Hello and thanks for visiting this “War Years” page, this is the second of three pages that cover my Grandfathers “full story”.

War Years covers my Grandfathers time in Operational RAF Squadrons during WW2.

Please see the “About Us” page or the “Short Story” page for more info.

Also please email me if you have any further info on people in the story or photo’s using the “Contact” page.

Thanks again.

 

War Years

Chapter 5 – Operational Squadrons

 

616 Squadron, Westhampnett   (20 Nov 1942 – 27 Nov 1942)

616 crest

Crest of 616 Squadron, motto “Nulla Rosa Sine Spina” (No Rose without a Thorn)

 

You get posted to different places. It came to the weekend and I said to this fellow in the orderly room don’t post me until Monday and I’ll go to London and spend the weekend there, then I would not be breaking the rules. Well he forgot to send the signal and I went down to this 616 Squadron on the Monday, down south of England and when I got there and they said, who the hell are you. The corporal had forgotten to put the posting through and they didn’t know who I was. I was out on the limb and no one knew where I was. Then the “wheels” took over after that and it all got cleared up. I didn’t stay there a long time, it was a nice station they had Spit 6’s there with a pressurised cabin. I nearly got killed in that, never mind, the fellows that I joined with were great, I was still a Sergeant at the time and they had organised one of the Batmen (A “Batman” is a Soldier or Airman assigned to a commissioned officer as a personal servant) to light the fire, polish your buttons, all these extras that didn’t come with the job as a sergeant. One day while I was there I flew the Mark 6 without the canopy, it was a clamp, two clamps that you pushed this way went this way and two that went the other, very tight cabin, but same size Spitfire, it had an elongated sharp wing tip and was supposed to be used for high flying. It was an ordinary 5 but pressurised, but the motor would take it up that high anyway, it was a bit of a failure, they built one more lot but they didn’t use them. To get out of it you pulled the two wires that were joined to the clamps and they opened the canopy in an emergency. I went up without the canopy and had a waltz around, it was interesting. The next time I went up I had the canopy on, not operational, just practice. In the 5’s you used to hear the shrill of the airstream going through the Cranston (Supercharger) and through the canopy gaps, but in the Mark 6 there was nothing, it was sealed off, next to no noise just a low hum from the motor. I went up and did some aerobatics, I did a loop and was pulling out when I passed out from the G-Forces. I heard a voice, it was someone on the same channel as I was, and someone was telling me to pull up. I came to, I don’t know what position I was in but I was close to the ground about 1500 feet, no more. I got it straight and level and back to the airfield. Then I went into shock once I got down on the ground. I had to sit in the cockpit for a while.  The Erks (Ground Crew) took the hood off, then I got out on the wing and sat there.  I started sweating profusely and had the shakes, I’d realised how close I’d come I guess.

I had two shocks in my life, these sort of shocks. I nearly accidentally drowned a fellow over by Marton (New Zealand) once. He didn’t drown but when I realised I went into shock. There were 4 of us that went out in a rowboat at the Rangitikei river mouth. It was slow moving water, very wide and very deep. We rowed out, just to please the girls we were with I guess, I got in to have a swim and the fellow I was with was standing up and couldn’t make up his mind whether to get in or not. It was a flat bottomed boat and I had my feet and hands on the boat, so I pushed the boat and he went arse over into the water. He started to drift behind the boat because the tide was starting to go out, I was just swimming around thinking there was nothing wrong. He yelled to me “I can’t make it.”  I thought oh shit. He could swim but not very well and he couldn’t get back to the boat. I yelled to the girls to get the anchor up and I swam back to the boat, hopped in and grabbed the oars and rowed over to him.  I missed him but got an oar out to him and managed to pull him over to the side of the boat. Frank, he came from Napier and was a nice fellow, hung onto the side, but couldn’t get in. It was about that stage I went into shock, when I realised what I’d done, I nearly drowned a person by being foolish. His parents had a cleaning business in Napier, later he went to the Middle-East with the army and wrote to me once. He got through the war. I was twenty at the time. That was my first wake up. Later in the war, my mate Smithy had a similar thing flying. He went up on this height climb. He turned his oxygen on but it hadn’t been connected to the bottle. He remembered being at about 20,000 feet, when a Spit goes out of control, it will do a loop, well he didn’t know how many loops he did before he came back too.

A lot of people got killed or badly injured in accidents, in one year of fighter control there were 11,000 accidents alone… all preventable.

sleeping.jpgMe Sleeping, you felt tired a lot, all the fresh air

Next I was posted up the East Coast of England to Martlesham Heath, just out of Ipswich, and joined 132 Squadron there.

 

132 Squadron, Martlesham   30 Nov 1942

132 crest withou BG

Crest of 132 Squadron, motto “Cave Leopardum” (Beware the Leopard)

 

This Chapter is incomplete at this stage,  be continued soon…………

 

Chapter 6 – A Very Bad Idea.

29 April 1944

There was an American 1000 bomber raid on Berlin. Our C/O Geoffrey (Alan Geoffery Page) had asked permission to fit auxiliary fuel tanks so we would have the range to go into Germany to support the Bombers. It was a 90 gallon tank and only had a 6 inch clearance from the ground when you took off, which wasn’t much. They were made for ferrying aircraft not for combat.

We were going in on a “Ranger” looking for stragglers to protect them and to shoot-up any German fighters that were re-arming and re-fuelling between attacking the Bombers.

At 13.10 hours six of us set off from Detling, briefed to sweep from Eindhoven to Munster. We made it over the Channel and into Holland, low, over houses, telegraph wires and things like that, you kept as low as you could without hitting them. I can still remember seeing an old boy ploughing a field, horse and plough, waving to us.

We were looking for German fighters going down to refuel and re-arm again to attack the bombers.

It was a misty day with fog or smog, industrial haze, just big rolls of it. An aircraft came out of this fog, I didn’t know which way it was going immediately, I had a blink and he levelled out, it was going across our front less than a quarter of a mile away.

I thought it was a Dornier 17 Bomber as it had twin tails. It happened so quickly, I remember calling up to say it was there and then I thought “I’d go have a go” and “unclipped the button” before breaking off to attack it. At the same time he must have seen all of us by that stage.

There were 6 of us and only one of him so he must have had clean underwear. I was on the left hand side of our group. He turned into me at the same time I turned toward him, and we both “opened” up on each other, it all was over in a split second. My right wing was hit and the leading edge opened up, this probably saved my life as it tore my aircraft around to the right out of the way of his cannon fire and he passed to my left. I tried to turn around to line up on him again but that’s when I noticed a great big haze of fuel vapour from my aux 90 gallon fuel tank.

In retrospect I should have turned away and tried to get on his tail, but we were both flying at just above roof top height, there was no room to attack from above or below, it was that or nothing.

That stuffed up the whole day and with my aux fuel tank gone I knew I wasn’t going on with the crowd. I changed over the tanks straight away, as I was flying on the 90 gallon aux tank, and dropped it. So I don’t know who got that on their roof top! The thing now was to get up by the coast and get picked up by the air-sea rescue. My gauges were showing that the oil was in trouble. There was intense anti-aircraft fire, thick and fast you might say, and I called up and told Geoffrey, I’m going home, all he came back with in his impeccable English accent was “I’m sorry old man, I can’t help you, start walking.”

I later learned that Geoffrey was setting up to follow him, that’s what I should have done and set him alight.  The others had strayed right over the German occupied Deelen airfield and there was a lot of anti-aircraft fire from around the heavily defended airfield, the air was alight with shells. Everyone got hit that day except my C/O Geoffrey and Smithy (Lacy Smith). Someone lost a hood, my number two got flak in his neck, we were in 3 pairs “Paddy Pullin” got hit after me, I don’t know how he got hit but he did, I don’t think Jabs got him, think it was anti-aircraft fire.

ORB 29 April 1944Above: Copy of the ORB report from 29th April 1944.  It’s worth noting that the ORB is a record of accounts that happened each day by those that returned. So it is not always accurate as in the heat of battle not everything is seen or remembered correctly. For example above states J.J Caulton was hit by flak, this was not correct.

The German aircraft turned out to be a Messerschmitt Bf110 with 3 crew, when the pilot realised there were six of us and he was over his own airfield he made a dash at landing. Geoffrey said he was bloody keen as he was on his tail filling it full of lead and it was alight. The German still put his wheels down and landed it, with him and his crew abandoning the aircraft with it still rolling and jumping in a ditch before it burnt out.

Dornier and Bf110

Above: (Top) Example of a lightly armed Dornier 17 which with its twin tail, at a glance looked similar to a Messerschmitt BF110 (below).

I knew if I climbed the motor would not take it for long, then I could be committed to bailing out. I would not get very far to the North Sea where I knew there were Air/Sea rescue launches patrolling, they had an old amphibian that could land on water and pick you up. I called up and gave a mayday in case I got there. I could have been picked up, but I’d still have to make it into the water. That was a bit dicey really because Spits didn’t land too well in water, they flipped over on their back. Plus on the way (if I had made it to the coast) you got shot at by all in sundry as you were climbing up, or you could have been.

 

Chapter 7 – Back To Earth

I was still heading north but didn’t get very far. My oil tank had also been hit and it wasn’t long before my motor gave up, I must have got about 30 miles. I looked around and quickly picked what looked like a nice straight field between some canals. I was prepared for a rough careen across the ground, but I hadn’t bargained on hitting a bank straight off – I touched down, the props broke off and then I hit this bank. I was going around 120mph to a full stop, I had tightened my straps, but the crash broke the cable that held my straps, it was supposed to have a 7 ton breaking strain, that’s what let me slam into everything. I couldn’t feel my leg at all.

I got out and stepped down but my leg gave way because my kneecap had been smashed. It was unpleasant and there were cuts and bits and pieces everywhere. The gun sight had hit me on the head and taken a chunk out – I wasn’t completely knocked out, but it wasn’t far off.

The plane was sizzling, I should have used the thermite bomb and blown it up but I didn’t do it. I guess, maybe because I couldn’t get away far enough from it, if it exploded. A Dutch farm boy came over running and tried to pick me up, but he was small and had no show. I thought he was younger than me, about 16, but it turned out he was my age, then next minute one of the Germans Luftwaffe guards from the nearby post came down. He had a tin helmet on and had a sub-machine gun and stood behind me and said something, I turned around but could only see out of one eye, as the gun sight had hit me in the forehead and it was chock a block full of blood, he was shouting and waving his gun at me, I said “piss off” or something to that effect, I was annoyed that I was covered in blood, sitting on the ground and couldn’t walk and he was yelling at me. He wanted me to put my hands up I guessed. Then he came around the front and felt me for my revolver, which I never carried anyway. When he found I didn’t have one he was quite happy – more relaxed.

I had a revolver issued, a lovely Smith and Wesson, polished one, I just didn’t carry it.   I’d often thought what would have happened if I had it in my boot like we were meant to. Six shots was no bloody good to you on the other side, you’d be dead after the first shot, I couldn’t hit the arse end of a haystack.

Then I was made to get up with the assistance of this Dutch fellow and a Priest arrived from somewhere. I wasn’t feeling too good, but between the two of them they helped me walk towards the German guard post. There was a drainage ditch with a small wooden board across it that we had to cross, which we did. I said to the Priest, what show have I got of getting away, he spoke alright English and he said, “no your leg will give you away” he asked my name so I don’t know if that got back to the Underground or whatever.

When the German guard was not looking I gave the Priest my escape money, I had about 40 pounds worth of escape money in foreign currency, I knew I was not going to run or walk anywhere. I said to him it’s yours, take it, and he did.

Then we went past the Dutch boys farm house, his mother was sitting outside on a chair in the sun. She got up and waved me to come in, I said thank you but no thanks, as I thought I might get them into trouble if they were involved, so then I walked on a little way and I heard a little voice behind me. I turned around and it was this Dutch boy’s little sister with a big glass of milk. I drank that down, that made me snap out of the shock that I was going into, and I started to think more clearly. My head had taken a big whack and I was knocked around. The German guard was walking beside me with his gun, he didn’t stop anyone that tried to talk to me.

When we got to the tower there were 10-12 guards in this two-storey tower and it was about 600 yards from where I crashed, a bit of a painful trip.

The guards policed the district, they were air force soldiers with a blue uniform. They lived with the town’s people and looked after the crossing, looking at identification of people travelling from one town to the next. Everyone knew the invasion was soon so the guards and towns people were all treating each other well. It was only a small town with a petrol station and a couple of houses.

I was put into this bottom room, they were quite decent to me, they gave me a cold boiled egg because it was about 4 o’clock in the afternoon and some coffee, it was bloody awful made from acorns, very bitter. They left me in the room not too worried about me escaping I guess because of my leg.

I’d been there for some time and I could hear kids yelling and running around. One of the guards said come outside, I went to the door way and presented myself and a school was out, there was a whole lot of kids crowded around, it was almost embarrassing, they were laughing and pointing.

The school teacher, a woman about 40 or 50 saw me and got off her bike, threw it on the ground and rushed over and wanted to know when the invasion was going to take place, she spoke in English, I said I didn’t know but it wouldn’t be long. Then the guards came along and shooed them away.

I was back to sitting down feeling sorry for myself, I had a bit of meat out of my head and another out of my shoulder, all they had was crepe paper which they gave me to cover the wounds. I had been to the pub the night before and someone lent me a quid, don’t remember who it was and he never got it back. When the guards gave me the cold egg, I gave the two of them some money each.

The guards rang into the nearest aerodrome to say I was a prisoner in the tower.

After a couple of hours when I saw a small car coming along the road through the window of the room I was in. It was little, a little Opel and had 4 people packed in it. I thought to myself that I can’t get in there, that car, with a busted knee and realised then that it mustn’t be for me.

Sitting there through the window I could see the little bridge across the ditch that I had come over and I saw these four Germans walk over it and around the corner and next minute there was a knock on the door.

I said come in, and an officer came in. He didn’t stride in, which he had every right to, but just calmly walked in.

He didn’t have a word to say to start with and then stood to attention and saluted me. He did not give the Nazi salute, he gave the ordinary military salute which was surprising because everyone on their side was supposed to give the Nazi salute. I acknowledged him, but did not salute back as I didn’t have a hat on, we didn’t salute without a hat. He said in English “were you flying the Spitfire” and I said “yes”. He said, “I was flying the other one.”

He had his number one blue on, (best uniform) I thought my God. He introduced himself as Major Jabs. He spoke quite good English really, it was quite an interesting sort of a happening, because he treated me decently. Then we talked awhile with the aid of a few hand signals, maybe 20 minutes.

One of the things he said to me was “when’s the invasion going to take place?” I said “really……… Churchill hadn’t told me yet, if he had of I wouldn’t be telling you would I.” Jabs then replied “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked that question.” He was quite genuine about it.

They knew it was about to happen, it was about 6 weeks until the invasion (D-day landings). The Germans could see all the evidence, the pile up of traffic around the south of England, a lot of it was fake stuff, but a lot was real, all the shipping that was around the coast near Dungeness, concrete pontoons, they were great big tanks with no motors or anything like that, they used to tow them across and sink them in a line to create a break water to shelter the landing troops, but they were enormous, there was about a dozen parked along the south coast of England, we did not know what they were for at the time.

Next I said to him (Jabs) something that he would not of understood, an expression.  I said   ”You haven’t got a show, you might as well throw in the towel, you can’t win” which was a boxing ring expression. But it was such an unusual happening with such a decent fellow, he was such a nice fellow, you couldn’t have been shot down by a nicer one.

He said would I come out and have your photograph taken, I said well yes I don’t see why I shouldn’t. I thought I haven’t got much to lose now, and I have no option. So I went outside and there I meet the 3 others. Two were Major Jab’s crew who did not speak English, the third was a Political Officer who spoke good English and was taking photos.

CaultonandJabs

Major Hans-Joachim Jabs (with hand raised) and talking to John J. Caulton a few hours after John’s plane crash-landed in Holland, 29 April 1944. This photo was taken by a “Political Officer” that accompanied Jabs and was not seen by John until the 1970’s. Caulton can be seen with a bandage on his forehead due to striking the gun-sight on landing and stands even though his knee-cap was also badly broken in the crash. 

Accompanying Jab’s, left to right were Hptm. Knickmeier (NJG1 Operations Officer) and Jab’s radio operator Erich Weissflog.

I did upset him though (the Political Officer) he was taking these photos and I asked if it was an American camera. He said “we Germans make the best cameras in the world” he didn’t leave me in doubt. He didn’t like me asking that question much so it put in a little friction, I just ignored him as I was dealing with Jabs and he was Major and all the rest of it. You realise how far you can get with “care”, you don’t want to be silly about it.

It turned out that Jabs was told by the Political Officer at the aerodrome not to come out, but Jabs said no, he was going to see the man he had shot down, and having such a presence/reputation he was allowed, but only if this Political Officer could accompany him.

These Political Officers could be pretty dangerous. If you spoke of anything that was out of order, they informed the Gestapo who would take you away, they did not want them turning their backs.

Jabs and crew John Caulton.jpg

Above: Another photo of Jabs and crew taken from a different angle. In this shot the German Luftwaffe guard that captured Caulton at his aircraft can been seen in a peaked cap.

So when this small encounter had finished, he was about to leave to go down to my aeroplane, I said would you mind telling me your name, which he did and I said to him well with my memory I’ll probably forget that down the road, I said would you mind writing it down. So he took this bit of paper out of his pocket and wrote his name and signature on it. I said will they take it off me? So he wrote in German something to the effect of “please let the prisoner keep this souvenir of Major Jabs” and I folded it up and put it in my top pocket.

Jabs Note Given to JJC

Above: Note given to Caulton by Major Jabs a few hours after Jabs shot Caulton down in a head to head air battle. Caulton carried this note through the POW camp and back to New Zealand after the war.

 

I went back to the tower to wait to be taken away. Around two hours later, it was still evening and it was still light, this other car drew up, it was a small two door and out got a couple of the most nastiest fellows you have seen, they were pale, pointed, evil looking, with a full billiard green uniform on, with a big brass disc plate on their chest that had writing on it, some sort of police.

MP

Example of what German Military Policewould have looked like arriving in an Opel car. Note the plate or Ringkragen worn around the neck when on duty. This stamped steel plate on its neck chain gave rise to the nick-name of the “Chain Dogs”. They ultimately were controlled and reported to the SS.

 

I had come to the door and without any words I was motioned to get into the car, they had my parachute and slung that into the back seat of the car first, then I got in. I was only just in when one of them pushed the seat back into my crook knee. This sat me bolt upright because I couldn’t bend my smashed knee cap. I jabbed the seat forward, but one of them was getting in at the same time so this jammed his arm between the seat and the steering wheel. He just slowly turned around and gave me a deadly look, a final sort of look without saying a word. I thought to myself, I’d better tip toe a bit here Caulton and I nodded and moved my foot as best I could to give them enough room. They did not speak a word to me, we drove for about 30 miles, I think it was to Deelen airfield where earlier all the action had taken place (battle). On the way I was wondering if I was going to end up at the right place, anything could of happened I guess. I had that sort of feeling. They took me to a guard room on the airfield, which had a cell with just a wooden bed and a wooden stool, no bedding, nothing. This bloody little man, the guard, kept on screaming at me when he accepted me as his prisoner, kept on pushing me into the cell and screaming the whole time, when I say screaming I mean high pitch, they didn’t yell they screamed.

As much as I tried, if I sat on the stool, or the bed my leg hurt like hell. I could stand on my leg but I could not bend it. I worked out that the stool was slightly lower than the bed, so I got up on the stool and managed to get from there onto the bed without bending my knee. Next minute the guard came back into the cell and screamed Rouse! He called me everything, murderer of Frau and Kinder (women and children) and everything he could think of, all in German but I got the idea.

He had his rifle and he started to push me off the bed and around, he was having his vent on me, he went back out and then again he came back, he was wound up. This time he wanted me out of the cell, there was a lot of pain and trouble as I tried to get off the bed and I staggered out of this cell and was directed into another cell exactly the same, no different. I think he was just moving me to make me pay. I thought stuff him, I know how to get on the bed now, I moved the stool over beside the bed and went to get up on it to get onto the bed but when I went to step across the stool went from under me and I hit the wall and fell on the floor. My leg got bent behind me, without being silly and exaggerating it, it bloody well hurt. I was writhing on the ground in pain and then the guard rushed in, I took a swipe at him. I really did and said “get out of my way”, as my leg hurt so much I wanted to get it out from under myself. I was still yelling at him telling him where to go and how to get there, then he ran out and left the door open. He brought back a couple of Yanks, because they had come down like confetti that day because of the big raid over Berlin. They helped me up and I was taken into another room with a wood wool mattress on it. The guard was completely changed from then on, he would come and check on me to see how I was. I can only put it down to the fact that he may have lost family during raids and he had a hate for anyone that was on the other side. To change like he did showed a bit of heart. I didn’t let up on him though, I told him to piss off every time he came near the door. But then he sent for the doctor and another fellow. First of all they gave me an injection, for lock jaw, tetanus, the biggest needle I’d ever seen, like a 3 inch nail. I said is that for me? He motioned for me to pull my trunks down and he threw it like a dart, which got that over with. Then he put a big aluminium splint on my leg which was a bloody menace, because not only could I not bend it but I couldn’t get anywhere.

The next day they took us away by bus up to Amsterdam. This was a different group of guards and they were rough. It was one of a couple of buses with myself and around 30 Americans. There was this guard, I’d recognise him tomorrow, he had a tooth missing at the bottom, he was a little bastard, he was a little fellow screaming all the time and bumping people, knocking them with his sub-machine gun as he went past and falling over my leg as he went past as I had to have it out in the aisle because of the splint, so about then I got rid of the splint and left it on the bus as it was doing more harm than good.

There was one Yank on the bus who was talking all the time under his breath, the guard knew there was someone talking there. You weren’t allowed to talk, you had to look “stool” faced and straight ahead otherwise you got hit. On the way he kicked a few with his boots. We arrived at the station and all got off and assembled in a line. A Dutchman walking past got too close for the guards liking, between us and the shop walls beside us. This guard ran over and hit him in the guts with his gun to bend him over then kicked him about 4 or 5 times until the Dutchman ran away. We all knew anything could happen, they meant business. This Yank was always causing a bit of strife, swearing under his breath, trying to be the big Tony (big man).

They walked us down to a building and we went into this great big room, which took about 90 of us at least. We were there for 3 or 4 days, just bunks in this barrack room. Some Dutchmen brought our food in, they had a green uniform on, German uniform. They were collaborators in the German army. Some of us talked to them, not in German but in signs and gestures. Someone said, these buggers will get it, when the invasion takes place they will be round up and shot. Then this Yank, the same one again, said “when Uncle Joe gets here” and drew his finger across his throat, Joe was a nickname for Stalin (Russian dictator). Everyone went on and we had lunch, it was bugger all really, pretty grim. I’m lying on my bunk bed, and the door came open and two people came in. One was the Dutch guard and the other a German guard. The Dutch guard pointed at me. I got hooked out of there, away across a yard and up into another building to the Commandants office. A fellow up there had my records already and knew who had shot me down, he said, oh Mr Caulton what is this you are threatening one of my guards? I said I haven’t threatened any of your guards, why would I do that? (I didn’t realise at the time that he was talking about this American), I can’t speak German, I can’t speak Dutch. The commandant spoke very good English, he had worked in an orchestra in England between the wars, and he was a Captain. He said one guard has complained, did you threaten him by some sign? The penny dropped then and I remember this fellow with his finger on his throat. I said, you can either take my word or not believe me, I said I did not threaten one of your guards. He said “I accept your word as an Officer”. I said “to be sure do you want to get the guard up here to take a look at me again. He said yes and he sent for him. By this time I was sitting beside this Captain, as he had seen I was wounded and offered me a chair. The Dutch guard entered the room and I guess when he saw me it put him off a bit, as he took off his hat, shoved it under his arm and gave the Hitler Nazi salute. He was then asked, was this the man that threatened you by some sign. As it was in German it was explained to me later that the Captain told the guard that he had accepted my word, the guard said that he had picked me out by mistake, he didn’t really know who had done it. The guard was sent off, he was in the middle of the room, he had put his hat back on, then took it off again, gave the Hitler salute and spun around and went over to one wall, but there wasn’t a bloody door there, so he went through the same performance again before he went out the right door. They respected rank in a big way, and the fact that I was sitting next to his “Boss” really threw him I think.

I said to the Captain, why’s the Dutchman on your side anyway? He’s supposed to be on ours. He said “Mr Caulton I am a soldier not a politician”. We talked a little while and he asked me about some tune he had heard, a song “Chattanooga Choo Choo”, I said I would not have a clue, but he was very into music. There was a line in the song that was something like, “Flat Foot Floogie with a Floy Floy”. Floy Floy was a policeman I think, and he wanted to know what that meant as it was a slang word. He then said if you see any of my guards abusing any of the prisoners, you have my permission to ask for me and tell me. I said thank you for the honor. He went on to tell me that this morning he had gotten a Canadian Air Force Officer away from the Gestapo. Because they like to keep their own (Air Force prisoners) the Navy kept their own and the Army theirs, that was how it was supposed to be. A lot of things happened (in the war) that should not have happened, so the Captain may have saved the Canadians life, I’m not sure.

He then asked me if I knew where I had been shot down, I said I didn’t so he wrote it down on the piece of paper that Major Jabs had given me. I’m always sorry I never got his name. The Captain said I’m coming down tomorrow to speak to the Americans, they spit a lot and that could cause trouble. If a prisoner does that in public, it is a sign of disrespect and it could lead to something bad. I said thank you and was taken back to the others.

I later found out that this American that had caused the trouble by putting his finger to his throat was a Major Bob Salzarulo.

Major Robert Salzarulo

Major Robert L. Salzarulo, former Commanding Officer of the 788th Bomb Squadron. A member of the original cadre of the Group, having joined it as a Captain in September 1943. He baled out after flying as a command pilot with the Lt. Moore crew on the 29th April 44 mission to Berlin, just 19 days after the 467th flew its first mission. On that day twenty eight aircraft were dispatched and twenty-six attacked the general target area through eight-ten/tenths clouds. Three aircraft were lost with thirty-one airmen, thirteen Killed in Action, seventeen Prisoners of War and one Evadee. Salzarulo spent the rest of WW2 as a POW.
Photo credit http://www.the467tharchive.org/personnel.html

 

From Amsterdam we travelled to Frankfurt. All the Air Force goes through a place called Dulag Luft which was the interrogation centre there, you’re locked up in solitary. A lot of little interesting things happened there in as much as the first night in this Dulag Luft they put us in an underground cell, and I was the first in there. And then suddenly they kept on shoving all these – mostly Americans – because they came raining down like confetti. There’d been a big thousand bomber raid on Berlin the same day as I was shot down. Next minute there’s standing room only and the doors are closed and you could hardly breathe. It was getting a bit desperate. No one was company – you couldn’t sit down, everyone was standing up. I thought ‘well someone’s got to say something’, so I went over and hammered on the door. After a long time the door opened and this goon – we used to call them goons – a dumb looking German, he was just a sentry, I demanded in a very loud voice “take me to the Commandant.” He looked me up and down, pushed me inside the door and shut the door again. You can imagine the bloody guffaws (ribbing) that I got, you know, because although everyone else is in discomfort but no-one else did anything about it.

The next day I got my own back because they took us out – well, I don’t know where the others went but I got singled out with this fellow in a room, and he spoke very good English. He was only a boy about twenty, a brand new uniform on, an NCO, he wasn’t an Officer. And I had to sign this form. It was a bogus Red Cross form – we were warned about it, you know. So I took it and I put my name, rank and number down and that was it – pushed it back to him. And this went backwards and forwards and – I just said “that’s it”, you know. So then he started, the only swear word he knew was ‘bloody hell’, so he started to swear – “bloody hell”. You know, so I stood up, I said “I’m an Officer”, and I said “I will not be sworn at.” He picked the paper up, he pissed off – never saw him again.
So I lost one and won one. And the next minute I’m into solitary and I stayed there for about – I don’t know, about three weeks.

It wasn’t very pleasant – it was very cold at night, only one blanket, and the bed was full of bed bugs. The meals were just enough. You had two slices of thin bread with rancid jam on in the morning, and a plate of gruel at lunchtime – it looked like stew and porridge and anything else they could find, and a flat plate. I refused it the first night, it wasn’t a nice sight with all the drippings down the side of this eight gallon can on two bicycle wheels – and I was disgusted. I said – you know where to go and how to get there. I wouldn’t have it, once. The next day I ate the stuff because I was so bloody hungry, you know. At night time you got two slices of bread again, that had just rancid butter and mint tea.

So yeah, it was an unpleasant place to be in. They had this fellow come round with a wet hand, called me by name and said how good he was and how good I had to be otherwise I’d be handed over to the Gestapo. I said “oh, don’t talk a lot of rubbish” I said “because my C/O knows I’m here. I spoke to him when I was on the ground.” I hadn’t spoken to him when I was on the ground because I couldn’t talk, but I spoke to him just before I hit the ground. That was my defence, if you like. Eventually when I left that cell, he said “my name is Schwarz.” He said, “that’s Black in English”, he said “maybe we’ll have a beer together later on.” I said, “not on your life.” You know, I wasn’t going to sell out to him at all. That was that.

So then after that we waited out in the big pen with all these Americans. Then an interesting thing happened there because the Yanks being the Yanks, they have the best of everything. Their Red Cross parcels were as good as anyone else’s, no better, but they’re more prolific and there were more of them. We came out, and by this time – through the Red Cross – they’d sent enough of these little suitcases with a strap round them for all of us.

When we left that camp it must have been a sight to the local population. We were marched to the train, and I can’t remember how far that was, and this – I might add, I’m bloody crippled, I hadn’t been to hospital at this stage with my broken knee. So, I was going through the hobs a little bit. We all marched while eating a whole lot of food, lots of cigarettes of course – I can’t remember how many packs ‘cause I didn’t smoke. We even had clean underwear and a little suitcase. And I suppose the locals probably thought that the Germans had given them to the prisoners but in fact they were Red Cross gifts.

We were marched onto the train and went through Cologne in a decent carriage – we had to draw the blinds but we saw what we wanted to see. Then we changed trains and were packed into box carriages, the ones that had a sign that said “six horses or forty men” and we went all the way to Sagan which was part of Poland but occupied by the Germans.

TO BE CONTINUED SOON………………………..