SIX MONTHS' REST

From F/O Eric Mattingley, DFC. Pilot. 409931

In North Africa, and Italy during 1944, I was a member of 150 Squadron on night bombers. It was one of several Wellington (Wimpy) squadrons of 205 Group that had served through the desert campaign, then transferred to Italy when sufficient territory had been captured for a good toe-hold. The Squadron consisted of an excellent mix of nationalities, including English, Scottish, Canadian, Australian, New Zealand, South African, Jamaican and Irish. At one stage it was about 60% Australian. Conditions were primitive and much below slum life, and that is how we lived and fought, trying to make the best of it.

I remember when our crew joined 150 Squadron in the North African desert near Kairouan in Tunisia (noted for carpets) we were issued with 3 blankets each, and directed to an unserviceable tent on the outer perimeter of the dispersal, being some safety measure in the event of air attack but it did not happen. So all we had now for 5 crew members was a tent, our kit, and the desert sand.

As expert scroungers, we obtained wooden boxes in which aerial flares had been packed, and by placing them together, each created a bed platform. Then came a mattress made of old canvas, which was cut using the excellent Canadian issue clasp knife, to form a mattress envelope. This was sewn up with copper wire, except at one end. The filling was obtained by laboriously gathering dried blades of grass which were scarce and far between. This mattress sufficed right through the tour.

Food was always very basic and most uninviting but despite this our chief cook, Bert Bosworth, performed magnificently to try to produce culinary delights with very unexciting ingredients. Bert appeared to be a hard nut, but at heart was a softy. His cook-house was a large tent equipped with an ingenious hand-made steel cooking stove, low to the ground and fired by captured German diesel oil, with the addition of a water drip to give it flare to reach red heat or more. The chimney was made from metal incendiary bomb containers joined end to end and outside it was supported by guy wires. It became sporty to fly low to try to blow over Bert's chimney. He would run out shaking his fists and repeating the alphabet from any angle. But he was also known to wait up until the early morning hours in case returning crews after 7 or 8 hours operations needed a meal.

When sufficient of Southern Italy was captured, 205 Group and some sister American Squadrons moved from the desert to Italy by sea and air. Our crew and others, against orders, loaded our aircraft with our junk to fly it to Italy.

We had spent so much labour and time with it that we could not leave it behind, and it proved to be just as necessary in Italy. It eventually snowed for us, but it was not exactly our dream of the ski resort season with only a tent for a chalet. Squadron life covered the spectrum of human emotions of good and bad, camaraderie, fun, operational high tension, but very importantly, poignant thoughts of wife, family, and home, left so far behind so long ago. That wove a strong bond for those who made it through the tour of 40 operational trips.

Bert the cook, who had come right through the desert campaign, when told he was posted back to England was so upset that he got drunk and lay on his back crying and calling out, "I don't want to lose you bastards!” That coming from Bert was truly a heartfelt endearment!

At the completion of the tour of operations in Italy our crew was disbanded and sent in different directions. I went with others to a transit camp at the foot of the volcano Vesuvius, which had earlier erupted and blown 500 feet off the top of its cone; lava was still hot. I was issued with 3 blankets and directed to the second floor level of a building, which was without any beds or furniture, providing just a cold tiled floor where I spent most uncomfortable nights. As a result of this and the release from operational high tension, some of those awaiting ship transfer to Alexandria, then on to Cairo, were leaving the transit camp for the Isle of Capri, Naples, etc, for a few days.

We discovered from the transit office that there would not be a ship for 8 to 10 days. So with that information, I decided to hitch hike (the only way) by military vehicles to Rome, which was then occupied by Allied forces. After four excellent days in Rome I hitched by air back to Naples and transit camp only to find that the draft had already sailed. Such a misdemeanour brought a severe reprimand with loss of promotion and consequent loss of pay for 6 months, but it was worth it.

After arrival in Cairo and time to look around, I was posted to a communications unit in Aden, the capital of Saudi Arabia. Aden was the headquarters of operational command of nine coastal command stations operated by Wellington aircraft 24 hours per day, thus guarding the approaches to the Red Sea and the vital Suez Canal. It was a pre-war air force base, so much upgraded compared to the less than slum existence experienced in North Africa and again in Italy.

During six months tour of duty at Aden I was the only Australian in the whole operational area. Here, the commanding officer had 2 pets, a cheetah and a gazelle, both wandering the station at will. You could pat and play ball with the cheetah, but watch out for the needle sharp horns of the gazelle! Before flying out from Aden, all aircrew were issued with a card referred to as a "gouli chit", to be carried on the person at all times. The word "gouli" referred to the male pride, which was cut off and sewn into the mouth, and/or cutting open the stomach and filling it up with sand, or any other delightful means of entertainment, said to be carried out by women! The chit promised a good reward would be paid for airmen returned unharmed – thank goodness! It was to be presented to hostile natives in the event of being forced down or captured, and was standard issue in India and Africa.

There were 5 different aircraft, consisting of 2 Lockheed Hudsons, Baltimore, Albicore Deck Landing Craft, Boulton Paul Defiant, and a Beechcraft, to suit all forms of communication within a wide area of Saudi Arabia, Somali East African coastal command stations, as well as other neighbouring countries. After a half-hour practice on the Beechcraft I was detailed the following day to fly two VIPs (very important persons) from Aden to Hargeisa in Italian Somalia and return with them the day after. The 4th seat was occupied by a wireless operator who was not trained for air operations. I had some difficulty in map-reading our course, combined with compass settings. There was no meteorological information regarding wind direction and speed. So on ETA, (estimated time of arrival) Hargeisa could not be seen. I asked the wireless operator to obtain a radio bearing, which came by radio via Hargeisa to Aden, but unfortunately I did not calculate the reciprocal course, with the result that we flew further away from Hargeisa instead of towards it. It was up to me to check about the bearing, but I had been flying with a navigator for so long, I clean forgot!

This was very remote country, so when time showed that we were not going to reach Hargeisa, I decided that when we became short of fuel we would fly to the coast and make a forced landing. Five minutes later I felt great relief in sighting a landing strip, which could be our salvation. I could see that there was only one building, and the strip appeared to be abandoned, with high elephant grass at the head of the runway gradually decreasing in height down to the centre. I decided to touch down at the centre point rather than risk cartwheeling in the higher grass, or dropping into an invisible pot hole, leaving only a disconcertingly short run to pull up. The touchdown was all right, but when I went for the brakes there were none! You would think that it could happen somewhere else, some other time, but not in this circumstance. Now the nasty boxthorn trees were coming up much too fast, so I applied full right rudder and right brake to cause a “ground loop”. We did a magnificent broadside which ended in a stop just short of the boxthorn trees, sending a column of red dust high in the air. If there had been camera crews present I thought that they would have given their front teeth to have got that one!

While checking the undercarriage for damage, at the same time hoping that the safari homestead was occupied, we heard loud yelling and looking up the slope towards the homestead there was a party of about 20 natives yelling and whooping, running down the slope towards us, their polished spear tips glinting in the sun. First thought was for the .38 pistol in the overnight bag, but I realised it would be almost useless, so we just looked at each other and waited. When the group was about 60 feet away they suddenly stopped motionless, quietly looking at us - a stalemate. I spoke to them and one pointed up the slope where a truck was starting to descend, and it was wonderful to behold. The occupants were a European man and woman, so we all started to talk. I explained to the woman that we had missed Hargeisa, so she began to tell how I should fly low following the 2 wheel tracks, then she paused, and said, "I'll get my husband to tell you the rest". He repeated that then said, "If you continue to stay low you will see 2 perfect specimens of ladies breasts, so turn 20 degrees around the right one and go on". He smiled as he was telling me, and so did I when doing it, and we reached Hargeisa. In my predicament, we had found an elephant safari homestead where they were waiting for the end of the war for customers to arrive, either that or perhaps elephant hunting was then prohibited, which explained the unserviceable runway.

Before take off, we walked down and inspected the runway for hidden holes or unwanted obstacles which could bring an aircraft to grief. We decided that the chances were a little better than fair before reaching the impossible grass but there was also a high pillar of rock like a volcanic plug in the runway, which bore out the reasoning of the saucer shape of the surrounds. Once off the ground it was quickly left wing down to avoid being just a dirty mark left on the pillar of rock. Because of the desperately short take off run I asked the husband if the aircraft could be wheeled back almost to touch the boxthorn trees, then be physically held back while high engine revolutions were reached for take off. He arranged for four natives to do that and the poor buggers must have been absolutely splattered with dirt and red dust as they willingly gave us that extra scope for take-off. Hargeisa lay at an altitude of 4,000 feet and was the coolest place in East Africa, being the desired place to spend the night when flying the circuit once per week, calling in to the 5 East African coastal command stations at Bender Allula, Dagabur, Bender Cassum, Scusuban, and the island Socotra, which is 180 miles out to sea. This circuit was lightly referred to as "around the houses".

Hargeisa was an important staging post for armed military convoys en trek to Cairo with war equipment, including industrial diamonds, etc. It provided overnight stops, change-over crews, fuel, and repairs. The airport on the other hand was just an auxiliary to the military presence, and in charge of a corporal who had an Italian prisoner of war cook, two Somali workers, one Rhesus monkey and one Macaw parrot which got drunk, but the corporal did not have even a rifle and this was lion country. At night when leaving the mess building it was wise to look around carefully in case of lion intrusion before moving out to the small mud huts to sleep. After sunset it was common for drums to start beating in a nearby native village, which could continue until dawn. It was a wonder how they could keep it going so long. Somali military guards were posted strategically around the air force establishment and whenever near gave me the "present arms" reserved only for high ranking officers. How could I tell them not to do it; instead just accept the exalted salute. Their guard posts were beside very nasty round enclosures piled up to about 8 feet with boxthorn bushes with an opening just wide enough to pass through sideways in the event of lion intrusion, giving the best means of defence.

It so happened at a later time that I was detailed to fly with a Baltimore to Hargeisa to pick up the Governor of Somalia and his daughter, to fly them to Aden, en route to England. On arrival at Hargeisa, the corporal said the Governor wanted to speak to the pilot so we went down to the residence in the petrol truck. His first words were, "Would you like a cold beer?" It was hot, so I easily fell for that one. He told me that he wanted to leave late in the morning because a Somali guard had reported a lion around the residence the previous night and he was going to sit up on his last night hoping to shoot it; but the lion did not return.

Once, while having lunch in the mess at Bender Cassum, the wireless operator and myself were invited to go swimming at an oasis, which we readily accepted. Arriving by truck we found that the oasis adjoined a real "Beau Gueste" type of fort, most unexpected in this area! The water was deep and fed from underground. At waist depth there was a ledge on which one could stand, surrounding the large pool. We had no swimming togs and swam nude. While standing on the ledge we wondered why we were being sharply bitten, then discovered it was by small, hungry fish. The only way to keep the fish at bay was to keep jiggling. At one time my crewman forgot to jiggle and with a yell shot upwards, threshing the water as a fish took the bait, biting him on the end of you know what! But he did recover.

The communications unit was responsible for much more than conveying secret documents, also carrying VIPs, relief personnel to out-stations, spare parts, mail, pay-rolls, vegetables, or just about anything. It also included English “E.N.S.A.” Concert Parties to the outstations. Those there, with little entertainment and nowhere to go for long periods, were delighted by such a visit. Aden was also host to navy and army establishments and great was the competition among the 3 services on the soccer fields. When it was the Air Force turn to host, against either the Army or the Navy the cheetah, which liked the activity, might be expected to be an onlooker. I remember that on one such occasion it was lying next to me appearing to be quite uninterested until the game approached nearby. Suddenly it was up and out into the field using its great speed, snatching the ball from the dumbfounded players, then taking off across the field batting the ball ahead with lefts and rights followed by yells and unkind words; the game was a matter of fierce pride.

Before Christmas 1944, most unseasonal rains fell along the Saudi Arabian coast making all the coastal command dirt runways unserviceable. As a result, I was detailed to fly the Baltimore and air-drop Christmas mail to those stations. It gave me a very good feeling to do this to try to make them feel a little better by playing Father Christmas. Dropping was as low and slow as possible, with flaps and undercarriage down. I insisted before leaving Aden that the ground crewman be supplied with a rope to tie himself in so that he would not fall or be sucked out of the lower hatch when pushing the mailbags out. There was absolutely nothing that could be done for him if he should be hanging below the aircraft when landing.

Eventually came the completion of the 6 months rest period. I was advised in Aden of the wonderful news that I was being posted home after three and a quarter years away. The war in Europe was slowly drawing to a close and a second operational tour was not required. With plenty of ships calling into the port of Aden the advantage of boarding one appeared as the short way home, via Darwin, or Fremantle, but that was too simple. I was flown back to Cairo for 6 weeks, then on to England by ship for 2 weeks, then by ship back through the Panama Canal with a complement of Australian and New Zealand ex-prisoners of war, also others like myself who were no long required.

The ship was the " Stirling Castle" which had a large concrete patch above and below the waterline at the bow. It broke down twice in the Pacific Ocean and we just drifted while repairs were made to the engine. At that stage the war with Japan was not over so drifting as we did presented an easy target for submarines and we had several thousand troops on board. After disembarking the New Zealanders at Wellington, it was on to Sydney then by train to Melbourne Cricket Ground to meet all the family, but best of all my wife Pixie; we had been married only 12 months before I joined the Air Force.