╨╧рб▒с>■  fh■   e                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                ье┴s ┐Jjbjb└ └ %ШкkкkF      ]ЦЦЦЦЦЦЦ "  ъ::::::::╞╚╚╚╚╚╚,єЇчЬЇЦ:::::Ї&ЦЦ:::&&&:jЦ:Ц:╞к6р6ЦЦЦЦ:╞&а&╞ЦЦ╞. :i╗дВ╞ Chapter II - 1915 to 1918 In 1915 Bill "Tiny" Wardrop, later DFM, MBE, was an apprentice electrician with the Edmunsons Electricity Supply Corporation and, like most of the lads of his age, was keen to do his bit for the Country. He wasn't too particular as to which unit he joined, as long as he was posted to active service. His first application was to the London Scottish Regiment but he was turned down, so tried the Royal Engineers with the same result. He suspected that, unbeknown to him, his employers might have made some intervention. But persistence paid off and his manager agreed that he could take an examination for the Royal Naval Air Service, no doubt imagining that Wardrop would stand little chance of enlistment, thinking that the RNAS would want smaller men, the size of jockeys, to fly their machines, not a gangling of over six foot weighing eleven stone. Later, Wardrop was nicknamed "Tiny" because of his height. "In any event," Bill Wardrop relates, "I attended the RNAS examination and was the only entrant to be accepted that day, August 5, 1915. Two days after signing on I was to report to Sheerness, where I arrived in a blue serge suit, patent shoes and straw hat. I was issued an armband and for the next twelve days was put through a routine of square bashing and drill, which proved to be very hard on feet clad only in patent shoes. Towards the end of our stay we were issued uniforms, then sent off by train to the Naval air base at Felixstowe which remained our base for many months. "As time went by, my mate George Tarrant and I became disillusioned because our repeated requests for flying training went unheeded. We frequently fell foul of people in authority and were classed as trouble makers. As we acted in concert, if one was brought up for a charge, the other was automatically included. The usual punishment given was what we called a 'north easter', slang for 'not entitled'. This meant we were given menial tasks like scrubbing floors, and when we attended pay parade the officer would say, 'not entitled'. That was the worst punishment of all. At the time, we felt harshly treated, but in retrospect I realise there were just not enough aircraft or instructors available, so we had to do ground duties. My job was to help launch seaplanes and tow them back up the slipway on return from patrol. "Curtis Flying Boats and Sopwith Scouts were stationed there. One day I was chosen to accompany a Curtis crew on a 45 minute patrol to Great Yarmouth and back. This trip hardened my resolve to get on to flying duties, but all I could do was wait. Meanwhile I entered wholeheartedly into the Station's sporting activities, particularly football, which I was later to play for the RAF. "At long last, after many months waiting, I was posted with 12 other ratings to Eastchurch to start our flying training. I was placed in charge of the contingent but, as it was near the weekend and we had to pass through London, I gave them a 48 hour leave. The master-at-arms at Eastchurch gave me a ticking off but luckily took no further action. The first six weeks of our course were spent at gunnery school with the Navy, at Whale Island, off Portsmouth. We were given tuition in bomb dropping, gun laying, the operation of a 12 pounder and the Lewis gun. Exams were taken each day. If the required standard was not met we were put back on course. After a few failures we would be washed out. "With the first part of our training completed, we were ready to return to Eastchurch so asked our instructors for a weekend pass. They informed us that the only person who could authorise this was the CO at Eastchurch. Our phone call must have surprised the Commanding Officer for he agreed. Back in camp after an agreeable weekend in town we found ourselves once more in trouble. Told that permission should have been obtained from the CO Portsmouth before contacting Eastchurch, we were put on charge and given a 'Ten A' punishment which meant rising at 5 a.m. and being on call until 9 p.m. We got all the unsavoury jobs, sessions around the quarter deck, and stoppage of pay again! "Despite the misadventures, I must have impressed someone during training because at the end of the course I was taken on to the permanent staff with the rank of gunlayer/mechanic. It was not until I reached the Squadron in France that I was promoted to Sergeant Observer. Although now flying regularly, I still sought more active service than that provided by the Station's Maurice Farmans, and at every opportunity expressed my desire for an overseas posting. Eventually my persistence was rewarded and I was kitted-out and awaited shipment to the eastern Mediterranean. Of course, like many service postings, things don't always turn out as planned. Instead of a sunny Greek island, I found myself in company with another replacement on a ship bound for France, the Western Front, and No. 7 RNAS Squadron based at Coudekerque. It had taken me two years to join an operational unit. "For the first five days with No. 7 Squadron, my mate Jack Keen and I did every job imaginable, except the flying we were sent out for! We requested an interview with the OC Armaments, Lt Wayne. On hearing that we wished to apply for a posting to a squadron which had need of gunlayers, he replied: 'You are wanted here and will in due course be allocated a machine.' Two days later we both received allocations. In my case it was Handley Page serial 3130. "H.P.3130 belonged to Flight Commander H. Brackley, later to become No. 214's CO. Brackley had recently lost his observer and I was fortunate indeed to become his crew member. Major Brackley was a fine leader, quiet and unassuming. He was extremely fit, an excellent swimmer, and always ready to lead the way whatever the difficulty. He set the standards and the men were expected to follow his example. It was a privilege to serve under him. "My first trip with Major Brackley was a familiarisation flight on August 13, which gave me a chance to memorise landmarks in the vicinity of the drome. In coming months, with many hours of flying behind me, I would be able to recognise features both day and night from Calais up to the Dutch frontier, essential in those days, for we only had a compass to help with night navigation and the ability to read a map was a must. Providing the night was clear and visibility good, lakes, rivers and estuaries could be picked out. If there was moonlight, roads, railroads, woods and moving transport could be discerned from 10,000 ft and above. Powered by Rolls Royce Eagles, the aircraft were reliable and we had great confidence in them. They were to us the dreadnoughts of the air. We never expected to be brought down, unless through a direct hit." Wardrop's optimism was justified. He flew 66 operations in these machines, and was involved in only two crashes, one caused when a propeller was shot away and the second probably due to flak damage to the controls. As far as comfort was concerned, these early flyers must have been of hardy stock. There was no heating or oxygen and they either sat in open cockpits or stood on gun platforms, bravely facing the elements. Bill Waldrop continues: "I used to put a silk stocking over my head under my helmet, and vaseline over my face. Some of the lads used whale oil. We wore sheepskin clothing and I always put a pair of silk gloves under the leather ones. One night, however, whilst on a raid, our bombs jammed. So as to free them more easily I took off my gloves, suffering severe frost bite as a result. One arm felt as if it had been in a furnace and was one big blister from wrist to elbow. The MO gave me a real ticking off, and as the arm seemed to be getting worse he lanced it. This seemed to do the trick and after several days it started to heal. "September 27, 1917, always sticks in my mind for it was probably our most successful operation. It was against the rail bridge which crossed the river at Namur. The crew that night was Flt/Cmdr Brackley, myself as gunlayer, and Lt Bewsher, observer. (Paul Bewsher DSO later became a reporter on the Daily Mail and was considered something of a poet whilst with the Squadron. He used to compose most of his poems flying out on raids.) Our target was a bridge that carried the main railway line to the enemy on the Flanders front. The Army had requested this raid, as destruction of the bottleneck would deny the German Army vital supplies at a time the British Army was making a push in the area. "Cologne was the target for October 17th and we set out on what should have been the first bombing of a German city. However, the weather conspired against us with exceptional rain storms. On reaching Antwerp, conditions were so bad that we were forced to return to base. "A normal day on the Squadron was similar to the routine in World War 2. Inspections, night flying tests, etc., were carried out during the early part of the day, but in 1917 we were usually informed only an hour before take-off of any raids to be carried out that night. Called to the mapping office and given our orders, we worked out the routes then went back to the billets, put on flying gear, and off we would go. It was a practice of mine to use the coast as a datum line and take a bearing from a known landmark. Whenever possible we flew along the coastline about 10 miles out to sea and in this way dodged many of Jerry's trouble spots, for the Belgian ports and key towns were heavily defended. If our route took us near Holland we also took the opportunity of crossing into neutral territory, for we preferred the Dutch defences to those of the Germans. Twice we were attacked by night fighters. Little damage was done apart from a few holes in the wings. You could say though that they had the best of the argument. Our biggest danger came from ground fire which was heavy at times. "By World War 2 standards, our bombing equipment was crude, but we still managed to pull off some good results. We were a determined bunch and if necessary would go in at low level to make sure of hitting the target. When in the bombing run I would operate five pushes which were connected to five lights in the pilot's cockpit: two red, one white, and two green. By pushing these I could signal the pilot to turn to port or starboard. The white light signified 'on target'. We had to be careful with reports of bombing accuracy when we got back for if there were a false statement it would soon be found out. On return, the crews would report in, then the following day D.H. 4s from No. 5 Squadron based at Dunkirk would be sent out on photo reconnaissance and, finally, agents' reports would be received three days after the attack. Each bomb had a serial number inscribed on the eye bolt which was identified and reported when found. "Up to mid 1918 we usually carried 112 lb bombs, then the 1650 lb SN was introduced, a monster bomb for those days. Unlike other types, which were secured by a nose ring, fins down, inside the fuselage, this bomb was slung horizontally underneath the aircraft. It was shaped like a large post box, much different from the normal pear-shaped missile, and at first caused us great difficulties. The first one I dropped missed the target by 5 miles and subsequent efforts were also poor. This worried me, for I felt with my experience I should be doing much better. I suggested to Major Brackley that I was letting him down and perhaps it would be better if he flew with another observer, but he replied, 'Wardrop, we will work this thing out together,' and we did so by going in at low level. The target was Melle railway sidings and we bombed well under 4000 ft, hitting an ammunition train into the bargain. Concussion from the explosion was terrific and our plane came in for a real buffetting. Later, flying over Holland, we could still see the fires burning over 40 miles away. The reason for our poor showing with the Essen bomb was its un-aerodynamic form. Our sights were not calibrated for use with this bomb. In the end, though, we managed to achieve some sort of accuracy in dropping it. "During the winter of 1917/18 we flew many sorties, some of which were roving commissions on which we could choose our own targets, shooting up trains, searchlights, or whatever might present itself. One favourite trick was to find a German aerodrome showing lights, enter the landing pattern with navigation lights on, then, on the final approach sweep down and drop bombs on any hangars, buildings or aircraft to be seen, whilst the gunlayer in the back added his contribution by shooting up all and sundry with his two Lewis guns. "Coudekerque was heavily bombed on June 5/6, 1918, causing a great deal of damage to buildings. Two hangars were burnt down but, luckily, we lost no aircraft that night. The following night we repaid the compliment by heading for the German airfield at St Denis-Westrem near Loos. On arrival there we found the lights were on and an aircraft was making a landing approach. Our first bombs were dropped from 7000 ft and immediately all lights were turned off. Deciding to stay in the vicinity, we came down to a lower level, and in the end our vigil was rewarded when Verey lights were fired by a circling aircraft to be answered from the ground by a signal lamp. For some unknown reason the aircraft dropped a flare which illuminated the airfield, and we were able to drop our Cooper bombs on the hangar. The job completed, we turned for home and all went well until over the sands at Graveline. I remember looking at the altimeter which registered 200 ft, then we crashed. Buried head and shoulders in the sand and choking for breath, I pulled myself clear and went to the aid of the pilot who was mixed up with the wreckage. Grabbing his leg, I tugged and something gave way. In my shocked state I imagined it was one of his limbs, but it turned out to be his flying boot. Our gunlayer, a chap by the name of Thomas, was seriously injured. He was flown back to England and I understand he died soon afterwards. The black eye sustained in the crash was the only injury I suffered during my entire war service, so the gods must have favoured me with their blessings. "Our next night operation was June 10th, again a roving commission, but this one was without alarms. We were detailed after this for one of our regular, but not so easy, targets: Bruges docks. Times without number we had bombed the lock gates on the canal, mostly at low level, and several times I had scored direct hits with 500 lb bombs, but the recce photos always showed them intact. Much later I discovered that the Germans always had replacement gates close by, which were installed shortly after our raids had finished. "On the night of the 16th June we were back over Bruges again, when we were caught in an intense AA barrage. The propeller and radiator were hit on the starboard engine and we had to throttle back on the other. Then we headed for home on what I can only describe as a powered glide. With the prevailing wind against us, we came down lower and lower. Meanwhile the searchlights held us in their beams whilst Archie gave us a real roasting. Luckily all of us escaped injury although our aircraft eventually crashed in no-man's-land near Nieuport. Struggling from the wrecked machine we quickly took cover in a large shell hole but were soon approached by soldiers we took to be German. In one of those accidents of war, opening fire with a Webley, I shot one of them. They turned out to be Belgians, sent out from their front line to bring us in. Our luck held again for we were taken prisoner instead of being shot. In the dug-out we tried to explain that we were British flyers but could not make them understand. Although we were well treated and provided with beer and sandwiches, they kept us there for several hours. Eventually one of the captors said: 'It is alright now, you will shortly be picked up by your unit,' whereupon I exclaimed: 'You said you could not speak English'. 'A few hours ago I couldn't, but now that you are cleared, I can,' he replied. In a later conversation, the Belgian soldier told me that before the war he had worked as a waiter at a restaurant in the Strand. "During the time we had spent in the dug-out our Handley Page had been ranged by the German guns and had literally been blown to smithereens. A sequel to this story is that, when we arrived back at the Squadron, I was sent for by the Armaments Officer. He was angry and inquired as to the whereabouts of the five Lewis guns we had on board, reminding me that it was a court martial offence to lose one's guns. I replied: 'How was I expected to bring back five machine guns from no-man's-land? Stick them up my jumper?' "Commander Brackley decided that after the two crashes I should be given fourteen days leave. It was a welcome break but, strange to say, before the time was up I was thinking of my mates on the Squadron, and was not too unhappy to return to France." On his return to the Squadron, Sgt Wardrop flew on the same night raid as Sgt Leslie Dell, to drop the first SN 1650 lb bomb of the war on Middlekirke, and continued flying on operations until the end of hostilities. He was one of the first recipients of the DFM and remarked that if his name had started with an A instead of a W, he might have been the first! After the Armistice, Bill had hoped and planned to join Herbert Brackley, General Manager of Imperial Airways, but his Company (Edmundsons) applied for his release from the RAF to complete his training as an electrician. So he pursued his career in the electricity industry in which he reached a senior executive position. In the second World War he was a company commander in the Home Guard and was awarded a Certificate of Merit and permanent honorary rank of major. When he retired on December 31, 1961, he was honoured by the Queen with the MBE. 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