1st APRIL 2018 - 100th ANNIVERSARY OF ROYAL AIR FORCE

Mosquito Mark IV

1st April 2018 marks 100 years of the Royal Air Force. 

In my last posting, I shared our historic RAF 100 Group Association Reunion held in May in Norfolk - historic because, for the first time in 70 years, veterans of the 36th Bomb Squadron, and present-day 36th Electronic Warfare Squadron, joined us from the States to stand shoulder to shoulder with veterans of RAF 100 Group. It was an incredibly emotional and memorable experience for everyone ... and it is still being shared around the world today by those who attended.

Now, to celebrate 100 years of the RAF, my aim over the next few postings is to mark this Anniversary by sharing stories of its people - focusing on those many hundreds of men and women who served during World War Two under Bomber Command, in the secret RAF 100 Group; who's main role was to identify and jam enemy Radar using experimental equipment carried on board their aircraft.

They were the Guardian Angels of the skies, protecting bombers below them.

Based on secret airfields across Norfolk, they lived up to their motto well: 'Confound & Destroy'. People who could speak German were recruited to intercept enemy Controllers in touch with their pilots, directing them away from where the main attacks would be. Strips of tin foil thrown in handfuls down the chute of an aircraft into the air outside, showed up on enemy Radar scanners as many hundreds of aircraft coming in to attack, rather than the one or two pushing foil out of the planes, thereby completely confusing the enemy. It was a process code-named 'WINDOW', a simple enough ruse and one which worked well. There were a growing number of Radar-jamming equipment installed in aircraft, each with its own role to play, while smaller aircraft, such as Cessnas and Lysanders were involved in dropping and collecting S.O.E. agents in enemy-occupied territory. Others of the Group worked with the Resistance, meanwhile, bombing raids went deep into the heart of Germany and surrounding areas, risking the lives of crews in a range of different aircraft day and night to prevent invasion on our home soil by the enemy. Working together with Bletchley Park and the 'Y' Service, RAF 100 Group brought the war to an early conclusion, and saved thousands of lives.

Every one of these heroes had been head hunted because of their unique qualities, skills and abilities. At the start of the Second World War we were losing the battle of Britain because of out-dated aircraft and equipment. We were ill-equipped. As an island, the belief was that an enemy would invade using the sea around us. By 1942/43, something dramatically new and innovative was desperately needed ... and quickly, if war was to be won. It came with RAF 100 Group and the birth of electronic warfare. Inaugurated on the 8th November 1943, serving under Bomber Command, it turned the war around, creating mischief and mayhem on the enemy. In 1944, the 36th Bomb Squadron (which in truth carried no bombs, but carried the same Radar-jamming equipment) came over from the States to live and work in Norfolk alongside RAF 100 Group, flying operations in partnership with them.

It was because of the secrecy of their work, and the urgency of preventing information being leaked to the Germans, that the Official Secrets Act was signed by each crew member. Only one person of the crew worked with the Boffins, learning how to use the experimental Radar-jamming equipment. No-one else understood how it worked. These Special Operators were a breed apart, people who worked alone, isolated in many ways from the crew who had orders to shoot them and destroy their equipment if the plane was hit, or they were forced to land, with the risk of being taken prisoner. Not one of them spoke of what they were involved in while on Leave, or when war was done, not even to loved ones or families. In the aftermath of war, with no recognition or reward, they took their secrets to the grave. It is for this reason, inspired by my mother's wartime story, who's fiance Flt/Lt Vic Vinnell was a Navigator/Special Operator serving at RAF Foulsham in 192 Squadron; that I remain passionate about preserving both their history and their stories, to ensure these 'forgotten heroes' (their words) be remembered.

Next year marks the 100th Year of the Royal Air Force in which RAF 100 Group was a valued part.

Will the Group be recognised?

Will anyone remember them specifically other than our own Association to which many belong?

I have heard it suggested that a 100-year RAF medal be produced, similar to the Queen's Jubilee Medals.

Meanwhile, there is a Bomber Command Memorial unveiled by the Queen in July 2012, which stands in all its splendour in Green Park, London. Each year, we place a wreath in the name of RAF 100 Group Association, in memory of those who never made it home from war, for those who have no known grave, and wartime survivors who have since died. It is important to us that they are remembered ... valued ... loved ... that they know their work and the risks they took were not in vain.

Bomber Command Memorial, Green Park, London
Courtesy: Iain Forsyth

For the past 20 years and more, I have been in the privileged position of supporting RAF 100 Group veterans and their families, working with them to create a wider awareness of their work, bringing crews and Squadrons back together. As Secretary of the Group, I create a quarterly magazine sharing their wartime experiences and other information, while arranging annual Reunions to meet, talk and share, re-visiting places still standing in Norfolk remembered from the war, and stories surrounding them. I am in contact daily with this worldwide Family of Kindred Spirits reaching round the world, and we take an active part in one another's lives today, not just the war years. There are many who live alone, and still families who know nothing of what a loved one did during the war. A photograph or document might be found, or even a Log Book, connecting them to the past. But usually the loved one is gone. He is not there to answer questions, or guide them through the many flying hours and operations in which he and his crew were involved. So families contact me, sharing a picture they discover and what little they know, asking help to uncover the mystery, secrets, past treasured moments of Time hidden deep. Lately, there have been a few deaths. And I am mindful of the urgency that stories of such magnitude need to be shared more widely, that people become aware of what it meant to serve in this very secret and unique RAF 100 Group.

So it is, with the Countdown to the 100th Anniversary of the Royal Air Force, I begin to breathe new life into these stories. There are many of their voices which speak through my books -

'RAF 100 Group - Kindred Spirits', 

published by Austin Macauley

'RAF 100 Group - The Birth of Electronic Warfare', 

published by Fonthill Media

'Another Trip to Flak Alley' - by Tail Gunner Jack Hope, 

published by FeedARead

'Nina & Vic - A World War II Love Story'

available direct from the author

All are available through Amazon.

But I receive so many shared wartime experiences where those who were a part of this secret Group finally tell their secrets, hoping one day people will know and understand; that there is never enough time or energy to share them all in books, as they just keep on coming. And people can never fully understand or appreciate what serving under RAF 100 Group meant unless they share the stories of the many people you won't hear or know about anywhere else.

NORMAN STOREY

Air Gunner, 214 Squadron, RAF Oulton, Norfolk

Copyright: Norman Storey

I was born in August 1924 and enlisted in February 1943. I volunteered for Air Crew and went before the Selection Board to be asked what I wanted to be. I, like ninety-nine percent of others, answered the same question: ‘Pilot’. I was informed that there were no Pilot courses available. As I was good at maths, they suggested I train as a Navigator. This I refused and said I would like to go as an Air Gunner. It was then suggested I train as a Wireless Operator Air Gunner. Again I refused saying: ‘If I can’t go on a Pilot’s course, I want to be an Air Gunner’ and that is how I joined ‘The Suicide Club’.

I was posted to St John’s Wood, billeted in a commandeered luxury flat, and jabbed several times before being given ‘doctored’ tea to drink. Like so many others, fresh from inoculations, I was told by sadistic Corporals to swing our painful arms, marching to London Zoo for meals. Being treated like animals, I presumed the Powers-that-Be thought this appropriate!

From here, I was posted to I.T.W in Bridlington, Yorkshire, and instructed by an Officer to have two haircuts in one day - an experience to stay with me for the rest of my life and my excuse not to visit the barber too often! After three weeks, I was posted north of the town, to E.A.G.S. where I was taught to strip and assemble a V.G.O and Browning blindfolded, basic lessons on Morse Code, signalling and clay pigeon shooting; just managing to resist shooting one of our Instructors! From here I was posted to 7 A.G.S Stormy Down in South Wales.

Time for further classroom instruction and an initiation into flying Whitleys with Polish pilots - our task: to fire one hundred rounds at a drogue being towed by a Lysander. As I managed not to shoot the Lysander down, I was awarded my brevet and promoted to Sergeant.

My next posting was 30 O.T.U. where a large number of aircrew of all trades were assembled and told to form a crew. I was friendly with another Air Gunner and we approached a Pilot, asking if he wanted an Air Gunner. His reply was ‘Yes’, but only one was required. I magnanimously said to my friend: ‘All right, you stay with this Pilot and I will crew up with somebody else’. This gesture probably saved my life! I approached another Pilot and on asking if he was looking for an Air Gunner replied: ‘Can you swim?’ I replied ‘Yes, I quite often do half a mile and mile swims’. It was only later I found the reason for this question. The Rear Gunner was in charge of the dinghy in the event of a ditching.

We were now a complete crew. The Pilot, Len Young from Leeds, slightly older than most and a Flying Instructor for two years, obviously an experienced Pilot. Slightly younger than Len, our Navigator Alf Shields from London, also experienced with ten ops on Blenheims.  Our Bomb Aimer: George Hathaway from Birmingham was slightly younger. Our Wop/Ag Ron Gardener from Croydon was also younger, and finally myself, Rear Gunner from Westcliffe-on-Sea, the ‘baby’ of the crew at eighteen years old.

On 24 June 1943, we started flying training on Wellingtons, circuits and bumps, cross-countries, bombing practice, firing practice, night flying and fighter affiliation. This latter exercise consisted of a Spitfire loaded with a camera trying to get us in his sights. Len and I were very proficient with this procedure and the Spitfire Pilot was unable to get us at any time, an exercise that was to stand us in good stead. We finally completed our training at O.T.U.

Our last exercise was on 12 August when we were sent on a Nickel to Versailles dropping propaganda leaflets. No doubt with a shortage of paper, Germans put them to good use! Whilst there, we saw one Wellington crash on landing and burst into flames.

We were now posted to 1662 Con. Unit where Len had to familiarise with conversion to the four-engine Halifax and Lancaster, and we had two extra members join the crew – a Flight Engineer from London and Mid-Upper Gunner from Harrow-on-the-Hill. Between 19 September and 22 October 1943, we flew various exercises. However, the time had come for us to join a Squadron and march off to war, and initially, we were posted to 103 Squadron at Elsham Wolds in Lincolnshire.

The crew arrived at a very small country Railway Station to be met with a warm welcome from a friendly WAAF driver. We piled into the back of a 15-cwt and on the way to the camp, Ron asked the driver about the Squadron and its losses. She said it was a very good Squadron with hardly any losses at all. She was kind and caring … and a bloody liar! On arrival, we were allocated a Nissen hut to ourselves. Next morning, we reported to our various leaders. This was a Lancaster Squadron. From 10-17 November we did a Cross Country and a couple of other exercises. But then, on the morning of 18 November, ‘Ops were on!’ Len was down to go as a second dickey. When he informed us we all joked, promising we would think of him whilst knocking back pints in the Mess. After a while, he returned saying we were going as a crew. We thought he was joking! But he soon convinced us of this fact and, discussing it among ourselves, came to the conclusion it must be an ‘easy’ target to initiate a sprog crew.

It was 18 November 1943 – the first raid in the Battle of Berlin and the heaviest defended target in Germany. We were to go again on 22 and 23 November.

Our baptism – three raids on Berlin in 6 nights!

We were to do a further seven ops to Berlin, bringing our total to ten. The crew was now visited by a reporter from a Lincolnshire newspaper asking questions with a photograph taken of us with our aircraft – D-Dog (I will go on to mention the photograph later). We were never told the reason for this visit, but can only imagine it was for propaganda purposes and a moral boost for their readers.

During the winter of 1943 – 1944, losses were horrendous. Bomber Command wiped itself out – ‘The Lost Command’. On completing eleven ops, we were the lead crew on the Squadron. We’d been on all heavy loss raids, including a Berlin and Leipzig raid, where the losses of each reached well into the seventies. The Nuremburg raid when Bomber Command received its highest losses was about ninety-five aircraft. I remember on our return the interrogating officer asked the usual question: ‘How many aircraft do you think we lost tonight?’ My reply was: ‘A hundred’. He refused to accept my estimate:‘I am not entering that on this report!’ I said: ‘That is up to you, Sir. But I am not changing my estimate.’ I often wonder what he thought the next morning when newspaper headlines were 96 – 97 – 98 aircraft lost.

Soon we switched to French Targets in a softening-up programme ready for the invasion. In its wisdom, ‘The Powers that Be’ decided French targets would count only as a third of an Op. That was until the Mailly-le-Camp raid on 3 May 1944. Pre-war, this had been a French Military Camp, now used by Germans for tank training. We were circling over two German Fighter aerodromes, waiting for instructions to bomb on the flares. It was absolute chaos. Pilots on RT were asking when we could go in to bomb. The reply was always the same: ‘Don’t bomb … wait!’ Aircraft were being shot down all around us and our Skipper decided to go in on a bombing run. On the way in, the order was received to ‘bomb on the flares’. We must have been the first to bomb. We had an aiming-point photograph, later informed we had probably killed 200 Germans much to the delight of our Bomb Aimer who had recently lost his brother in Italy. 49 of our aircraft were lost, over eleven percent – similar percentage losses to the Nuremburg Raid.

We were allocated a hut to a crew and when Len was commissioned there was just the six of us. On returning from the raid, we found a young Air Gunner had been billeted in our hut. I say young as by this time I was an old man of nineteen years old! He popped his head over the sheets: ‘How was it tonight?’ Ron replied: ‘Bloody terrible. We lost four on the other side and one back here’. I can only imagine what the new boy must have thought: ‘I wonder what I’ve let myself in for?’ I would wager he had no further sleep that night. After two or three days, he came to me:
 

'As Senior Air Gunner on the Squadron, I wonder if you can give me any advice?’

My reply: ‘First of all, you need 95% luck. Then perfect your corkscrew evasive action, see the fighter first and immediately put into practice your evasive action. Finally, one tactic I use is, when over a target and it’s near daylight, I close one eye, then when we leave the target area, I open it immediately. By doing this, I have night vision when we are most vulnerable instead of being temporarily blinded.'
 

I could give no further advice, but tragically he was lost on his first op.
 

On completing twenty-eight ops, we were informed we were being screened. We were never told the reason for our not having to complete the thirty ops required. I can only imagine the moral of the Squadron was so bad they were frightened we’d be lost on our last two ops. By screening us, it proved it was possible to complete a Tour. The next senior crew was captained by a Canadian, lost shortly afterwards on a French target.

   Our last op was on Hasselt: 3 hours, 50 minutes. We were on the Aulnoye raid, 10 May 1944, when 7 Lancasters were shot down by the same pilot, Hauptmann (Flight Lieutenant) Helmut Bergmann. He was awarded the Knights Cross in June 1944. After many more successful combats, he was finally shot down by a Mosquito and killed on 7 July 1944.

   One unfortunate event was that, about the same time we arrived at Elsham, a new Squadron Commander was also posted to Elsham. He was a Wing Commander from Training Command with no operational experience. Hardly the sort of man to offer encouragement and help moral! One of his first ideas was to get all aircrew to change into gym kit and follow him for a run round the perimeter track. He pranced off with aircrew following. Soon after, we started to peel off back to our lockers, changed and went back to the Mess. I’d like to have seen his face when, at the end of the circuit, he looked behind to find only five or six runners still with him! The exercise was never repeated. He was posted after six months to the relief of those still serving on the Squadron. A good well-run ship needs a good Captain, something lacking during our stay with 103 Squadron.

   After our screening, we were all given Leave, and on return we were posted to various O.T.U.s. I went as a Ground Instructor to Wymeswold where I spent the next five and a half months.

It was my next posting which took me to 214 Squadron, Oulton, Norfolk, serving under RAF 100 Group …

It was a bitterly cold December day when Jack Nash, a fellow Air Gunner, and myself arrived at Oulton. After all the necessary registration it was early evening when a WAAF driver of a 15cwt delivered us to our billet. On entering, there were six members of a crew, both British and Canadian. Jack and I still in our great coats headed straight for the brightly burning stove and started to thaw out. Naturally, one of our first questions was: ‘What aircraft are we flying?’ The reply, much to our amazement, was B-17s. Like so many at that time, we had never heard of a Bomber Command Squadron equipped with Flying Fortresses. Our next question: ‘Why?’ We were informed they could not tell us as operations were Top Secret. Rather a stupid reply when one considers we would be told everything on arriving at the camp next morning!

   Determined to impress the ‘sprogs’, they then began to tell us of their wonderful ‘daring deeds’. The final shoot line was when one of them said to the others: ‘Tell them how we looped the loop the other night in a B-17.’ By now, Jack and I had thawed out, so removed our great coats. Under each of our Brevets was the ribbon of the 1939-43 Star. Immediately, they asked: ‘Have you been on ops before?’ Jack’s reply was: ‘Yes, we have both done a tour and I did 9 on Berlin and my friend did 10’. There was a sudden hush and conversation for the rest of the evening was remarkably subdued.

Next morning, we boarded a crew bus to take us to the Camp and called at the Officers’ Mess to collect the Officers. I was sitting there as they climbed aboard when suddenly, I came face to face with Alfie Shields, my Navigator on 103 Squadron. I think we simultaneously said: ‘What are you doing here?’ Apparently, like me, Alfie had arrived the previous day. On arriving at the Camp, we each went our separate ways. After reporting to register my arrival, I was summoned to the Adjutant’s Office. When I was at Wymeswold, I was recommended for a Commission and to go on a Gunnery Leader’s Course. I had passed my four interviews for a Commission and only had to go before the Air Officer at HQ. I was informed this was more or less a formality as he was not known to turn anybody down. However, to go to this interview entailed going to HQ when transport was available. I had been posted before this last interview.

   On reporting to the Adjutant at 214, he had all my papers in front of him. He said I would only have to do two interviews and my Commission would come through very quickly. However, I had by now changed my mind and decided not to progress further. The Adjutant was most friendly and spent time trying to talk me into taking a Commission, but I had decided not to go ahead with it. The Adjutant was friendly, a far cry from the attitudes at 103 Squadron. I never regretted my decision for the rest of my stay in the RAF. However, on returning to Civvy Street as an ex-Officer, I would have been eligible to join the RAF Club, and living in the centre of London, I could have made good use of it for personal use and entertaining many of my foreign customers and colleagues.

   When I was summoned to report to the Gunnery Leader, Fl/Lt Philips, with my Log Book, he looked through it and said: ‘Why have you not got a DFM?’ I pointed out that ‘Training Command’ were not very conversant with gongs. The attitude being if I haven’t got a gong no-one else is going to have one! He immediately said: ‘When you finish your tour here I promise you will be awarded one’. I met Eric Philips after the war, at RAF 100 Group Reunions. The first time I met him I said: 'I don’t suppose you remember me?' His immediate reply: ‘Yes, I do and I will never forget your Log Book. I thought: here am I, sitting here, having done only one op to Berlin with a DFC. It should be me standing!’ Eric Philips was a true Officer and a Gentleman. It was his kind and that of the Adjutant that made 214 such a friendly and efficient Squadron.

The morning came when all us new boys were standing around trying to form ourselves into crews. Jack and I went up to a Pilot and asked him: ‘Are you looking for any Gunners?’ His reply was: ‘Yes’, and then he said: ‘I am looking for a Navigator’. I pointed to Alfie Shields and said: ‘There is a Navigator I know’. He said: ‘Is he any good?’ My reply was: ‘If he was good enough to get me through my first tour, I have no doubt he will get me through my second tour’, and that is how by a remarkable coincidence, Alfie and I were to do our second tour together.

Our first op with 214 was to Chemnitz on 14 February 1945 – the day after Dresden. I missed out not having been on that op as I was contacted by the Media and asked: ‘Were you on that Dresden raid?’ Apparently, I was to be invited to Dresden on an anniversary of the raid to be interviewed on radio or television. I just missed out on the hospitable reception I would have had, rather different to the kind of ‘hospitality’ I was used to on previous visits to Germany! We were attacked by a Ju88 on our first op. Fortunately, the Rear Gunner saw him before he opened fire and, giving him a short burst, he broke away, thankfully not to be seen again. We completed 14 ops, the last on 2 May to Schleswig, during 4.50hrs. This was the last day Bomber Command operated against Germany.

After the war, we were sent on different postings. I took an M.T Course and after several postings, finished up at Luneburg in Germany, from where I was demobbed in February 1947.

During the war, the men of Bomber Command were heroes.

The day war ended, they were mass murderers, and murderers don’t get medals!

Top politicians who fully supported Arthur Harris during the war now wanted to disown any connection with the bombing of Germany. Did they want to appease those nice Germans who had bombed London, Coventry and Plymouth? Bomber Command was never represented in the Victory Parade. Their attitude: ‘Let Harris carry the can!’ Members of Bomber Command and most of the general public considered this an insult, especially as it is a known fact that Bomber Command did more than any to bring about the defeat of Germany.

   However, a small consolation was the decision of 'The Coin and Medal News Magazine' to arrange for the issue of a Bomber Command Medal. The cost of the Medal was £15.95. This however, could not be worn with official medals, but could be worn below them.

As President of the Air Gunners’ Association, I annually laid a wreath on behalf of the Association at the annual Memorial Service at Runneymede. After the issue of the medal, I saw many ex-Bomber Command veterans wearing the medal with pride, and rightly so! I could never bring myself to wear a medal I could buy, but fully supported all who did. When I received an application for the medal, I was surprised and proud of the fact that the illustration of a crew on the front of the application was that photograph taken by the Lincolnshire newspaper after our 10 ops on Berlin with 103 Squadron.

Norman Storey with crew

From the brochure a veteran was kind enough to send to me, it shows the designer of the only Bomber Command Medal, Geoffrey H Richmond, was Co-ordinator of Adult Studies at Scarborough Technical College. During the Second World War he served in the RAF as a Wireless Operator in Iraq, Egypt, Malta, France and Germany. He was a member of the Orders and Medals Research Society and had collected medals since 1965. Always interested in Bomber Command, he felt that its aircrews’ special service was under-valued at the end of the war due to political factors prevalent at the time.

   The medal was chosen by a panel of experts from the large number of entries submitted to the ‘Design a Medal for Bomber Command’ competition in May 1984. The competition was the brainchild of regular RAF columnist Alan Cooper who had long supported the view that members of Bomber Command received an inadequate medallic award for their courage and skill during the Second World War.

   In response to the overwhelming number of requests to purchase the medal received from those who served with Bomber Command, a limited number of medals were struck, intended as a tribute to the bravery of those who flew and to the dedication of the skilled Ground Crew whose contribution was so very essential. For each medal purchased, a donation of £1 was made to the newly-formed Bomber Command Association.

   It is further interesting to note that the late Sir Arthur Harris, Bt GCB OBE AFC LLD, Commander in Chief of Bomber Command during the war, gave his blessing to the competition shortly before his death in 1984. He agreed to accept one of the medals on behalf of Bomber Command. Therefore a special striking of the medal, in sterling silver, was presented to the Bomber Command Museum at Hendon to be put on permanent display. The ribbon colours are blue grey, midnight blue, flame (signifying North Sea, night over enemy territory, target, return trip). The Laurel wreathed brevet letters of the aircrew supporting that of their pilot on one side signifies courage, team spirit and leadership. On the reverse is a Lancaster, Sir Arthur Harris’s ‘Shining Sword’. The epitome of night bomber development. Symbolising the supreme technical achievement of industry and ground staff, on which aircrew lives depended.

I wish all members of RAF 100 Group everywhere, Happy Landings for many years to come!'

Norman Storey

214 Squadron veteran

Final Posting:  4 January 2015

Thank you, Norman, for your many many writings through the years.

It is an honour and privilege to call you a 'Kindred Spirit'.

Rest in Peace, my Friend!

ON THE SHOULDERS OF GIANTS!!

RAF Marham; U.S 36th Squadron, 8th Air Force & RAF 100 Group veterans

The 12 - 14 May 2017 was an historic weekend in Norfolk as wartime groups came together for the first time since the war. Standards (flags) were raised, heads held high, proud to be recognised by their own, and finally receive the recognition they so richly deserve.

A Salute to RAF 100 Group and veterans of U.S 36th Bomb Squadron

Oulton Memorial covered with tributes in honour of those who did not return

 We WILL Remember!

During wartime, RAF 100 Group were made up of a number of Squadrons based on different airfields in Norfolk. Their work was Top Secret, held under the Official Secrets Act until the mid-1970s, with some still hidden today. Their primary mission was to identify and jam enemy Radar using electronic warfare. They were also involved in clandestine operations - dropping and collecting SOE Agents in enemy-occupied countries, working with the Resistance, even dropping a leg over Germany one night as requested for Douglas Bader; and so much more. Their work was challenging and dangerous, taking them deep into the heart of Germany. As Guardian Angels of the skies, they protected Allied bombers, confusing the enemy by using German-speaking operatives to intercept radio transmissions between German Controllers and pilots, leading enemy aircraft away from where the main attack would be.

High level talks had been going on among the Powers-that-Be during Conferences held in secret locations from 1942. The main RAF was using outdated aircraft and equipment. Something vital and visionary was urgently needed to turn the war around before it was too late. In November 1943, RAF 100 Group was authorised under the motto: 'Confound & Destroy'. Servicemen were hand-picked for very special and secret roles, transferred without warning to new purpose-built airfields in Norfolk, UK. It was here they were joined in 1944 by the 36th Bomb Squadron, serving under the 8th Air Force from the States, who were also based at Cheddington. Their name was a cover. In truth, they carried no bombs, but used the same experimental equipment as RAF 100 Group with strange-sounding names such as MANDREL, ABC CIGAR, WINDOW, JACKAL ... It was the Americans who had the right kind of aircraft needed and working together, the aim was to confuse, delay, and ultimately destroy the enemy. In doing so, they saved many thousands of lives, and brought the war to a successful and early conclusion.

Every year in May for the past 20 years, we have come together for a Reunion in Norfolk, welcomed by villagers  who provide home-made fayre in welcome, and as a thank-you for keeping them safe. So many firm friendships have been made over this period of time, with more and more families wanting the tradition to carry on. Our membership has flourished, and in turn, those who flew in partnership with RAF 100 Group have joined us, as with the U.S. 36th Bomb Squadron, 8th Air Force, nicknamed 'The Gremlins'.

Over the weekend of 12 - 14 May this year, for the first time since the war, the present-day 36th Electronic Warfare Squadron (36EW), based in the States, came back to Norfolk, standing side by side with veterans to share our annual Reunion, in memory of the remarkable work achieved under impossible wartime circumstances, honouring those many who gave their lives for the freedom we enjoy today.

Lt Col Tom Moore, Commanding Officer of 36EW Squadron

It was an extraordinary Reunion and a memorable one, with the words of Lt Col Tom Moore who commands the 172-strong Squadron, speaking passionately about what it meant to them to be with us, in remembrance of all those who never returned home after the war, still thrumming in my mind:

'... we stand today on the shoulders of giants ...'

They revere veterans so highly, and I will never forget watching them 'snap' to attention at Memorials where we stood with villagers and Royal Air Force alike, sharing acts of remembrance at various places where young men were stationed during the war. It really did bring it home just how young they really were back then, surrounded by these young men in blue, each serving their country today, continuing on the legacy left by the 'giants' on whose shoulders they stand. The flag they brought with them from the States was the original historical flag from wartime, clearly imprinted with 'The Gremlins' as they were known.

U.S. 36th Squadron wartime crest, a cover for electronic countermeasures used

Present-day U.S. 36th Electronic Warfare Squadron crest, illustrating their work

RAF 100 Group crest

Our extraordinary weekend began in Foulsham as we gathered late afternoon around the Memorial we placed there at the start of our Association. This year however, we had a second ceremony further up the road, past Foulsham church, to Church Farm where we unveiled a plaque to commemorate the crash of two wartime aircraft - one USAF, the other RAF - where all lives were lost save two men who survived. It was a poignant moment. The evidence is still there of how the aircraft when they crashed took out most of the building on which the plaque now resides, marking the place where so many died.

New and old brick work evidences the extent of damage caused by the crash

Listed names of the crews killed, as well as those who survived

Our annual Reunions are always a full-on experience, with an extensive programme of events taking us to different parts of Norfolk, and takes a year in the planning. Already I'm working on the next one. Meanwhile, events still run through my head, like a film on fast forward, as I re-live the wonderful memories of days spent with these wonderful people I am proud to call 'my Kindred Spirits'. We represent a Family reaching right around the world, keeping in constant contact as evidenced by the 200+ emails and post I discovered on my return. Each and every one is precious. Each veteran carries their own wartime experience, with families equally keen on discovering more of what a parent, an uncle, a grandparent did during the war. Often coming together at this one point in the year is the only time when these timeless treasures are shared, accepted as gifts of the heart.

Saturday is our busiest day, starting with a tour of the City of Norwich Aviation Museum which cares for our wartime memorabilia, and there is always so much to see both outside and in:

Museum staff w Yvette front left, Jane right, & U.S. 36EW Squadron

Then it's round the corner to the Mission Hall for an Annual General Meeting where the intricacies of the Association are discussed and dealt with, before returning to the Museum for a buffet lunch provided by volunteers. We were so lucky with the weather. The sun certainly did shine on our parade! It matched the warmth and good company, so conducive for strangers becoming firm friends, and this year, over this weekend alone, we were fortunate to bring four new members into our fold. In the afternoon, following visits locally to see Blickling Hall where Officers in wartime were based, and WAAFs billeted in Nissen Huts, we wended out way down narrow country lanes to Blickling Old School where a 'death by chocolate' experience opened eyes wide at the number of tables heaving with a veritable delight of cakes and sandwiches, all home-made and hosted by villagers. It happens every year. People of Norfolk villages are very much a part of our Reunion, with many having had airmen stay with them in wartime, or having them to tea on Sundays, remaining in touch through the years. However, this year, it was all the more impressive, with bunting adorning the walls, tables laid out in regimental rows as if on parade, and American and British flags flying in honour of our visiting American Squadron. It was a time to relax, talk, and share, to get to know people we were meeting for the first time, or to catch up with those we hadn't met since the previous year.

Oulton villagers did us proud!

Blickling Old School

A veritable feast of delights provided by Oulton villagers

The old school heaves w visitors, extending into other rooms, filled with chatter & noise

Following afternoon tea, during which both Chris Lambert, our Oulton representative who arranges everything in the village, veterans warmly welcomed both sides of The Pond; and Lt Col Tom Moore had again spoken passionately of what it meant for he and Squadron representatives to be present ... we proceeded on to Oulton Memorial. This was the first Memorial we placed here over 20 years ago, dedicated in 1994 to honour the husband of Eileen Boorman, married just a few short months before he was killed with his crew.

Four veterans stand side by side, honouring friends who didn't return from war

 Left to Right:
Major Rafael Ramos, served with the 36th Bomb Squadron, 8th Air Force

Andrew Barron, served in 223 Squadron, RAF Oulton, Norfolk

Stan Forsyth won his DFC for identifying where The Tirpitz was hidden

Phil James MBE, served with Stan in 192 Squadron, RAF Foulsham

A special tribute followed with a Flypast by David Nock, who agreed to put on a five minute show for excited watchers standing below. His Harvard aircraft came in from the west, circling the fields, bowing its wings in honour. Again and again he came back, circling low. In response, we waved like crazy, shouting and cheering him on, delighted with the show he was giving us. Not something you see every day!

David Nock piloting his Harvard over Norfolk

Foulsham taken from the Harvard aircraft

Finally, for the evening we gathered in our 'glad rags' for a very special Reunion Dinner hosted by the Halifax Suite at The Holiday Inn Hotel, Norwich North. Because it was an historic weekend, something out of the ordinary was called for.

First came our Speaker for the evening, Stuart Borlase, Director of Living History Film, and a firm friend, one equally as passionate as I about preserving the history and stories of both RAF 100 Group and those who flew in partnership with them. He showed wonderful footage taken last year of RAF 100 Group veterans we visited and filmed in their homes, as they shared wartime experiences. It was captivating to watch, bringing so many images to mind of these people in their youth, old before their time. They went into the Air Force as boys, came out as men.

Stuart with Stan Forsyth DFC on Sunday morning, Horsham St Faith church

I had booked a professional 1940's singer because of the specialness of the occasion: Heather Marie, with the voice of an angel! I have to say it became my favourite part of the entire weekend as Heather and her husband (a serving RAF Officer, and Director of RAF Music) challenged me, saying they would sing for as long as I stayed on the dance floor! Now let me make it clear here and now that it was touch and go in early childhood as to whether I'd even walk, never mind dance. But this ... oh, this was truly magical and special ... a dream come true! Right outside my comfort zone, but heck, it was only going to be for this one night, and I was going to throw caution to the winds and make the most of this special sparkly evening surrounded by so many wonderful people. Besides, veterans would surely be gentle with me, taking only small shaky steps ... weren't they?

No!

I was absolutely wrong about that, as I realised as my first partner of the evening, Stan Forsyth DFC a dear friend, proved:

Heather Marie, professional 1940's singer

A stunning performance by the singer, filling the hall with her warmth and vibrant energy, reminded me of wartime songs I'd played on the piano hour after hour after hour in my growing years. Yes, even then I was addicted to them ... Glen Miller, Acker Bilk, Fats Waller, Louis Armstrong, the Inkspots. I've always lived in a time out of Time. Now, the air was filled with their charm, and at any moment I expected the throb of Merlin engines overhead as I 'danced' my feet into a blur of pain, reaching up my back into my head. But regardless, 'the band played on' and ... 'I could have danced all night, I could have danced all night, and still come back for more ... I could have spread my wings, and done a thousand things I've never done before ...'

That was for sure!

I could totally understand the lure of a GI, and how easy it would have been to fold one up, tuck him in my suitcase, and smuggle him home ... even if he was in his late eighties-early nineties. They knew how to treat a woman like a true Lady. How to make her Special. They each carried the same charisma as our own veterans ... charm, respect, honour so sadly lacking in the society we live in today:

Dancing with sweetheart Stan Forsyth, in the background, American Des Howarth

Above, dear Stan was a whole lot smarter on his feet than I was!

Strangers in the night ...!

I 'danced' every single song sung. I never left the dance floor once, because I wanted the Singer to continue on. And at well after half-midnight I was still right there, 'dancing' my little heart out. For once in my life, I was doing this for me! But then, hey, next morning I could hardly move never mind get out of bed! Was it worth it? Oh yes, yes, yes, and then again YES!!! A dream come true indeed. I hobbled to breakfast in agony, then on into Stuart's car to 'get me to the church on time'. It was a special service in honour of the veterans, with the presentation of our RAF 100 Group Standard, and Aylsham Town Band playing songs from way back when. I wanted to dance up the aisle, past the pews, and on into the past where they knew how to treat one another with friendship, respect, love. Music still echoed around me as we filtered out one hour later and, shortly after a cuppa and cake in the Mission Hall opposite, Stuart and I were heading out to the open road ... travelling over 1700 miles over the ensuing two weeks, visiting veterans as far afield as Wales and Southport, collecting further film footage of veterans' wonderful wartime exploits.

Now I'm home, with a Himalayan mountain of work ahead of me, answering letters, bringing together our Summer edition magazine packed with writings and photographs of our weekend shared. Most of the time, however, I'm laid up in pain, on heavy-duty painkillers. So I look back on these photographs in amazement and wonder ...  

Was that really me?!?

Des Howarth & Rafael Ramos, 36th Bomb Squadron veterans from the States

Standing with Stan Forsyth DFC, a treasured friend

Stephen Hutton, author: 'Squadron of Deception' w youngest at Reunion aged 5yrs.

Aylsham Town Band playing at Horsham St Faith Church

Dear Rafie (Major Rafael Ramos) and lovely wife Kitty at Blickling Hall

Introducing Rafie & Kitty to a gi-normous English Cream Tea at Holt, Norfolk

My, didn't we do well!

*   *   *   *   *   *

Photographs courtesy of:
Stuart Borlase
Ivan Thompson
Stephen Hutton
Yvette: City of Norwich Aviation Museum

*   *   *   *   *   *

MAY WE ALWAYS REMEMBER THEM!

U.S. 36th Bomb Squadron, a cover for electronic countermeasure

RAF 100 Group, Bomber Command

*   *   *   *   *   *

Article published in the Eastern Daily Press sharing our Reunion with the wider world

MENTAL HEALTH MATTERS

Living in fear, copyright: Janine Harrington

It was an extraordinary feeling this morning watching Princes William and Harry sharing openly their mental health concerns, which they have tried to battle within themselves and keep hidden from the world since the death of their mother, Princess Diana, twenty years ago. Prince Harry is having therapy. Both he and his brother show emotion, supported by the Duchess of Cambridge. What made it all the more remarkable was seeing them standing united with a range of people, brought together by one common bond ... that of being completely overwhelmed by something which deeply affected them, and which continues to make everyday life difficult for them:

death of a child

death of a husband

childhood sexual abuse

life-changing disabilities

road accidents

Post Traumatic Stress after being caught up in war

The list is endless, as are the circumstances of life which can, without warning, completely turn our world upside down and inside out, so that life is never the same again.

No medicine can take away the pain of trauma.

It becomes a life sentence, something we have to learn to manage on our own terms if we are to survive ... and that means on an everyday basis, taking one small step at a time.

Slowly, mental health issues are coming to the forefront of the news. People who can, and feel supported, are coming out to share publicly what it means for them. Everyone is different. You never hear the same story twice. Public faces are taking the platform, such as Ruby Wax, to say how life has really been for them, hidden until now, in the shadows of their minds. My own words mix with theirs:

The broken will always be able to love harder than most.

Once you’ve been in the dark, you learn to appreciate everything that shines.

Sometimes, all you need is for someone just to be there, even if they can’t solve your problems.

Just knowing there is someone who cares can make all the difference.

Truly strong people don’t have easy pasts.

Just because we don’t look broken doesn’t mean we aren’t inside, where hidden scars weep.

Being broken doesn’t mean we’re less-than. It means we have to be more-than just to survive another day.

Everyone is normal for their experience … whatever that experience may be.

We can’t let darkness define us, or the response of others to our brokenness make us feel weak, helpless, vulnerable, useless, so much less than equal. They aren’t in a position to judge. They haven’t experienced our pain. They look at us, and because we look normal, but are somehow different, they push us away as if we have something contagious.

Surviving one day at a time, taking small steps, heartbeat by heartbeat, doesn’t mean we’re weak. It makes us warriors, because we’re fighting for our own survival.

Courage is having the ability to be open and honest, sharing without having to apologise for the way we are, trusting the person we share with, hoping somehow they will listen and understand even though they don’t have our experience.

Courage is a leap of faith into the unknown.

People judge what they do not understand or know. They can make us feel like damaged goods!

Our greatest need is to simply be accepted … just the way we are.

The pressure of keeping up appearances is a huge weight to bear on top of memories from the trauma, whatever that trauma might be. People who don't know what it's like find it easy to say we should be this, we should be that. But then, we're like a square peg trying to fit in a round hole in order to find that crucial sense of belonging. We have to find our own way through.

We are ALL normal for our experience.

We don't have to let whatever happened define who we are today.

And yet ...

Somehow the trauma takes shape and form, acting and reacting, focusing our minds on the pain, triggered by some seemingly random event today. It's always there, with us, carried every moment inside our heads, a weight we can't simply put down and walk away from however much we would wish it so. But then, something in today jettisons us back in time. The emotion is overwhelming. We feel suddenly that fragility and fear, being less-than, unequal, and ... oh, so much more! ... that we lose sense of who we really are.

Who is going to listen?

Who is going to care?

This morning, watching Princes William and Harry, listening as they spoke movingly about the death of their mother and how deeply it has affected them, and how desperately all these years they'd tried not to let their feelings show to the public ... I believe in sharing, they opened doors which would not otherwise so easily have opened.

It's like being given permission to talk about mental illness.

Less-Than, copyright: Janine Harrington

Everyone has mental health, just as we all have physical well-being. But unlike something broken or sprained on the outside which is easy to see and respond to, mental health issues are about emotion. They live on the inside where they can't be seen, and the only evidence is how we react in situations.

The first time I shared about child sexual abuse was when I was six years old. I didn't have the words to explain what was happening at the hospital I attended three times a week from birth until nine years old when we moved ... and thereafter until I was fourteen, when I went on strike! The specialist was obviously practised in sexually abusing children, making it impossible for them to tell, because he never spoke directly to me. It was all about implied threats. A frown would indicate his displeasure because I hadn't worn accessible clothing. All he ever said to my mother waiting outside in the waiting room was: 'She's been a good girl!' It didn't matter how much I refused to go in to see him, or clung onto the dark green railings outside the building. I was dragged by hospital orderlies into the place where I was meant to be. No escape! Afterwards, sitting in the cafe, with the drink and cream or chocolate cake as a reward for being 'a good girl', somehow the memories of what had just happened slipped silently into the black box inside my head, where the lid was firmly shut on them. By the time I returned home, all I could remember was the treats. Where I'd actually been, what had happened, I couldn't recall. That was my survival instinct kicking in. And yet, a nurse's uniform, a certain voice, the same kind of frown on someone's face, the word 'hospital', and so many other small seemingly insignificant things would nudge a piece of puzzle out of the box, into my mind ... part of a picture I couldn't make complete or understand.

When the music teacher began to sexually abuse me as a teenager, it was my behaviour, my writings, my art, which should have told the reality of what was happening ... being sick in the mornings, self-harming, bulimia, shutting down, folding myself away because I felt so isolated, so different, so cut off from the world around me ... like I was living on my own in a box filled with pain.

The saddest part of all is that today, I'm glad I wasn't listened to as a child. I'm glad I didn't tell. It would have devastated the family to such an extent as to create rifts and division. I know that now. In turn, I realise that, in not telling my dreadful secrets, in not sharing the pain I lived with every heartbeat of my life; I protected my family as a whole.

When we share with someone we trust, there's always that sharp intake of breath, wondering how they will respond. They're never going to understand or know the experience as their own. It is always going to be something completely alien to them. But at least they might listen, might take my hand in friendship, and be there whenever I have that need. Is that too much to ask?

Reaching Out, copyright: Janine Harrington

Hardest of all is sharing with family, with people close to you, because, in the telling, it affects relationships, and somehow those relationships falter and fail because they judge what they do not know.

They don't have that right.

But they do it anyway.

And the loss is that much greater, making everything that much worse.

My saving grace came through a doctor who came into my local Practice, and listened to the symptoms I outlined to him. Nothing specific. Just an awful aching dread in the pit of my stomach, weighing me down. At the time, I had no memory still of past events, with a twenty-year amnesic block. But it was enough for him to send me to a Psychologist. In turn, the Psychologist, even with that limited information, promised to listen, to learn alongside me, and to support me through the journey on which I was about to embark. Ten years later, we both knew everything that had happened to me. We filled in all the blanks. We had clarity. The reality was finally uncovered. And at least I knew what my inner dread and confusion and panic were all about ... and had coping strategies I could use to help me through the bad times to come.

Therapy isn't easy.

The only therapy I know which works, and I've tried many; is reliving the past as an adult through regression. Being able to know and see what happened all those years ago as if it were happening today, but at the same time, realising for the first time why, as a child, it was impossible to stop or to say 'No!'. Everything was so much bigger-than ... because I was a child. My nightmares remain that way. As a child, I'm always looking up at this giant towering over me dressed in a white coat. The couch on which I lie is so long and wide, while I'm so small. And the question reverberates around my mind: 'Why do I need to undress, when all he's going to do is measure one leg against the other?' I can still see his quizzical stare, the frown that follows, on the one occasion I dared voice the question out loud.

Cutting the cord of Control, copyright: Janine Harrington

Questioning the authority of one's abuser can have devastating results. Punishment comes in many guises. I know I went home in tears, not knowing why. Perhaps he told my mother I'd not been a 'good girl'. Perhaps I therefore didn't have the treat of sitting in a cafe with a cake. I don't know. But it was the only time it happened.

Like my years as a battered wife.

The only time I ever found the courage to say 'No!' I ended up so severely beaten, I had a dislocated jaw. Why didn't I simply walk away? Where would I go? I realise now I couldn't have gone home to my parents. There was nowhere else. Besides, I had the mindset of a battered wife, believing implicitly it was something I was doing wrong that brought on the beatings. If only I could be a 'good wife', the same as being 'a good girl', then the pain would end.  

I'm still looking for the 'Happy Ever After' my parents believed in!

Just as our physical well-being is important to a healthy way of life ... mental health matters! We can't change or erase what happened to us, whatever our trauma. But we can share. Sharing is paramount, not only to let our feelings out, but also to create a wider awareness, to give people knowledge and understanding, to draw others in to support those who have neither the courage or strength to say it the way it is.

It is vital to find a place to belong.

I discovered a place here, in the lovely place where I live. I know also that veterans and their families I work with and support are always ready listeners. Kindred Spirits. Family. True family is about being able to be 'just as I am', without fear of reprisal, or judgement ... simply feeling wrapped in the safe harbour of loving arms reaching out, drawing me in.

Every day I thank them in various ways for giving me a sense of well-being, balance, friendship, Love ... vital ingredients for survival.

Cayton Bay, copyright: Janine Harrington