myself. By a few gentle suggestions I was able to get him to go towards Booker as I told him that most airfields were built to the same pattern. We finally arrived at Booker and I told him to go to the control tower to find out where we were while I remained in the cockpit. He returned with a broad smile on his face!

This reminds me of Finlay who was an American who joined us before the Americans entered the war. He was solo in America but had considerable difficulty in flying a Tiger Moth. His solo flying had been on tricycle-equipped aircraft. We were all very fond of Finlay and our Flight commander at that time was S/Ldr Davey who, like Cecil Lewis had been a pilot in the 14/18 war. He decided to take on Finlay but could make very little progress with him and handed him over to me. After a week I manager to get him solo and I remember Davey’s words as with remarkable hindsight he said “Oh dear. I feel our troubles have just started.” And indeed they had! Although Finlay now flew the Moth well he would lose his way as soon as he strayed any distance beyond the circuits at Booker and we were often picking him up from airfields miles away. I well remember his last flight when we received a phone call from Pershore Airfield, near Worcester. “We have just sent off one of your pilots – a fellow called Finlay – we refuelled him and pointed him towards Booker.” So in about an hour he should have arrived. But it was three hours later that he turned up – as we were just about to stop flying for the day. Davey told me to march him into the Flight hut first thing the next morning. I did so and witnessed the following interview – Davey: “Finlay can you tell me why you took off on your own when you know you are not allowed to do so?”

Finlay “Well sir I had caused so much trouble in the past that I felt one more would make no difference.”

Davey “ Can you tell me why you took so long to get to Booker?”

Finlay “ I had to stop to refuel at Eastleigh” (An airfield on the South coast)

At this point I noticed Davey suddenly drop his head onto the desk and indicated with both arms that he wanted me to march Finlay out of the Flight hut. I returned to find Davey literally weeping with laughter. The next few days saw the Americans enter the war and Flinlay left us to join them.

S/Ldr Davey often took us up above the clouds where he demonstrated leading several aircraft with his hand signals as they did in the last war. He once told us to follow him to Booker as a a formation and make a formation landing. “ I shall be in trouble for this” he said after we landed because we were not allowed to practise formation flying. And indeed he was posted to other duties soon afterwards. The CO and the CFI thought he was getting too old and should be given a less demanding job. Davey turned up once at Booker flying a Tiger Moth from the front seat! He told us he was mapping out many airfields with the idea of possible extensions. As for his front-seat flying he said “It’s warmer and I can smoke my pipe!”

After the war Ann and I took Davey to lunch in London and I feel I might include on of his experiences when surveying airfields after he left booker. It has nothing to do with me but is typical of an older man who possessed great skill in map reading and mathematics and who would often put himself on the night-flying stint if the weather was specially bad and he noticed a junior instructor there. He told us “I decided to visit an airfield on the Welsh border. When I was approaching the Welsh mountains the cloud level began to drop. I was gaining height at the same time, I was following a valley and soon realised it was too narrow to turn in so press and with my map and my watch I calculated the moment when I had to make a turn to the right. The right wing-tip brushed the top of the trees – I had been a bit early in my turn – but I was now clear and only had to climb on full throttle to get clear of the surrounding peaks. When I knew I had enough height I flew West until I was clear of the coast. I then descended to sea level, found where I was and then found the airfield and landed. The place was empty and in the watch tower they asked me ‘where have you come from?’ I said I have just landed here. ‘What do you mean? We have been shut all day.’ It took them a while to accept the situation.”

Barry Tuckwell

In 1958 the great artist Barry Tuckwell blew into our lives when he married Ann’s cousin Sally Newton. This famous French-horn player is now a legend and he leaves many records of his genius for posterity. We became firm friends and still occasionally meet when he comes to England from his native Australia. We share a similar outlook on music and I treasure his confirmation of this when I played Godowsky’s ‘Alte Wien’ to him. This was the last time I played the piano before my hearing deteriorated to the point than I could no longer hear the piano as a piano but more like a xylophone and my two CDs recorded at the end of the nineties were now completely impossible for me to listen to.

Barry became chairman of thre LSO for several years before leaving to give more time to his solo playing. He occasionally spent a night with us and he once invited me to try and blow a note on his French-horn. I couldn’t make a sound!

We often went to London to hear him play and I remember the day he conducted the LSO in Elgar’s Enigma Variations and then coming on to the platform with hi French-horn and playing a Mozart Horn Concerto. A delightful reminiscence.

“Elle chante très bien derrière”

How interesting it is that a few words in a foreign language can take one back to a moment 80 years ago with a far greater clarity than one can remember yesterday’s date.

I was about 18 years old at the time and even half the words in the above quote will take me back with pleasure to a moment I will never forget.

In August 1927 Vernon Warner’s family had joined ours f or the summer holiday of four weeks. We were on our way through France to Switzerland in our two cars – Vernon’s Chrysler and father’s open 5-seater Buick. There was no need to book stopping places in those days and seeing a notice of a restaurant and Hotel a few miles ahead we thought we would make our night-stop there. It was a lovely evening for eating outside and the proprietor suggested we waited while he prepared a special meal for us. A few minutes later we heard a chicken squark and the proprietor returned to tell us he was cooking a chicken meal which would be ready soon!

When this arrived it was getting dark so we pointed our cars at the tables outside and enjoyed a lovely meal in the lights of our cars’ headlamps.

While we were eating there was the sound of an approaching sports car and a young French couple called in for a drink and a snack. The car was a Bugatti with an enormous exhaust pipe. We made friends and discovered he was a famous opera singer. When they had finished eating he suddenly broke into song. He had a lovely voice and listening to it in the open air under the cars’ headlamps was a scene I will never forget. They were moving on and as we bid them farewell Vernon pointed to the Bugatti with the words that started this reminiscence.

Jasper Plummer

It is difficult to give an impression of Plummer’s face. It was an unfortunate one – plain rather than ugly. As if the doctors had been forced to use abnormal strength with their forceps to save his mother’s life. I remember a cartoon in Punch where a motorist leans out of an open window and asks a pedestrian ‘Leatherhead?’ to receive the reply ‘Fishface’. Plummer was about my age and came to Stowe in 1923 at the start of Grenville House, as I did tool We had not had time to develop uncivilised behaviour and Stowe had a Headmaster who was resolved to see that strange habits did not develop amongst his charges. I regret to say Plummer’s face did not encourage friendships and I guess his was a lonely life, but with plenty of kindness from all of us. He was not much good at lessons or sports. But Providence had not finished with him yet and we were soon to realise he possessed a super-human gift for mimicry. At times it was uncanny. A new master would arrive and within a few days Plummer had every mannerism summed up. I will never forget the moment when a new History master, Ian Hunter, came to Stowe; he had a glass eye and this would ‘bore into you’ when he talked to you. A few days later and Plummer would look at you in exactly the same way – he did not need to say a word – in that instant he became Ian Hunter. He had a quick wit as well: We had all been splashing about a lot in the bathroom when our housemaster looked in and addressed Plummer with “Where did all this water come from?” “Out of the tap Sir” was the immediate reply” “That’s cheek Jasper” he said followed by a slap on the face. Plummer enjoyed using this God-given gift amongst his fellows, but he was naturally a shy boy. But his reputation spread and at an end-of-term concert he received a deputation from all the masters to give a demonstration of his gifts – but nothing would make him do so. The last I heard of Plummer was that he was a vicar of a village in Cornwall. I wonder if he is still amongst us, but if not, he will have left this world a happier place by his presence.

The Phantom 1 Rolls-Royce

Our Phantom 1 Rolls-Royce was getting low on petrol and spotting a sign saying Petrol Pump a mile ahead I decided to get filled up there. We were in Ireland where we had rented a small bungalow near Rosscarbury just above the Long Strand. The Rolls Royce had a 40 gallon petrol tank which befitted its 10mpg and the gauged showed it was now on the last gallon.

Petrol pumps were often found attached to small shops and this was one of them. In 1958 all pumps were manually operated and quite tiring to work. After the attendant had been pumping away for some time I could see he was getting worried. At one moment he stopped pumping and, on his hands and knees, examined the ground under the back of the car. He then returned to his task and gave the pump a few more strokes. Again he stopped and peered under the car!

Scratching his head he looked at me imploringly. I told him to carry on! But instead of doing so he walked back into his shop which, like all shops in Ireland, had a bar and I had to go there to get him back to finish filling the tank. Well resuscitated from the pint of Guinness I found him finishing he returned to complete his task. It was only then I let him into the secret of how much the tank held!

More about Sudoku

There are many different ways to solving these puzzles and I do not suggest my way is best. But it does enable me to solve the hardest (Fiendish) puzzles from The Times fairly quickly. This is what I do:

I divide each puzzle into three phases:

1. Copy the puzzle on to a Sudoku pad with its larger squares using a Red pen.
   
   
2. Starting with the top left Block with its nine small squares and pencil in the possible numbers with small figures. Start at the Top left square and moving from left to right until all nine small squares of this top left block have their possible small numbers written in. Proceed to the next top Block on the right and treat it in the same way, and so on until all nine blocks have been filled.
   
   During this ‘Exposition’ you will probably find one number in sole possession of its square. Write this number in full size and then look for a similar number in its COLUMN, in its ROW and in its BLOCK and rub them out. During this process you will uncover some more single numbers in sole possession of their squares and can be therefore raised to full size and should be treated like all full size numbers and will have similar small numbers deleted throughout their COLUMNS, ROWS or BLOCKS. By the time you have reached the last BLOCK you will find you have almost completed the solution of the easier puzzles.
   
   During this ‘EXPOSITION’ stage keep any eye out for ‘matching pairs’. If you see two numbers left in a square and the same two numbers left in another square and both pairs are in the same column you can rub out any similar numbers in that column. The same rule can be applied to a ROW or a BLOCK throughout the puzzle.
   
   This ‘exposition’ stage is where most people (including me) make mistakes, so it pays to spend extra time on it. I am still learning after several years with Sudoku. To prove this point I advise you to check the whole puzzle by subjecting every red figure to the COLUMN, ROW and BLOCK test. If you find no mistakes to correct you are a genius!

Perhaps the best advice I can give you is to get a book on solving this clever and demanding puzzle and then work out your own way of meeting the challenge. As you get older it will prevent your brain from becoming addled.

Vignettes of an Instructor’s life

All instructors had to maintain a high standard of blind-flying ability. We flew in pairs for this exercise – one as ‘look-out’ and the other under the hood. I often used this exercise to visit my brother at White Waltham where he was stationed flying for the ATA. My flight commander at one time was F/Lt Davies who possessed a bristling moustache. He and I decided to see what the food was like at Henlow which was the RAF medical centre and training hospital. The officers’ Mess was the lovely Rothschild house near the aerodrome. We walked into a large room packed with high-ranking officers – Squadron Leaders and above and not one of them with RAF wings. Davies looked them over rather pointedly – his moustache bristled and having got their attention said “bloody penguins” in a loud voice. They didn’t seem to mind and we had a good lunch.

At one time pressure was put on all instructors to sample life at the sharp end where many of our pupils would be going. We were given the option of a trip in a bomber or a Sunderland Seaplane. I chose the latter and was posted to Mount Batten, near Plymouth, for a week. My crew were enthusiastic Australians and I enjoyed their company. When we couldn’t find a U-Boat we would drop a smoke bomb and try to sink it before it expired naturally. A story going about at that time concerned a Wing Commander instructor who requested the Captain of his Sunderland, who was only a flight lieutenant, that he be allowed to take the controls. The humble F/Lt let him do so but became worried when the Sunderland headed inland and started to loose height, and alarmed when he commenced a circuit of Hendon airfield, the W/.Cs own airfield. He spoke very abruptly to the W/C and they headed back to Mount Batten where they landed. The F/Lt was worried that his abrupt words to a superior officer might do him no good. He apologised and the W/C accepted this and added “Yes, it was rather foolish of you to think I could mix up a landplane with a seaplane.” He then opened the door and stepped straight into the water!.

We lost a respected instructor when Sergeant Needham did not return from a bomber raid. Instructors also cost a lot to train. Altogether not a well thought out scheme I fear.

Tiger Moth solo

One should never fly a Tiger Moth solo from the front seat. I have only once seen this done and that was when my flight commander Davey flew in to see us after he was consigned to another job. He was also smoking his pipe! “It is so much less draughty in the front seat” was his explanation. While he was with us at B flight he never shirked any of the routing jobs; taking night-flying in the foulest weather and often taking the place of any new instructor who he considered should be broken in gently. He delighted in meeting half-a-dozen of us above cloud and re-enacting formation flying as they did it in the last war with hand signals. We were not allowed to practise formation flying and I well remember the day when he got us to do a formation landing. “I shall be on the mat for this” he said. But I think it was his age and the fact that he often wheezed that made our CFI Hicks post him to a less demanding job. His new posting was surveying airfields all over the country for possible enlargements. Ann and I made contact with him after the war and we often met. He was wonderful company and some of the trips he did on his surveying business were hair-raising.

On one of these trips Davey was told to survey an airfield on the coast of Wales near Snowden. He started off with his carefully studied map of the area and his stop watch. As the ground rose as he neared the mountains he decided to follow a valley which did not place too much strain on the climbing ability of the Moth. But mist and clouds were descending and forcing him lower and lower until he was flying at treetop height. The valley at this point was too narrow to permit a turn and retreat. This left the option of climbing through the clouds. He knew exactly where he was and he also saw that in another mile he would have to make a 90⁰ turn to avoid rising ground that was well above the Moth’s climbing ability. Out came his stopwatch and mental calculations told him when to turn. He was only a few seconds out and his right wingtip missed the ground by inches. But he was now free to climb until he was higher than any peak ahead. He then headed West until he was clear of land before descending to sea level. He then returned to the coast, located his position, found the airfield and landed there. He found no-one about and those in the control tower told him “We have been closed all day so you can’t have flown in”. “Well, I just have” Davey replied and had to show them his Moth before they would be satisfied!

Tiger Moths

The Tiger Moth Story has given me great pleasure and I now wonder if I am the only person left who has done repeated slow rolls in a standard (unmodified) Tiger Moth without losing any height.

I learnt this in 1940 when under training at Cambridge airfield from which I emerged as a full qualified EFTS instructor. As far as I can remember I could generally manage three rolls before ‘losing it’. My instructor was W/C Peter May who was the CFI at that time. He demonstrated six of these rolls and once, when I was acting as his safety pilot, he did six under the hood. When I managed three I was flying solo. I remember Peter May’s words as we started the inverted part of the roll: “Just keep enough back pressure on the stick to keep the petrol flowing”, beautifully demonstrated by several gentle and very slight back movements which conveyed exactly what was required. I managed one of these rolls with Peter May and when we landed he said “Now, boy, go and practise”!

A short time after this Peter May was shot down in an Albermarle when towing a glider during the Sicily landings. Flying the Albermarle was an achievement in itself. It was built using no aluminium and was so heavy that pilots reckoned it was useless. I believe about 60 of these 2-engined bombers were built.

Barry Tuckwell

We had a pleasant visit from Barry Tuckwell a while ago. I shall post more details soon but here is a picture.

Flying at Booker - navigation

Apart from teaching our pupils the art of flying they were taught the art of navigating their way about the country. Use of the compass, the effect of wind etc. As the duration of their course at Booker was a fixed one the weather was often the limiting factor and sometimes we were unable to get our pupils up to the solo stage. But the war would not stop to suit our convenience, so we just had to do our best. It cost a lot to train a pilot up to flying a Spitfire or a Lancaster and if we could sort out the likely pilots from the unlikely ones at the beginning of their training a lot of money and time would be saved. Thus the grading scheme was started and a few instructors were chosen to carry it out. I was one of these. We were required to test all pupils who had failed to go solo and any others with whom their instructors had some doubt. Thus produced some interesting results including my only crash!

The pupil had not soloed but was considered ready but for poor weather. His general flying was good and his approaches and landings good. Normally I would have sent him on a solo flight, but there was something about him that worried me. I said to him “I am going to ask for one more circuit; you had it all your own way so far and I am going to give you a small problem”. I handed over to him on the start of the approach and final leg – but about 20 feet too high. He closed the throttle and started the approach at the correct speed there was plenty of airfield ahead – and I mentally relaxed and removed my had from the stick thinking ‘he’s OK’ when suddenly he pushed the stick hard forward. We hit the ground – the undercarriage crumpled and the propeller was quickly reduced to the boss. For some time after this I was known as ‘crasher Steynor’.! Another moment I remember was testing a pupil who had not soloed and after putting him through all the most fiendish positions to which he reacted as an experienced pilot would I said “I find it hard to believe you have never soloed. As far as I am concerned you can go solo whenever you want to”. I have a strong feeling that I was being tested by the Air Ministry as to my ability for this job as a grading officer.

Flying at Booker - landing out

The country between Princes Risborough and Aylesbury was our low flying area and when a pupil had soloed we would send him there to practise his flying and so prevent the circuit becoming over crowded. There was a useful landmark in this area – the Chinnor cement works with its smoking chimney – and pupils were told to fly south when they wanted to return to Booker. If they failed to spot the airfield in poor weather they would soon see the river Thames. Then all they had to do was find Marlow and follow the road to the airfield. I remember when two of our pupils on the same day didn’t make it home. One of them turned left when he saw the river and followed it for miles and miles, finally landing at Hornchurch. The other one turned right and flew on and on until, as he said “I ran out of river and landed in a field”. The barrage balloons were up and the first one had flown through the lot. When asked if he had seen them he replied “Oh yes, but I kept well below them”!

If a pupil lost his way and ‘landed out’ he was instructed to phone Booker with as much information as possible and we would send two instructors in a single Tiger Moth to retrieve him My flight Commander Michael Harraway and I formed a rescue team and we had some interesting moments. A pupil had landed in a field at Pinner and the police had put him in the local Goal. My sister-in-law Betty lived in Pinner and I phone her and we met at the field. She was thus able to see our rescue team in operation. On another occasion a pupil had landed in a field next to the local vicar’s house. The vicar insisted we had tea with him before we left. The vicar had an attractive daughter and Michael told me to take the pupil back in the pupil’s Tiger Moth and he would follow later. This worried me a bit because Michael was very susceptible to young ladies and it was already late in the day and we had a forty mile journey ahead of us. I was met on the airfield by the CFI, Jackie Hicks, with “What’s happened to Michael?”. He arrived half-an-hour later as our CFI was about to get the Chance-light going. Before coming to Booker Michael had been adjutant to Group Captain Malan at Biggin Hill. He suggested to me that we could use our compulsory blind-flying time by flying to Biggin Hill. We went there in a Magister and arrived as their Spitfires were returning from a successful strike over France. A moment for celebration followed, and Michael was quickly drawn into the Officers’ Mess. I went to the Sergeants’ Mess and had some difficulty refusing most of the drinks offered me. But I had the journey home and I had doubts about Michael’s ability to fly when the time came to go. My doubts were justified and his friends had to lift him into the Magister. I needed a little help too I regret to say and I have no memory of the actual take-off. The first thing I can remember was that we were at 2000ft and my brain was clearing. I think Michael was then asleep. I was now faced with the task of locating the half-mile gap over the river which marked the only safe crossing if we were to avoid being shot down by the Army anti-aircraft guns. In my present state I knew this would be impossible. The alternative was to fly South until clear of balloons. It was a longer flight, but I was becoming more sober every minute and made a good landing back at Booker. Looking back at this episode I remember feeling confident that I would be able to manage. I put this down to the competence one achieves from a thousand hours of instructing. As Cecil Lewis says in his last book, All My Yesterdays, “In the First World War I had been accounted a first-class fighter pilot, expert in aerobatics; but there is nothing like instructing to teach you accurate flying. By the time I had been at it three months, I was flying far more skilfully than I had ever flown before.”

After the war Michael Harraway became our solicitor. Ann and I were fond of him and he often stayed with us. He lost his life at a fireworks party given by Diana Dors when some fireworks exploded inside the house and set fire to it.

Flying at Booker

Early in 1942 an American, Finlay, came as pupil to B flight. America had not yet decided to help us. Finlay had soloed in America and he just felt the urge to help us in the war. We all wanted to do our best for him and his training was taken in personal hand by our flight commander, F/Lt Davey who had been a pilot in the 14-18 war and, like Cecil Lewis, had re-enlisted. But Davey failed to get Finaly up to solo in a Tiger Moth, and he asked me to see what I could do. I see from my log Book I took Finlay up seven times covering 2 hours before sending him solo on March 10^th 1942. I remember Davey’s words when I gave him this news. “I think our troubles have just begun.” How true this was to prove! Finlay could fly safely enough, but his navigation skill was nil. I gather that in America there are straight lines everywhere. Like our own pupils Finlay was required to do several solo cross country flights. Even if he landed at another aerodrome he was supposed to phone Booker to get someone to guide him back home. After a few such flights Finlay decided to do it his way “I have caused enough trouble already”. I think he arrived at his last destination, but the return to Booker beat him. We receive a call from Pershore airfield “ We have just sent off your LAC Finlay having pointed him in the right direction.” Now Pershore is about an hour away but he only made it back after some three hours. Next morning I marched Finlay before Davey in our flight hut. “Why did you take so long to get here from Pershore?” Davey asked him. “Well Sir, I had to stop to re-fuel”. I saw Davey drop his head and cover his face with his left hand whilst indicating ‘get out of my sight’ with his right. I marched Finlay out of the hut and found Davey crying with laughter, tears running down his cheeks. America was now in the war with us and Finlay joined them.

Berlin

During my two years in Berlin (1935/6) I went to most of Edwin Fischer’s concerts, some of them with his Chamber music Orchestra. During one of these a dozen storm troopers burst onto the stage with the words “There are some Jews in this Orchestra: Throw them out; we want to hear German music.” In the end of ten minutes of discussion the Nazis withdrew with “We’re sorry, we were sent to the wrong hall.” It was good to see that the entire audience was against them.

At another concert with the same Orchestra we noticed the piano was barely audible and at the end, when the usual acclaim was at its height, Fischer walked up to the piano to give his customary encore and the first thing he did was to lower the lid of the open Steinway and then sit down on the piano stool to gasps of “Good. I thought he was telling us to go home.” He then played Schubert’s A flat Impromptu to softly and beautifully he had the entire audience completely in his grip. Some were openly weeping and there were many handkerchiefs visible. It was an amazing occasion. In the artist’s room afterwards we, his students, saw him dancing about saying “I knew that would get them” and then to us “Didn’t you notice how soft that Steinway was. I chose it specially with a view to the Schubert at the end after the very loud Bach”. I can applaud such showmanship!

Motoring Memories

Some of my friends collect old cars. But they don’t always keep them in good running condition. This can lead to uncomfortable moments. There was a meeting at the Bull and Butcher in Turville, 4 miles away, of a vintage car club to which I was invited. “I will collect you as there will be many vintage cars there and not much room”., Peter collected me in one of his several cars while it was still daylight and it never occurred to me to ask him if the old car’s lights were working. It was a pleasant evening that went on until well after dark. And then, of course, we had to get back home and I discovered the car had no lights. This did not worry Peter in the slightest. “ I have a torch which you can hold” he said. The road between Turville and my house are not very wide and the prospect of standing up holding a torch in an open car did not appeal to me. Peter failed to persuade me to give it a try - it was pitch black night and no street lights. In the end Peter got two club members to box us in and in this way we got home.

I have said little about my time with the Bond mini car apart from the moment when I left it at Stocks, 20 miles away, and was persuaded to use Miss Forbes-Dunlop’s Austin 10 when an emergency call from Ann required my immediate return home. This Bond was the first of a range of Bonds that sprung up in the early days after the war. It was a clever design – a 3-wheeler with the single steering wheel in front which also carried the engine, in this case a 148cc Villiers giving some 5HP and a maximum speed of about 30mph on the level. It had 3 speeds, all part of the engine unit and it would average about 100mpg. With seats for two it could manage a 1 in 6 gradient or a 1 in 4 if the passenger walked. It was a reliable and economical and that meant a lot in those difficult days. Germany produced the Messersmidt and Heinkel - both 3 wheelers, both of them with more powerful engines, faster and more expensive to boot if I may use such an expression for vehicles with little luggage carrying capacity!

I ran a DKW for a time. This had a small two-cylinder two-stroke engine with a dynastart which is a dynamo with its armature an extension of the engine crankshaft and therefore permanently engaged. It turned itself into an almost silent starter when you pressed the starter button. But there was a snag; the armature required very fine clearance and any appreciable wear in the engine crankshaft bearings and it wouldn’t work and demanded an expensive overhaul.

Motorcyling

After my motorcycling days were over the only time I returned to two wheels was during the war. Each of our five flights at the aerodrome had about 12 Tiger Moths all moored in blister hangers. These would only start if the carburettor was flooded until petrol dripped from the overflow pipe. It did not seem wrong to us to collect these drippings in an old cocoa tin for use in our motorcycles – until we were threatened with Court Martial if we continued to do so. The other custom was to empty the entire contents of the Tiger Moth’s 20 gallon petrol tank onto the grass if it crashed. This so annoyed me that I wrote to the Air Ministry about it. I don’t remember being thanked for my letter, but the practice was stopped – damaged petrol going to the transport MT in future. In the meantime Villiers had much improve their design and range of engines. They had gone over to flat-topped pistons which had improved engine balance and efficiency. Their 148cc engine now gave about 5hp with no cooling troubles. After the war I tested this little unit in a Bond minicar which I used for a time to travel to Tring where I had taken a job of music teacher. This leads to another facet of my life which I may cover if I do not run out of steam meanwhile.

MGs

I have always been devoted to MGs. The first one was a MG. M - a two-seater with boat-shaped tail. The engine was the Morris Minor OHC 850cc and it delivered about 33hp. With its single S.U. carburettor. I bought it about 1935 and when War came I stored it in the open in our shrubbery at Berwyn, Malvern.

After marrying Ann in 1943 I decided it would be nice to have it at my house at Lane End. My brother Martyn and I set forth in Ann’s Austin 10 to fetch it. The MG’s body had rotted away from the chassis and was beyond repair, but the radiator with its badge was saveable so off we set on the 110 mile journey with my brother in the Austin and me in the bare chassis. I had managed to get the engine running before we started which was to prove vital as the clutch on the Austin was on its last legs and would start slipping if provoked. So whenever we came to anything more than a gentle rise I would start the MG’s engine and we would complete the climb with the tow rope slack.

The next job was to find a body for what was still a perfectly good chassis. At that time in the war most large fields had scrapped cars dotted about all over them to deter enemy forces from using them. There were many such fields within our operating range as a training airfield and I asked my fellow instructors to see if they could spot any old Morris Minors amongst them. We had luck, although not in any of these fields. An instructor found what looked promising on the front of a small garage in Haslemere, the other side of Wycombe. I investigated and discovered it was a Morris Minor with an open 4-seater body. It had been dumped there and I was told I could have it for £10 if I would take it away. I bought it. It was a McEvoy Morris. The engine in it was the SV Morris which I didn’t need. It fitted my chassis perfectly and only required a new canvas hood – which Ann made.

It was on this car that the development of the Verdik petrol economiser was carried out and it was in this car that we set off for our first holiday abroad after the war – to Switzerland where we met Mr Frey, the head of Scintilla Magnetos who arranged to manufacture the Verdik for me.

I remember selling this MG vividly – we had moved to Colliers Corner, so the date must have been after 1951. We got £58 for it and never before or since have I seen one of my cars go away and found uncontrollable tears in my eyes.

Several MGs followed and all were enjoyed, especially the 6-cylinder Magnette with Wilson pre-selector gearbox which Ann loved to drive. Our last MG was a Midget which was bought by Linden’s Best Man at her wedding (Dave Harris) and he had many years of happy driving in it before selling it fairly recently. I sold it when I had an opportunity to buy an Alfa-Romeo Spider. This was a car I had always wanted but could never afford. It was a 1986 model entirely rust free and with a low mileage and in Alfa Red.

If I have any regrets it would only be that it did not have power steering. But perhaps this is why I was able to afford it! But it was the lack of power steering that made me sell it as I became older and had to face the fact that the time was coming when I would have to stop driving altogether. But I have enjoyed a wonderful life of motoring – over 70 years and free of accidents and insurance claims and one cannot ask for more.

Motor Cycling

My motorcycling started in 1924, in imagination only, when the chemistry ‘lab-boy’ offered to sell me his 147cc belt-driven Francis-Barnett. I can’t remember what I paid for it but it must have been very little. I had very little money in those days. I asked permission to drive it home at the end of term, but was, quite rightly, refused – it was some 70 miles. So my motorcycling days started at Malvern Link railway station. The thrill of the mile, all uphill, to our house is something I still remember 82 years later. The F-B remained with me for the next 4 or 5 years during which I learnt all about the construction of the Villiers engine and its ability to run quite effectively in the reverse direction if its flywheel magneto was over-advanced. The engine is tough, utterly reliable and ideal for powering a beginners first motorcycle. With only two gears and an unbreakable and light frame and belt final drive. I enjoyed those early years before moving on to more serious motorcycling in the form of a 172cc Super-sports James, still with a Villiers engine with 5 ½ hp (instead of 3 ½ hp of the F-B) and its ability to seize solid if one failed to treat it the right way. (For those who like curious facts or co-incidences: from 1930 onwards I used to look in at Goodchilds Garage in a village called Lane End to pick up a gallon tin of Duckhams R Oil for my James. Apart from this I was unaware of Lane End’s existence and yet ten years later not only was it to be my nearest village but later I was to buy Goodchilds Garage and turn it into a successful DAF car agency.)

I joined the British Two Stroke Club in 1929 and entered several of its reliability trials after being graded as ‘expert’! One of these trials started in south Bucks and finished at Madresfield Court near my home at Malvern the next day. The airship R101 Had crashed at Beauvais during the night. That dates this day accurately.

I saw an advert in some motorcycling journal for a Villiers engine new and in its box asking for offers. I phoned to find out details. “The only mark I can see is a Y stamped on it crank case – I’ll take a fiver for it”. I hurried to collect it from him. The Y engine was the 172cc Brooklands racing engine. It was supposed to give 8 hp. It had a padded crankshaft and aluminium fins on the upper part of the cylinder. Otherwise it was a standard 172cc Super-Sports and fitted easily into my James. But my trials days were ending; I wanted something more social and I had my eye on a Morgan 3-wheeler. I bought a 1924 “Aero” with S-V Blackburne engine for £24 and a new experience began.

Stocks

I became the teacher of the piano at Stocks (a girls’ boarding school at Albury near Tring) in the early fifties, succeeding Vernon Warner there. We had played Cesar Franck’s Symphonic Variations, Vernon playing the orchestral part on the second piano, as a way of introduction for me. I remained there for the next fifteen happy years, teaching charming, delightful and well-mannered girls the art of Chopin, Brahms, Bach and Beethoven. At the end of the day I would play to the whole school and ask them if there was anything they particularly wanted to hear next week. I once was asked for the “Moonlight Sinatra”! I asked the girl if she meant the one by Franck, but she didn’t know what I was talking about.

The school once decided to enter a local piano competition. We put up three entries – one of which was Brahms Intermezzo played by Elizabeth Lingard-Guthrie and we obtained the first three prizes, together with a warning “These three girls have obviously been taught by the same teacher; they should develop a more individual way of playing”! I consider this as a compliment!

We had lunch all together in the large dining room I sat at the end of the long refectory table with the head-mistress in the middle, with the girls each side of her. She would often announce interesting news from this position. She once caused me intense embarrassment: “Jane, who went to finish her education in Paris has just sent me a real French letter”. It was a difficult moment!.

Towards the end of my time at Stocks I had difficulty in maintaining an interest in classical music and I often received requests to teach their daughter the latest pop craze. Besides hating this kind of music I hadn’t a clue how to teach it. But that apart, my garage business was absorbing all my time, so finally I gave it up. One memory of Stocks I will never forget was when Miss Forbes-Dunlop (the headmistress) was called out of my end-of-day playing and returning in a hurry to call me to the phone (I was playing Brahms’ G minor Rhapsody) and it was Ann telling me to come home at once as our son, William, aged 5 was dangerously ill in hospital after a tonsils operation. I was using the Bond mini car at the time and Miss F-D at once insisted I take her own Austin 10.

Willain was very ill, but he soon recovered. When Miss Forbes-Dunlop retired Stocks was bought by Mr Heffner and The Bunny Club took it over. Miss F/D was invited back to celebrate her 90^th birthday and so were Ann and I as part of the old staff. A number of old pupils also turned up and I heard many comments about bedrooms being turned into Jacuzzis. How times change!