DUMBO DIARY Index to Ships

2 May 1943: S.S. Phoebe A. Hearst, S.S. William Williams, HMIJS I-19.
5 May 1943: S.S. Phoebe A. Hearst, S.S. William Williams, U.S.S. Catalpa YN-5.
7 May 1943: S.S. William Williams, U.S.S. Catalpa YN-5, U.S.S. Dash AM-88.
16 May 1943: S.S. William K. Vanderbilt, HMIJS I-19.
17 May 1943: S.S. William K. Vanderbilt, U.S.S. Dash AM-88, HMIJS I-19.
5 June 1943 S.S. Sommelsdijk
25 June 1943 S.S. Benjamin Holt
27 June 1943 S.S. Henry M. Rice
2 July 1943 U.S.S. Tallulah AO-10
8 July 1943 S.S. Matua, U.S.S. Talamanca AF-15.
12 July 1943 U.S.S. Curtis AV-4, U.S.S. Gamble DM-15.
20 July 1943 S.S. Rona, U.S.S. John Penn APA-23, S.S. Matua.
27 July 1943 S.S. Matthew Lyon, U.S.S. Talamanca AF-15.
28 July 1943 U.S.S. Rio Grande AOG-3.
31 July 1943 U.S.A.T. Will H. Point Rio Grande AOG-3, U.S.S. John Rodgers DD-574.

This list will continue to grow as time permits

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Walter 'Bill' Leadley 1924-2009 (Part IV)

Memoirs of NZ429151 W/O Walter 'Bill' Leadley as told to Jenny Scott, 1992.

The loss of PBY-5 Catalina NZ4002/B

The morning of the 23rd Artie Day, the station Warrant Officer, informed me that I would be Duty Sergeant for the day. After breakfast I took some books and paper work down to the main gate where the Duty Sergeant hut was situated. Settled in and carried out Duty Sergeant chores for the remainder of the morning that was. After lunch I received the night flying detail and found that Flying Officer McGrane's crew was flying a night navigation exercise, full crew, and Squadron Leader Higgins was using a skeleton crew to do night circuits and bumps.

After reading this report I found the station Warrant Officer at headquarters and asked for a replacement Duty Sergeant as I was night flying. He promptly relieved me of duty and said I was to come down to the duty office in the morning to pick up my papers and bits and pieces. 'OK' said the SWO we will look after that. Then I promptly went to my quarters to get some shut eye.

The NATS Barge was waiting at the jetty when we arrived and also Squadron Leader Hill [JS Note: Bill means 'Higgins' here] and part of his crew. We all boarded the NATS Barge and headed out to Higgins aircraft first. It turned out his Chief Engineer had not turned up so Johnny McGrane lent him our 2nd Engineer. After warming up our own aircraft we started taxiing out to take up point when the NATS Barge approached with our 2nd Engineer. It turned out the missing Chief had turned up.

Airborne at 1800 hours, onboard we had an extra, Squadron Leader McGill who gave us a course to fly for the next three hours with many many changes of course en route. Then he climbed into a bunk and promptly went to sleep. He arose some three hours later to find a pitch black night, not a star in the sky. So away he went, we were totally lost. The WAG got a couple of fixes and we finally arrived over base at 0030 hours.

Control gave us permission to land but then cautioned us to watch out for wreckage. It wasn't until we had buoyed up and climbed into the NATS Barge that we learnt of the tragedy earlier in the evening.

The aircraft Squadron Leader Higgins was flying dived into the sea from approximately 250 feet and exploded shooting a ball of flame some 70 feet into the air, there were no survivors. Approximately an hour later we were having a meal in the Officers Mess when the C.O. came in. Told us to carry on with our meal and then came down and spoke to each one of us. He was very upset, the second PBY loss in only three months. Squadron Leader McGregor with 14 onboard disappeared on a flight back to New Zealand.

On the 24th at 0930 hours I arrived outside the duty hut. I was pleased to get away from my own hut with the two empty beds. Laughter and the joy were gone. Vic's bed was on the left of mine and Cowan's opposite. I thought of the picture of Vic's wife on the chest of drawers between our beds. Anytime now she would be getting a telegram notifying her of her husband's death. I found it hard to accept that quiet spoken friendly guy from Timaru was no more and I had a lump in my throat for the next three days.

I stepped into the doorway of the duty hut and the sun was behind me and slightly above over my right shoulder. I stood there for a moment, eyes getting used tot he gloom inside the hut. Artie Day, the station Warrant Officer was sitting at the desk in front of me writing and without looking up he said impatiently "yes". I was feeling a bit dejected so I replied in a quiet voice, "I've come for my papers Artie". He stopped his writing and looked up at me, then rose slowly to his feet, his face was white as chalk. He spoke in a husky voice, "There were no survivors". From his point of view I was silhouetted by the sun which had given me a ghostly look. I stepped inside and turned sideways and then said "There were two aircraft flying last night Artie." Artie heaved a mighty sigh of relief and said, "Don't ever do that to me again." I just stared at him, "Perhaps I had better re-phrase that" he said, then made polite but sympathetic conversation.

That was Artie Day, our Station Warrant Officer.

[JS Note: 23 September 1943. 6 Squadron PBY-5 Catalina NZ4002/B took off from Lauthala Bay on circuits and bumps night flying exercise. Climbed to 250 feet then crashed back into water killing all on board. Captain NZ1061 Sq. Ldr. Lancelot Higgins (29), 2nd Pilot NZ38108 Flt. Sgt. Vickers Cairns (28), Flight Engineer NZ401038 Sgt. William Cowan (27), Flight Engineer NZ403751 Sgt. Allan Wilson (36).

Walter 'Bill' Leadley 1924-2009 (Part III)

Memoirs of NZ429151 W/O Walter 'Bill' Leadley as told to Jenny Scott, 1992.

To Fiji aboard M.V. Matua

Now back to the grind. From this you will probably be able to get some of your questions answered.

Now the original airgunners, you asked for the names. I am not absolutely positive on this now but I think it was myself, Bob Steele, another chap named Scott which we gave the name of 'Trader Horn' actually and the fourth one was Morrie Death who had quite a job to get a crew understandably, but he did eventually. The other one I cannot recall at this stage, undoubtably someone will come up with the answer on that one.

The main contingent to make up 6 Squadron boarded the good ship Matua in Auckland bound for Fiji on or about the 8th of July 1943. Approximately 120 men on board, mostly aircrew, we arrived at Suva, Fiji, several days later. Most of the bodes on board were suffering from sea sickness. The Matua was a narrow gutted 4000 tonner built a bit like a destoryer and rolled like a son of a bitch.

I was one of the lucky ones and shared a deck cabin with three others, Larry Heath from Waimate, Vic Cairns, Timaru, Ray Freeman, Wellington. No way could you convince me tehn that I would be the only survivor of that cabin. Those three fine chaps would be dead before the end of the war.

[JS Note: 23 September 1943. 6 Squadron PBY-5 Catalina NZ4002/B took off from Lauthala Bay on circuits and bumps night flying exercise. Climbed to 250 feet then crashed back into water killing all on board. Captain NZ1061 Sq. Ldr. Lancelot Higgins (29), 2nd Pilot NZ38108 Flt. Sgt. Vickers Cairns (28), Flight Engineer NZ401038 Sgt. William Cowan (27), Flight Engineer NZ403751 Sgt. Allan Wilson (36).

[JS Note: 13 April 1945. 5 Squadron PB2B-1 Catalina NZ4013 on detached flight at Funafuti captained by Flt. Lt. A.R. Tuckett stalled on take off killing: 2nd Pilot NZ2130 Fg. Off. Raymond Wilkinson (30), 1st WOpAG NZ415531 Wt. Off. William Henry Heath (26), 2nd WOpAG NZ424231 Flt. Sgt. Clutha Ealam (21)]

[JS Note: 27 January 1945. 6 Squadron PBY-5 Catalina NZ4022 captained by NZ428759 Warrant Officer Raymond Freeman (31) took off from Lauthala Bay, deliberately stalled at 5500 feet but failed to recover and dived into the sea near Mbenga Island killing four crew and eight passengers: the Captain, Ray Freeman, 2nd Pilot NZ428101 Flt. Sgt. Walter Geary (31), WOpAG NZ42717 Wt. Off. Frank Wilson (22), Fitter NZ422106 Sgt. Walter Boss (21), Wireless Mechanic NZ425350 Cpl. Ray Allen (26), Fitter NZ402249 LAC Victor McKain (25), Fitter NZ412943 LAC Eric McLeod (25), Radar Mechanic NZ4214366 AC1 John Stafford (22), Instrument Mechanic NZ4311781 LAC John Stewart (20), Wireless Mechanic NZ43217 AC1 Brian Stone (23), Armourer NZ4216200 AC1 Arthur Thomas (21), and Fitter NZ433124 LAC Robert Wright (31).]

50 B 28

Fifty Baker Twenty Eight
by an anonymous American pilot
U.S.S. Coos Bay
25 March 1944,



He was over Rabaul bombing
When some flak got in his way
And his engine coughed and spluttered
and then called it a day
He was gliding down the channel
And was cursing at his fate
When suddenly he remembered
Fifty baker twenty eight.

He opened up his R.T.
And he broadcast loud and clear
This plane of mine has had it
And the water's getting near
I'm fifteen south of Cape Gazelle
So please don't make me weight
Just send me out the Dumbo
Fifty baker twenty eight.

So that PBY came quickly
And its fighter escort too
Till they saw the PVs circling
As the PVs always do
They took one look and landed
And I'm happy to relate
They got them all home safely
Fifty baker twenty eight.

Now remember this you fighters
And bombers large and small
If ever you get shot up
While bombing old Rabaul
Just head off down the channel
And get some other crate
To yell like hell for Dumbo
Fifty baker twenty eight.

Vale George Condor Hitchcock 1922 - 2010

New Zealand Herald
Published Thursday, January 21 2010

HITCHCOCK, George Condor, OBE, DFC, MB ChB, MD, FRACS, FRCPA, NZ412006.

Dearly loved husband of Jo, father and fatherinlaw of Jenny and Graham Buchan, Sue and Jon Monk, Mike and Mary Hitchcock, and Anne and Mark Perratt and Grandfather of Alice, Ian, Isabel, Tamsin, Eleanor, Katie, Will, Lloyd and Audrey.

George died peacefully at home on 19 January 2010, aged 87.

His funeral will be at 11am, Tuesday 26 January at St Mary's In Holy Trinity Cathedral, 446 Parnell Road, Parnell, Auckland.

Donations to Auckland Cancer Society or St Johns Ambulance please.

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Diary of Ernest Kenyon Alexander (Part XII)

NZ416235 W/O Ernie Alexander (Navigator)

Part XII : Pacific Ferry Command

These experiences are from extracts of letters that I wrote to my grandfather Mr. A. K. Alexander of Hamilton, N.Z. when I did my aircrew training in Canada.

We were only at Halavo Bay a short time and I received the news about a posting to the Pacific Ferry Command.

We flew to Suva and boarded an American Coronado to San Francisco. After 36 hours flying time we reached San Francisco and from a passenger's point of view we found it quite boring. We had no seats and sprawled over mail bags and general cargo. It made me realise how fortunate I was to be a navigator with something to do all the time. On this trip and others we we flew in Coronados, Skymasters or Mariners.

Our first stop was at Funafuti in the Ellice Islands [Tuvalu], where we refuelled. We stayed overnight at Canton, an American base. It was one foot above sea level and one tree grew on the island. Shaped like a horseshoe, with a lagoon in the middle, everything was white coral. From Canton we flew to Pearl Harbor where spent one day while waiting for another plane. Hundreds of acres of pineapple and sugar cane plantations could be clearly seen from the air. Honolulu is a very cosmopolitan place with every Asiatic race possible. Plenty of Japanese, which rather amused me, seeing we were at war with Japan. However they were born there and probably had no affiliation with Japan. We made the most of our stay and visited Waikiki Beach and saw the fabulous Royal Hawaiian Hotel.

The two crews who flew on this trip were a scruffy lot, all our uniforms being different. Our problem was to obtain proper clothing as we wore shorts in the islands. Our Commanding Officer, Squadron Leader Agar [John Agar] wore a drill uniform (Summer Dress) but the tunic had a large tear on the back and he had stitched it up man fashion. Some of the boys wore No. 1 Dress; blue trousers, shirt and tie, but no coat, others had drill uniforms without tunics. I managed to borrow blue battle dress (complete) from Mick Cassidy, but being in a kit bag for a long time it smelled of mould. When a Canadian Group Captain saw us he read the riot act and sent a cable to Air force Headquarters in Wellington. The next trip we were outfitted in new uniforms. Just as well we met him.

We arrived in San Francisco early in the morning and the Golden Gate Bridge was a fabulous sight. After landing at Hamilton Field we were taken to the Fairmont Hotel. It was one of the leading hotels in the city, frequented by Presidents and other nobility. The owners had converted normal $16.00 suites and placed eight beds in them, the result was we had accommodation at $2.00 each per night.

In San Francisco we were placed on day to day leave which meant reporting each morning and having the day free. We stayed six days on this trip and saw most of the sights. We met some wonderful families and were taken to all sorts of places.

Our crews travelled to San Diego by train. We were met by the Red Cross who gave us coffee and doughnuts. The girls had never met New Zealanders before and were intrigued by us. We were billeted in Navy barracks and given delivery of our Catalina. Our job was to test all equipment from every crew members point of view. My main concern was to swing compasses, check astro compasses, drift recorders, sextants and similar equipment. This I did with exacting care because the first leg of the journey was Pearl Harbor, 2,800 miles away. I still remembered my school boy worship of Ulm, and he was lost on this trip by faulty navigation.

We did several small test flights and one big one, about 350 miles out to sea. On one we took two WAVES (American Navy Service girls) and they thought it was great.

In between times we were able to visit most of San Diego. The factories were flat out making war planes. All parks and spaces on the streets were cluttered up with them ready to be shipped to the Islands.

In due course we were ready for our first Ferry trip and after one postponement on account of fog, we took off in the late afternoon. It was my first long ocean flight and I had a few nervous thoughts on it. Nothing between San Diego and Pearl Harbor except two weather ships. I procured the largest maps I could find so that my plotting would be more accurate. Three inches represented about 60 miles, but I also took a smaller one, one inch to 60 miles. The weather was beautiful, not a cloud in the sky, but a little hazy in San Diego with fog. Navigation for a start was dead reckoning, drifts, one or two sun shots, and the odd radio bearing. The crew all settled down well, we were all good friends after many trips together and this was a new experience and a certain amount of excitement. Darkness came and we flew at 12,000 feet above 10/10 cloud. It was a sight one could never dream of, a full moon, a brilliant night sky and a thick mat of fleecy cumulus cloud beneath us. From now on it was all astro navigation. I chose the planet Jupiter, the latitude star Polaris and another which I changed with each set of shots. The first fix didn't seem too bad and the following ones indicated a pattern so I was feeling quite pleased. Very soon I discarded the the large scale maps and used the small one, so much for my increasing confidence.

For the rest of the crew it was along vigil. Pilots just sat and kept course except for the odd minor alteration. some of the time they would yarn over the R/T to other crew members, but I never wore my earphones, I was far too busy to natter. The Radio Operator sent M.T.B. (Messages To Base) every hour which I prepared for him, including position and weather reports. The Engineer took readings every half hour and entered them in his log, and served meals.

For my part it was pretty constant, except towards the end. It took about six minutes to shoot three stars, then I had to work them out and plot them. From this it was necessary to work out a new wind and prepare a new position. All results of course were entered in my log. When this was finished you were required to repeat the process all over again.

The most important part of the journey was working out the point of no return. This was a position where it was safer to return to San Diego than proceed to Pearl Harbor. Facors to take into consideration were winds and fuel consumption. We were in a happy position to carry on without incident and eventually stars began to fade and the clouds below us thin out.

After my last star fix I plotted in a new course and relied on drifts for a while. My last astro shot was the Moon which gave a position line right across track. At 400 miles I gave my final course and E.T.A. to Skipper, Bill Mackley, and I relaxed a little. [JS Note: Winston Brooke Mackley 1915-2005] The wind at this stage was very stable and little of it, we were in the middle of a high. All I could do was check on drift and collect an ocassional radio bearin, but they were inaccurate at that hour of the morning.

In due course we could see an outline of a high mountain in Hawaii, and as we came nearer we recognised it as Kaneohe, we were dead on track. The crew all tired by n ow were tickled pink. I don't know what doubts they had they had at the beginning of the journey, but if they had, they were all gone now. They made me feel like a hero, and I must admit I was pleased with the result, because we arrived within half a minute of my estimate. From now on I had every faith in astro. Our trip took 16 1/2 hours.

After we landed we were given a meal and a bed on camp stretchers. We were all in a large dormitory and we slept like logs. While we were there carpenters came in and built partitions around us and we never heard a sound.

The next hops were much shorter. The first to Palmyra Island and the next to Canton Island. The latter was covered in cloud and I worked very diligently because it was so small and could easily be missed. However all went well and my navigation was OK. We finally reached Suva and then were shuttled back to collect more planes.

In due course the Ferry Command work finished and the crew was sent to New Zealand. We went to Wellington and were told we were on the way to England. Skipper Bill Mackley of course won his first D.F.C. over there and received his second in the islands. I was thrilled to be able to stay with him.

Diary of Ernest Kenyon Alexander (Part X)

NZ416235 W/O Ernie Alexander (Navigator)

Part IX : Halavo Bay - Operations

These experiences are from extracts of letters that I wrote to my grandfather Mr. A. K. Alexander of Hamilton, N.Z. when I did my aircrew training in Canada.

Flying was more difficult here. We still did patrol work up as far as Nauru Island and the equator, but hunter-killer operations, search and rescue, and escort duties were also involved.
The weather was shocking at times, and so unpredictable. One day it could be beautiful and the next a raging cyclone. On one occasion our crew flew through the beginning of a tropical cyclone. In the morning our patrol went right through the middle, you could see it over an area of 40 miles. In the afternoon the intensity of it had increased immensely and next day it was on the move.
It was in stormy weather that planes became lost. Navigation aids did not exist, only one or two D/F (direction finding) stations. Because the Americans were used to all sorts of radio aids they were in real trouble in the islands.
We made the first rescue for our squadron when we picked up 10 of a Liberator crew. They ditched during the night about 160 miles north of our base. They were floating in three dinghies tied together. There was a fair swell running and some of them were in a bad way. Bill Mackley landed up wind after we dropped a smoke float or two out to mark where they were. It is very difficult to see anyone in the water with big waves. Finally we drifted back to them, and it was my job to pull them in. As the dinghy came level with the blister of the Catalina, I grabbed a survivor and hung on tight and hauled him in. One dinghy caught on the step of the hull and was punctured. Two grabbed the edge of the flying boat and the third I just managed to hang on to as he was sinking. When all were aboard we made them as comfortable as possible and gave them something to eat. Landing was comparatively easy, but the takeoff was another story.
After I had worked out another course Bill said, "Well here goes". This was one occasion I was really scared, once we were on the move. The waves were very high and Bill tried to take off on a swell. All motors were on full throttle, first one float would dip in, then the other and Bill was fighting like mad. The hull creaked and banged then we would hit a wave with a crash, become momentarily airborne, and back in the water again. Each time this happened the spaces became slightly longer, and eventually we stayed up. How many times we sank back into the sea I don't know, I was too scared to count. Nobody talked for at least 40 minutes, so it is safe to say we all felt the same. The engineers found the hull had sprung hundreds of rivets and we had a fair bit of water aboard. He used all my pencils to plug them, and we sent a M.T.B. (message to base) saying that we would need to come up on the beach. The landing crew were ready as soon as we touched down and ahuled us ashore. An ambulance took the survivors to hospital.
The next day we visited them and most were feeling better, although some were quite sick. The whole crew received a congratulatory message from Island Group Headquarters and Bill received a bar to his D.F.C. He deserved it, we all owe our lives to his great effort.
Weather was always a worry in the Pacific and we were mixed up in some terrible storms. Another rescue attempt our squadron was involved in covered several days, in some of the wildest weather I ever experienced. an American Liberator ditched somewhere north of our base and we were picking up signals from its lifeboat, which operated on 500 K.C. The wind was very strong and it was blown across the ocean at a terrific pace. We did square and creeping line ahead searches at almost nil visibility and navigation was almost impossible, because the pilots could hardly keep a courseand we were only a few feet above the water. From a navigation point of view I was mighty glad to cross a small island which we were able to recognise. Most of the crew were airsick on this trip, but by this time I was a good sailor. We never even spotted the survivors and certainly could never have picked them up if we did. Base received signals for several days and eventually they all perished.
Our crew were involved in several hunter-killer exercises, several all night, again in terrible weather. One trip we flew up and down the Solomons in and out of storms, in the clear patch I took star shots to find where we were.
Our squadron were involved in all sorts of rescues and incidents. Mac Cowern's crew ran foul of a Japanese 'Betty' near Nauru Island. It circled Mac's plane with its four inch cannon trained on it, but for reasons unknown it never fired and flew on. Catalinas were almost defenceless when it came to armament.
Don Beauchamp picked up five Liberator survivors [JS Note: 4 Feb. 1944] near Nauru Island who had been in a dinghy for six days. They said the sharks killed the rest of the crew when they crashed into the ocean. On this trip the radio operator panicked and couldn't get his radio to go, so the Medical Section weren't ready fro them when they came home.
Our Commanding Officer, Wing Commander Ian Scott was taking off one morning on a smooth sea, could not get airborne, and collided with the anti-submarine net. It took a strip right off the hull and they had to fly around for about eight hours before the engineers made temporary repairs. After jettisoning the remainder of the fuel they landed beside an aircraft tender. As they were sinking a hoist was thrown around them to prevent the plane going to the bottom.
[JS Note: Wg. Cdr. Ian Scott's PBY-5 NZ4012 XX-X is hoisted aboard the seaplane tender following the accident in March 1944]
F/O Martin was close to pranging when he went out on his first trip. He struck a lousy day and a mighty rough sea to land in. After several attempts he decided on a stall landing whaich was the correct thing to do. But he stalled about 50 feet up and the plane dropped like the stone. Everyone was on the beach fearing the worst. Crash tenders, ambulances, and the rest were already to go. He made it and we were all glad.
Our crew were detailed to search for an American Lightning pilot who went 'Tropo'. This was a term for people who lost their mind, or to put it mildly, war nerves. We had quite a number in various degrees. At one time he had threatened to spend the rest of the war on the Stewart Islands [JS Note: Sikaiana]. One day he took off with extra fuel tanks and he never returned.
He was armed so we took American guards with us, their job was to capture him. We landed in a lagoon and soon we were surrounded by natives in dugouts and outriggers. Missionaries had inhabited the island before the war, so a number could speak Pidgin English.
They told us the American came alright, but his plane dived into 200 fathoms of water when he landed. We spent a few hours ashore and met the chief whose only word was 'O.K.' This was a greeting, a farewell, and an answer to any conversation we tried to make. I was taken ashore in a dugout, the blinkin thing nearly capsized and I couldn't swim very far.
While in Halavo Bay we received news that Lou Slazenger was killed over Rabaul. He had a premonition that he wouldn't last long and he didn't. It was odd how some felt that way, thinking that the next trip would be the last. This must have been a horrible feeling. As far as I was concerned I never gave it a thought that anything would ever happen to me, yet on looking back it could have dozens of times.
[JS Note: 10 May 1944 NZ422211 Flt. Sgt. Louis Gordon Schlesinger, of RNZAF 30 Squadron, age 32, son of Augustus Schlesinger and Mary Schlesinger (nee Power), of Taupiri, New Zealand, Navigator of TBF-1C Avenger NZ2541 piloted by NZ421350 Flying Officer Alan Bailey,age 33, on strike against Lakunai, Rabaul, hit by flak over target and dived into sea 800 yards off Sulphur Point. Also killed WOpAG NZ413252 Wt. Off. Reginald Curtis, age 22. Source: Martyn, For your tomorrow, 1999]
Our squadron was very lucky, we had excellent ground staff, and what a beggar of a job they had. Ian Walther was in charge and he adopted the philosophy that the palnes must be serviceable by morning. He worked his men hard, all night at times. Many a time we would take over when the ground crew came off our planes. I don't think there was ever a case of engine failure attributable to bad servicing.
Apart from flying, points of interest included a chapel run by the 34th Construction Battalion. We attended this many times, and always enjoyed the singing of the negro choir and the service.
An Auckland benefactor donated a small yacht to our squadron and most of us tried sailing in it. I went with Jack Fox and Ally Dower, and on the return journey the wind dropped and we rowed back, miles it seemed.
I will never forget the American who went on the 'plonk' for about three days. He had a mixture of compass alcohol and coconut juice, and was in a stupor most of the time. His concoction was almost poisonous. I think he nearly died.
Thanksgiving Day was a day to remember. We were treated with Turkey, but those who were late got spam, a mixture of something that was never acceptable. It was second best to the horse meat we were given.
We all took our turn at guarding our planes, slept the night on them. I spent one Christmas on guard, felt quite homesick that time.
After some months at Halavo Bay, I was sent on a detached flight to the Treasury Islands.

Diary of Ernest Kenyon Alexander (Part VII)

NZ416235 W/O Ernie Alexander (Navigator)

Part VII: Fiji and Tonga

These experiences are from extracts of letters that I wrote to my grandfather Mr. A. K. Alexander of Hamilton, N.Z. when I did my aircrew training in Canada.

In due course we were crewed up, nine in all. My Skipper (First Pilot) was Bill Mackley DFC. He went to England in 1939 and won his decoration on Whitleys. After we met I discovered I had seen him at a model aeroplane display in Harrisville in 1938. Our farm was next door. Bill joined the RNZAF immediately after and was on operations soon after the war started. He flew with N.A.C. and Air New Zealand for many years after the war.

Second Pilot was Ray Freeman, a brother to the Freeman who was a N.Z. representative cricketer . Ray was killed in a crash near the end of the war.

[JS Note: NZ428759 Raymond Freeman (age 31) On 27 January 1945 Captain of 6 Squadron PBY-5 Catalina NZ4022 took off from Lauthala Bay on test flight following major overhaul. Stalled at 5500 feet but failed to recover and crashed in the vicinity of Mbenga Island. Six passengers and crew escaped the wreckage and were rescued the following day but Warrant Officer Freeman, 2nd Pilot Walter Geary (31), Wireless Operator Frank Wilson (22), Air Gunner Walter Boss (21), Wireless Mechanic Ray Allen (26), Fitter Victor McKain (25), Fitter Eric McLeod (25), Radar Mechanic John Stafford (22), Instrument Mechanic John Stewart (20), Wireless Mechanic Brian Stone (23), Armourer Arthur Thomas (21), and Fitter Robert Wright (31) were lost. Source: Martyn, E.W., For your tomorrow, Vol. II]

First Wireless Operator Gus Knox was trained in Canada and came back with us and continued to fly after the war. Second Wireless Operator Bill Jordan became a barman after the war. The three engineers were Ralph Rigger (First Engineer), Jack Fox (Second Engineer) and Johnny Cowan (Third Engineer). They also took turns on watch and cooked the meals. The straight gunner was Frank Cox, he never liked Catalinas and eventually went onto Venturas.

Suva was quite interesting, but very hot. The meals were very good and all served by Indian boys who padded around in their bare feet. We met a number of families and played a little tennis and also visited the N.Z. Club. However we were only here a month and fairly busy training in our new planes.

One weekend we went to Navua and it was hilarious. We decided to hitch hike and managed the thirty miles in five lifts. To our amazement we found the town consisted of a hotel and two stores. The hotel would not give us a bed because they were short of water and the proprietor and his wife had a violent disagreement. It was well into the afternoon and too late to return to Suva. Eventually a District Commissioner took pity on us. He gave us a Bure, native house, to sleep in. It consisted of one room and all made of thatched material. The roof was about a foot thick and you could see the stars through it. We met the Fijian Chief, a rather big chap and very kind. He detailed a boy called Joey to prepare our beds, which consisted of laying huge mats on the floor. We lay on them in our uniforms, and although very hard slept fairly well. When we woke we found we had spent the evening with feathered friends. A hen and a clutch of chickens were wandering around and in another corner there was a nest of eggs. Next morning we swam in the sea for our morning wash and were invited to breakfast with the District Commissioner. It was very decent of him, because by this time our four had increased to nine, including two stranded Americans.

We went back to Suva in a 'Wog Wagon', a derogative term for a service car driven by the Indians. It only cost us four schillings each. The trip to Navua was our only leave from Suva.

Getting used to flying in Catalinas did not take too long. Once we became accustomed to all the new instruments we were right. This took about 20 hours flying time.

Several aspects of Fiji were quite interesting. One was 'Peanut Alley', a picture theatre where all the locals went, Europeans, Indians, Fijians and Chinese. They ate peanuts all through the performance, and when the show was over the floor was literally covered in shells. Poor cleaner. Another theatre was more sophisticated. Then there were the football games. The Fijians just loved it and played in bare feet. I will never forget the tremendous kicking, it seemed as if they tried to beat one another in reaching the heavens.

Native laundries were quite a thing with all the servicemen about. The charge of 4/- per month was not too bad. However their methods were quite crude, hitting the clothes with sticks or swinging them over their shoulders onto a lump of wood or a rock. Just as well they were made of tough material. A lot of the dirt seemed to remain in the clothes.

An interesting experience was hearing a Japanese plane flying over one night. It was an exceedingly black night and I can remember very clearly hearing the strange motor and seeing the exhaust flame, but nothing else. Several of us saw it. Planes from Nausori went up to intercept but couldn't find it. subsequently we found it was a float plane from a Japanese submarine and was sunk at Noumea three weeks later.

Mail in Fiji was very prompt, only a matter of days. A contrast to Canada which took weeks. A lot of our Canadian mail posted after we left for home caught up with us in Suva.

I caught Dengue Fever while in Suva, a type of Malaria, but non recurring. With a temperature of 104 degrees you felt miserable. Like flu your bones ache and you come out in spots like measles. Later some of your hair comes out.

TONGA

Our first operational flight was at Tonga. Apparently there was a lot of Japanese submarine activity south of the islands, the route of the American convoys. We did patrol duty, flying on a different sector each day. All trips reached double figures in hours, and it was quite tiring rising at four o'clock in the morning.

We lived in Quonset huts, our first experience, and found them quite good. They held about 25 airmen, had a wooden floor and a half circle roof. They were all prefab, and could be made any size. We slept on camp stretchers and found boxes to put our gear in. A mosquito net and a blanket was our sole bedding. Tonga had a pleasant climate, at least when I was there. At night a pullover was all that was needed to make up for the loss of heat from the sun.

After we left Tonga an American troopship was sunk and it was a shocking affair. It carried about 1200 soldiers and over half were lost. Johnny McGrane was on patrol for about 20 hours circling the area. The water was smothered with bodies, oil was everywhere and it caught alight. The ship was on fire several hours before it sank. He said the whole sky was lit up. (See Sinking of the San Juan, by Bill Leadley )

Prior to the detached flight I did two travel trips to Tonga. Our cargo included 15 passengers, six live pigs, eight carcases of mutton one duck, and numerous bunches of bananas. Another time we had 24 passengers.

I never returned to Tonga, but was associated with a Tongan prince later on. His name was Bert Tupou and was educated at Wesley College. He was a pilot and well liked by everyone.

[JS Note: George 'Alipate Tupou volunteered for service in the RNZAF in 1941 and was awarded his flying badge in June of 1943. In September, he was posted to the RNZAF base at Laucala Bay in Fiji joining No. 6 Flying Boat Squadron. He was promoted to Flight Sergeant in early 1944 and was commissioned as a Pilot Officer in the NZ Airforce in September of that year. He served in different parts of the South Pacific for a year up to 1944. Pilot Officer Tupou was posted to the RNZAF Reserve of Officers in November of the same year. Elevated to the Tongan nobility as Baron Vaea during the course of his service, Pilot Officer Tupou was one of many Pacific Islanders who fought in the Allied cause in World War II. Source: http://69.64.79.247/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=1866&Itemid=57]

Our Squadron moved to the New Hebrides after this, at a place called Espiritu Santo ...

Memoirs of Arthur Manz

Arthur Manz
Otaki
8 June 1992

Of my course of Airman Pilots (No.1A) about half were retained in N.Z. to become flying instructors, (32 ÷ 2 = 16), attending F.I.S. at Hobsonville.

Time spent at Taieri was very busy indeed. We worked hard, my busiest month was 112.40 hours in March 1941, most being in the 80 - 90 hr. range with 140 - 150 dual instruction flights! Dunedin was very hospitable and flying 'wash out' days were spent in town where the Otago Squash Racquets Club made their courts available to us, the to Wain's Hotel followed by a meal down town & then possibly to the Regent Theatre. Senior instructors, Flight Commanders & above were all ex-aero club chaps, and although serious and devoted to their responsibilites they brought a Camaraderie to the camp which brought out the best in us all.

The group released from instructing before my turn all elected to go onto fighters and were trained on Kittyhawks & posted to the Pacific Islands. My wish was to go to the U.K. so when my turn came I asked for heavy bombers, knowing they had none in R.N.Z.A.F. They forthwith posted me to Waipapakauri to fly patrols with V. Vincents & Vildebeestes! In time no-one would sign these out as airworthy & the Squadron (7) was disbanded. These planes were just like Tiger Moths but ten times bigger. Part of our task was the escorting of boats in & out of Auckland, meeting them off C. Brett. Most were cargo vessles, a few naval. On one flight - I think it was the one on 6.4.43 "Outer A/S Patrol - Presidents Adams, Hayes, & Coolidge & two destroyers" with F/O Ritchie & Sgt. Webb-Pullman - it was not possible to get any response at all to our Aldis lamp challenge with the letter of the day. I sent the message - Can anyone read Morse? The correct letter cam back promptly. On reflection it would appear that on sighting our huge old bi-plane they all fell down in a fit of apoplexy, and only replied to keep us quiet.

Going from Vincents to Venturas on Ferry Command was a tremendous shock. Never had I seen such an array of instruments & controls. Fortunately F/O Alf Arnott knew more about such planes & I became a mere throttle holder. But it was good experience. Just one trip from Kaneohe Bay, Oahu, to Whenuapai via Palmyra & Canton Is. to Nausori to Tontouta (petrol fault), to Norfolk & N.Z.

The Seaplane Training Flight was rare fun. They don't build planes like the Walrus any more. On take off - Full R rudder and L aileron (or was it the other way?) to counter the torque. And at night the straight exhaust ports from the radial engine gave the appearance of a giant catherine wheel - the only plane which I have flown with a 4 - blade pusher prop. My flying partner was Geo. Scholes and on one of our last flights I thought that it would be a good idea to try an 'emergency' landing on Lake Pupuke on the North Shore. No Problem! But once on the water the take off run looked very short with the high volcanic rim rising up and covered with houses. There was no problem however. We kept quiet about the escapade, but in the mess the night before our departure S/Ldr Bill Willis made veiled reference to it - just to let us know that he knew - but didn't wish to take the matter further.

The G.R. School at New Plymouth was value for money. Work was the order of the day, and the knowledge gained proved invaluable later in the Pacific, especially navigation (D.R. & Astro), signals & W/T, ship recognition & much more. Some of the Astro Nav results were a bit hairy (ask Russ Carleton) putting the Bell Block aerodrome as much as 50 miles out to sea! But nevertheless I managed 95%.

At Lauthala Bay Dave Sheehan was training as Captain and I became his 2nd Pilot doing some solo work myself under the tutelage of F/O Dan Carlow (who entered the Air Force with me in 1940) We joined the Squadron 19.12.43 at Segond Channel just as they were about to move to Halavo Bay - we flew up there 23.12.43.

Flying alongside Dave Sheehan in the Squadron was valuable learning experience, his thoroughness, reliability, unflappability were examples for me to remember. Most searches & patrols were routine but one take off experience will never be forgotten. After slipping the buoy Dave taxied out to the appropriate position, tested the motors, opened the throttles and away we went. But half way along our run, unusual porpoising was occurring the plane was reluctant to get up on the step to gather speed by planeing, and it was only by holding the yoke hard against the panel that Dave was eventually able to become airborne. And thus it continued until we were up a few hundred feet. Obviously something was wrong, but we knew not what it was. It was only when a crew member opened the bulkhead door at the rear of the blister that the reason became obvious. Water poured through the door into the blister compartment - gallons & gallons of it. The bottom hatch used for drift taking with a bombsight had not been securely locked, and each time aircraft porpoised a 'mouthful' of water was scooped up, to be locked in by its own weight on the hatch until the next porpoise. The total quantity could only be estimated - perhaps 50 - 100 gallons - certainly enough to radically upset the trim. This security 'oversight' could probably be attributed to a crew member who on entering the aircraft & not long out of bed, hastily relieved himself through the hatch which he opened. This was not unusual in itself but this time the result was, well shall we say 'educational'!

Whilst at Lauthala Bay in March 1944 undergoing training while getting my own crew, it became necessary to evacuate several Cats from the path of an advancing hurricane. I'm not sure how many planes took off - 4 or 5 perhaps - heading for Noumea, my co-pilot being F/Lt. Jack Butcher. After a day there, the advancing storm made us go further. Jack had to take over another crew and my No. 2 then became 'Bert' Tupou.

[JS Note: Hon. 'Alipate Halakilangi Tau’alupeoko Tupou (1st Baron Vaea of Houma, 15th Vaea), born 15th May 1921, Baron Vaea of Houma [cr.1970] by HM the King of Tonga, appointed to the title of Vaea on 16th May 1942, educated in Tonga and at Wesley College, Auckland, served in the RNZAF 1942/1945, member of the Tonga Civil Service 1945/53, ADC to HM Queen Salote 1954/59, Governor of Ha'apai 1959/68, Commissioner and Consul in UK 1969, first High Commissioner to London 1970/72, 1st Minister for Labour, Commerce and Industries 1972/1991, acted as Deputy Prime Minister on numerous occasions, and as Minister of Education and Civil Aviation, and of Finance, 11th Prime Minister of Tonga 1991- 2000, married 1952, Tuputupukipulotu Ma'afu, born 1920. He died 7th June 2009.].

We landed in the Brisbane River, just below the town, next day heading south to R.A.A.F. Seaplane Base at Rathmines. Their hospitality was overwhelming. They flew us in their Cats for an overnight stay in Sydney (40 in the plane I was in), after which we returned to Lauthala Bay by the Rathmines - Noumea route. The officer in charge? S/Ldr Maggie Makgill! A fortnight later we rejoined the Squadron at Halavo, whereupon F/Lt Butcher got his own crew - he had considerable experience as a test pilot in N.Z. and 2nd pilot was far below his ability level. P/O Fred Whillans took his place beside me, having previously been a radio operator on Tasman Empire Airways.

Much of our flying was routine - patrols, searches, shipping escorts & supply trips to radar stations. It was not unusual for the pilot of a U.S. transport plane en route from the States to report a possible submarine sighting in our vicinity. We then had to cover that area with an expanding search for 3 days. At times our crews would report a whale or a floating tree or log at the reported position, but higher command on Guadalcanal always decreed that the search continue. Occasionally they would cancel the search early, perhaps about midnight so that all their staff could go to bed (?), leaving the search plane & its crew airborne until daylight came enabling us to land (Halavo had no night flying facilities). This did not endear them to us, although on one occasion we decided to fill in the hours with a joint up to Ontong Java Reefs. We could discern the white surf breaking on the reefs in the night light before returning to Halavo at dawn. On our descent from about 6 - 8000 ft (?) into the lower warm humid air the whole aircraft interior, skin & equipment, was dripping wet with condensation. I was quite concerned lest a short occurred in the electrical circuitry causing mal-function or at worst, a fire. Fortunately no problem occurred.

We periodically took supplies & mail to the N. tip of Malaita Is (C. Astrolabe??) and on one occasion after securing our plane to the strop of the mooring buoy, we cut the motors and most of the crew went ashore where a vehicle waited to take them to the coast-watching station. I stayed aboard with an engineer (either Sam Parry of Mac McPherson) and relaxed, expecting to wait for half an hour or so. No hurry - it was a pleasant day. However it soon became apparent that the island was slowly moving away from us. We were adrift, with the strop, buoy, cable and the seabed anchor weight all suspended from our keel. Not a happy situation to be in! By starting both engines, heading back to where the buoy had been anchored and then giving the motors full throttle for a short burst, the anchor weight was dragged some way up the sandy (?) bottom sufficient to hold us until the other crew members came aboard again. Back at Halavo Bay we reported "N. Malaita buoy - insecure".

Periodic engine changes for our squadron were done at the U.S. Naval Air Force Base on ile Nou, Noumea Harbour. The liberty barge across to Noumea jetty was popular, as was La Grande Hotel du Pacifique, fruit machines and all. On one occasion, I had difficulty making the beaching buoy at the slipway on Ile Nou, due to a very strong on shore wind and a rocky foreshore. Although holding the plane out of wind with starboard drogue and port motor I could not judge the buoy close enough for the bowman to pick up the floating strop. The pilots' hatches were back for better visability and the U.S. beaching crew ready to enter the water with the beaching wheels. On my second attempt, very slowly and carefully, I missed again, but the beaching party thought we had succeeded and entered the water with the gear. My co-pilot, P/O Fred Whillans, saw what was happening and, standing up, waved his arm to indicate to them we had missed again. Unfortunately the starboard prop. hit his fingers damaging them quite badly, but I was not immediately aware of this. Navigator, F/O Jack Lockington, got the Radio Operator to call the shore base and an ambulance was waiting when we made the buoy on the third attempt. Fred was in the U.S. Naval hospital there for some time, followed by leave in N.Z., before returning to his seat beside me as a valued crew member - with slightly stiff fingers, I recall! After that engine change in NZ 4008 'Lockie' was both navigator and second pilot to Lauthala Bay, and again on the return to Halavo in NZ 4018 via Santo (June 5 - 16, 1944).

A very enjoyable trip, made several times, was to the Stewart Islands, some 2 hours flying time eastwards from Halavo. The inhabited island was at the pointed part of a pear-shaped coral reef, there being three very small islands at the 'blunt' end. Landing in the lagoon was easy, the water being flat calm, but to taxi towards the beach on the island was unnerving as the water was of such clarity that the coral heads always appeared as though they would rupture the plane's hull, whereas on a lead-line measure they could be anything up to 30 ft. or more below the surface. The natives were delightful, much fairer skinned than the Solomon Islanders we had seen open & friendly by nature, readily paddling their canoes to meet us after we dropped anchor. Their lives appeared to be simple & satisfying. On one trip I took several U.S. Naval Officers. They brought with them some supplies from a U.S. hospital on Guadalcanal which I understood had closed down - tinned meat, candles, lengths of cotton material and such like - and the islanders were delighted with these gifts. Before the war, one of these officers had captained a ship which had relocated a good many of the natives to the mainland in order to relieve overcrowding on the island & the consequent pressure on their available food supply. Imagine the pleasure & excitement when the officer produced recent photographs showing the same people, now some years older and by remarks & gestures, the younger ones had grown much taller.

We shared Halavo Base with a U.S. Cat Squadron, and our daily sector patrols were shared with them, each plane covering a 9° sector for an outward distance of 650 miles then across for 50 (?) miles, and 650 miles return. The general direction of the area covered was towards Nauru Is. occupied by Jap forces, so needless to say, the 50 miles across the top was done as close to the water as possible to avoid radar detection, for their land-based planes (e.g. Bettys) would have been more than a match for our flying boats. However, the Squadron Dumbo board records some outstanding rescues made by crews from No. 6 Squadron whilst on such patrols. My Dumbo rescue on 1.5.44 was much more mundane. A crew member on a U.S. freighter was sick (appendicitis?) and my crew went to pick him up off the Southern point of Malaita Is. The sea was moderate so there was no great difficulty there. It was mcuch more worrying when after cutting the motors a short distance from the ship, they brought the patient towards the plane in what resembled a very solid heavy ships life boat. I feared for our plane as they came towards the blister, lest their vessel puncture the plane's skin. There was much manoeuvering & fending off before the seaman on his stretcher was man-handled aboard. The flight to Lunga Point was uneventful.

I am sure that aircrew had the best of life at Halavo. Whether flying or enjoying a day off we could generally beat the heat, whereas ground crews, especially those servicing planes, had no means of escape. The interior was like an oven. Some servicing was done with the Cat in a nose hangar which provided shade and platforms of varying heights.

Beaching crews were slick operators. Before props stopped turning they were into the water witht he beaching gear which was rapidly attached, as was the towing cable attached to the tractor. There was a competition to determine the fastest crew. I do not know the winning time but it was probably under a minute.

The U.S. Malarial control team were ever alert, spraying puddles and stagnant pools and supervising the disposal of tins and other receptacles - any possible mosquito breeding place. Atabrine tablets (and salt tablets) were always on the meal table, and i do not recall anyone on our base contracting the disease, but we all did change appearance to an atabrine yellow.

Our evenings were usually spent enjoying a cool drink in the mess and many hours were spent around the piano singing songs of various shades of colour. Reading, letterwriting and washing clothes were other pastimes. There was some wild life about. Centipedes 6 - 10" long, and W/Com John Agar can testify to their poisonous ferocity after he attempted to put on a flying boot which was occupied. They could sometimes be seen crawling across the inside of our hut walls. Mosquito nets gave us some sense of security.

A visit to our outdoor movie cinema was best on fine, dark nights. Moonlight on the screen was a disaster. Rain or wind were less than welcome - they added to the discomfort experienced when sitting on coconut logs throughout a feature film. Those with Jeeps could have more comfort, parked on the roadway behind the 'auditorium'. A visit from an American U.S.O. (??) group was something really special! Metropolitan Opera stars comprised one group, and after being entertained by the V.I.P's, they duly appeared on the stage in front of the cinema screen. We may have been a great distance away from civilisation and its conventions but one custom was not overlooked.. F/Lt. Selwyn Field was prepared for the occasion, having prepared a presentation sheaf of wild flowers, and in the presence of all camp personnel he confidently walked down the centre aisle, mounted the platform and presented his token of respect & admiration to the lady in the group. Sel got raspberries & laughter from the troops who were doubtless not used to such 'cultural' behaviour, but he didn't bat an eye as he smilingly returned to his seat.

After leaving the squadron, Hobsonville's Seaplane Training Flight was like a comfortable retirement including a variety of duties such as testing, taxi driving to other dromes, islands and searches. The war was over, but New Zealanders overseas found it difficult to get back home. On 21.12.45 I took a Hobsonville Cat to Rose Bay, Sydney (10.25 hrs), returning on 28.12.45 to Mechanics Bay, Auckland (9.45 hrs) with a full load. A radio failure in Australia meant a trip to Rathmines to obtain a replacement unit. Months later, questions were asked as I had signed for it.

After marriage to Betty Field (Sel's cousin) in Auckland on 5.1.46, I was posted to No. 5 Squadron in Fiji, arriving on 25 January. My wife was not permitted to fly in R.N.Z.A.F. aircraft, so she made the trip on the island supply ship R.C.S. "VITI", a very small vessel, once the Fiji governor's yacht. After checking with the Suva office about shipping position & ETA, we thought it appropriate to do a 'navigation & interception' exercise to meet the Viti about 100 miles out. A bunch of flowers was put in a paper bag & suitably inscribed, and after a few low passes over the ship we commenced our 'bombing' run. But the trajectory of a paper bag had us fooled and the missile fell short into the sea.

To her great embarrassment, Betty had been thrust up onto the bridge and to her greater embarrassment the Captain (JS Note: John 'Jack' Cummings) turned the ship about to retrieve the floating bag of flowers using a long boat hook. It was a warm welcome to Fiji. After a week staying in the Grand Hotel we moved into a house at Suva Point and were immediately invited into the local cocktail circuit, but we soon realised that the pace was too great for us. We enjoyed station life under W/Com John Bray and were never short of good company.

On 1 April 1946 three Cats were dispatched to New Caledonia to search for a U.S. R4D aircraft missing from Guadalcanal to Noumea. We searched for a week but without success, the crashed plane later being found in bush high on the N. slopes of New Caledonia. I recall hearing that aboard was a V.I.P. naturalist who had been researching and collecting in the S.W. Pacific. On the first days search the weather deteriorated to such an extent that it was deemed wise to land in the sheltered Touho Bay (N.E. Coast) where we spent the night swinging at anchor. CNB Noumea expressed his high appreciation, donating binoculars to each captain and an iced water machine for the Lauthala Bay hangar (tricky to get it into the blister compartment from a boat!)

My last Air Force flight was when Betty & I returned to Auckland in a Sunderland, captained by Dan Carlow assisted by Russ Carleton, Bill Mackley and Gus Knox, on 30 Sept. 1946.

Memoirs of Dennis Donovan

Dennis Donovan
Christchurch
25 February 1992



I was in the Marine Section of the RNZAF and, after doing a twelve month stint at Laucala Bay in Fiji I was posted to take charge of the Section at No 6 Squadron which had just then transferred from Segond Channel (Santos).

In this capacity I relieved my friend Corporal Dave Cambie who was itching to get back to godzone. This was to the best of my recollection in late 1943 - or early 1944. My rank at the time was a newly reclassified L.A.C!

Halavo Bay at this time was an American base - home to a squadron of PBY5 (Catalina) flying boats and the N.Z. Squadron had not been long in residence under the stars & stripes. Residences consisted of 6 - 8 man tents sited on boggy ground and not entirely waterproof. My own bunk (a collapsible cot) was sited right alongside a huge fallen coconut trunk which was home to a large colony of scorpions. The tent floor was sections of Marston matting laid on coconut logs - and the water level was usually about an inch or two below the level of the matting! You took your boots and your .303 rifle to bed with you inside the mosquito net.

I arrived to inherit a rather unhappy state of affairs. The main task of the section there was to service the needs of the flying boat (kites) and their crews. The kites had to be armed, fuelled and rationed by sea - and when they had to come ashore for servicing the Marine Section got them there. Beaching space was limited as were the number of serviceable marine craft for these functions. It had therefore been decreed - just prior to my arrival - that ALL these functions were to be in the hands of New Zealand crews. I was told this was so because the U.S. personnel were below standard in these tasks.

Perhaps as a result of this decree - or perhaps because of a natural antipathy - it was difficult for us - at my level anyway - to get much co-operation from the Yanks. (But see below re Gavutu Island). We did all our own boat repairs and our one engine mechanic, Reg Grenfell, was starved for spares for the hard working Chrysler Crown petrol engines and the Buda diesels in the refuelling barges. However, we carried on with our principal task which was providing a taxi service to the 'Cats' - both U.S. Navy and RNZAF.

Another area of discontent emerged because of the current method of providing the taxi service. When a kite returned from a patrol there was always a certian amount of tidying up to do before the crew were ready to go ashore. They then signalled the tower by radio or Aldis lamp to send a boat - and the boat was nor [sic JS 'not'] always as prompt as one could wish. The boat crews complained that often as not, when the got to the kite they had to hang on "for ages" before the aircrew emerged. I changed that procedure. In future whenever a kite returned to base there was to be a boat alongside as soon as she picked up the moorings. My boat crews remonstrated that they would then have to wait for the crew whereupon I told them they may as well wait alongside the kite as alongside the jetty! The word got around and I subsequently heard on the grapevine that the marine crews at Halavo were "right on the ball". And relationships between the marine crews and the rest of the base improved no end.

My immediate superior was the Squadron Intelligence Officer - one David Russell, a farmer from Waipukurau - who had to be officially responsible to the C.O. for the Marine Section. Cambie had given me a bad report on Russell but he never once interfered with my running of the section. We got on quite well - here are a few 'trivia':-

I found on my arrival that it was the custom on a quiet day for the C.O. and a few of the Officers to take one of our fast 24 foot launches - personnel boats they were called - out in the bay waterskiing. Because of maintenance problems mentioned above I frowned on this practice but let it go. But when, one very calm day, I was asked to provide a second boat to rough up the surface of the water I dug my toes in and stopped the whole procedure. I was not very popular in the officers quarters as you might imagine. A mere bloody L.A.C!
[JS Note It was a procedure in calm weather for boats to be used to rough up the water as flying boats attempting to take off had difficulty breaking the suction that occurred between F/B and the water]

One of our Navy Fairmiles came into Tulagi Harbour one day. Russell came to me saying he had an officer friend in the Fairmile and he'd like to pay him a visit that evening - could I lay on a boat. So I instructed the duty crew accordingly. One of them, Alf Pine, came to say let Green have the night off and come myself and he explained that Green did not drink! I got the message and the three of us set off - Russell, Pine and me. Getting there was fine in broad daylight and stone sober. Coming back was another matter - pitch black and all of us drunk as lords! I suffered badly the next day. An excess of navy rum attracts the flies in the tropical sun.

Then there were the chickens. The Americans were shifting out of the base at Tulagi and Russell discovered they would be leaving an unknown number of chickens behind. There would not be enough for the whole camp - but the Officers may as well have them? So at dusk we three or four boats to Tulagi and rounded up as many fowl as could be found asleep. I think there was an extra issue of beer for the Marine Section.

I had a good friend in one Jim Beattie - Flight Lieutenant and Senior Ops Officer. His offsider was F/O Butch Wardon and we used to play chess together - Butch just a learner. But Butch had his hand on the wrong end of a Very pistol one day and he had to be sent home. Beattie had been a Sgt. Photographer with the R.A.F. in Singaport. Once a week a kite would proceed to an island (called KIA I think) to collect crayfish for the officers' table. Beattie always went along because he was familiar with the native languages. Of course, Jim always managed to snaffle a few crays for his own purposes and he and I would have a feed over a game of chess. But he always sent the duty driver up to the mess to collect his share of the crays. Otherwise they might suspect him!

The 'Cat' Boats

Courtesy of Norm Brailey
Orewa, 1992.




They fly through the sky with a nonchalant air
With Zero's they play like a Tortoise and Hare
And the word gets around for the Jap's to beware
The 'Cat' boats are flying tonight.

They hang on the bomb racks a dozen or more
And twenty pound frogs simply litter the floor
So start up the donks and we're off to the war
The 'Cat' boats are flying tonight.

With many a sigh for our warm little cots
We thread our way through the steamers and yachts
And take to the air at a full sixty knots
The 'Cat' boats are flying tonight.

After plugging along for an hour or two
The skipper looks round at his trustworthy crew
The Observers asleep and the Engineer too
The 'Cat' boats are flying toight.

Come a break in the clouds and a light down below
The Skipper has had it so says "Let 'em go"
And mixed bombs and beer bottles rain down on the foe
The 'Cat' boats are flying tonight.

The clouds are clamped down on the bay like a vice
The Wireless Op. twiddles his dials once or twice
"I can't get a bearing, the sets on the ice"
The 'Cat' boats have had it tonight.

The A.S.V.s gone, the compass is swinging
But on through the night the great 'Cat' boat is winging
The engines cut out, and we hear the angels singing
The 'Cat' boats won't make it tonight.

So down through the clouds on the old bank and turn
And somebody yells, "there's the bay, just astern"
And down on the water the landing flares burn
The 'Cat' boats just made it tonight.

So lasso the buoy, after fighting the tides
Then off into town for a quick one at 'Hides'
And so ends one more of our hair raising rides
The 'Cat' boats were flying tonight.

Though dicing with death every day of our lives
We still find time for our girlfriends and wives
"Whackho" when the three sixty hourly arrives
The 'Cat' boats will not fly tonight.

Sinking of the San Juan, by Bill Leadley

It all started on the 8th of November 1943, when Crew 5 of No. 6 Flying Boat Squadron was taken off patrol section search operations to fly a skeleton crew down to the Ile Nous Naval Air Station, Noumea, New Caledonia. The purpose of the flight was to pick up a PBY5 Catalina flying boat, No. 4017 XXT which had undergone extensive repairs over the last month under the supervision of Flight Sergeant Jack Bartlett. Squadron Leader McGill with skeleton crew was to fly her back to Espritu Santo (a welcome break from flying operations).

Crew 5 members were as follows:
Captain: John Macgrane of Auckland (Flying Officer).
2nd Pilot: Sgt. Harry Farmiloe of Auckland.
1st Wireless Operator: Flight Sgt. Abb Ormesby of Auckland.
2nd Wireless Operator: Flight Sgt. Larry Heath of Waimate.
Navigator: Pilot Officer Ross Laurenson of Wellington.
Chief Air Gunner: Sgt. Walter Leadley of Wellington.
Chief Flight Engineer: Sgt. Ralph Rigger of Hamilton.
2nd Flight Engineer: Sgt. Noel Melvill of Timaru.
3rd Flight Engineer: Sgt. Jack Wakeford of Wellington.

0755 hours - 8th November
Given the green light from the sea plane tender, the U.S.S. Wright. Within minutes we were airborne from seagone [sic] channel Espiritu Santo and heading south. Landing XXR in the harbour of Noumea at 1255 hours, we buoyed up at Ile Nous Naval Air Station. At 1400 hours we boarded a Nats Barge which transported us to Noumea for a look at the town. We had just begun to enjoy ourselves in this very French town with its very public toilets and quaint little wine shops, when a couple of jeeps pulled up by us, manned by American M.P.s. Their only comment was "Nu Zealand Airmen? Get in" !! We didn't argue as they were armed. Back on the docks into a Nats barge and whisked back to the island of Ile Nous, marched straight into the American Navy briefing room, where we were informed XXT was fueled up and armed with four 250lb depth charge plus ammo and food.
We were to proceed once airborne to a position off the coast of New Caledonia where we would rendezvous with a convoy of 14 ships and conduct a square search around and ahead of her. A torpedo attack had been made on this convoy by a Japanese sub only four hours before.

1820 hours
Airborne again with a difference in the crew - Squadron Leader McGill had taken over as Second Pilot, Sgt. Jack Bartlett as Chief Engineer, Sgt. Ron Snodgrass of Nelson, a Chief Flight Engineer assisting. Sgt. Rigger and Harry Farmiloe stayed with XXR and held her in a state of readiness.
Rendezvous with convoy around 2000 hours and proceeded with square search. Flying at 6000 feet we took turns at radar watch. Chief Engineer Sgt. Bartlett reports malfunction of temperature gauge starboard motor. The square search started at the convoy, built up to the longest leg of a square (being a square of 100 miles long), then we reversed the procedure till we were back with the convoy, then away we would go again.

0100 hours
It was a bright moonlight night with a little cloud around, the sea was rough and a high wind was blowing. The crew was getting pretty tired and the roar of the twin 1250 h.p. Pratt and Whitney engines had a tendency to mesmerise or woo one to sleep. We were back on the 100 mile leg, only this time the Skipper was using George (the Automatic Pilot). Suddenly the starboard motor lost power and while the pilots were busy getting George disengaged the aircraft went into a flat spin. Sitting in the blister compartment I was suddenly pushed hard up against the bulkhead. Looking down I could see the sea springing up towards me at an alarming pace and I thought of my parachute in its rack only six feet away, but the force of gravity (or in this case centrifugal force) kept me forced into the corner. Somehow I managed to get my Mae West out from under the seat I was on, then I set to, to get the blister open. I broke just about every fingernail opening, and at 1800 feet it came open. The aircraft shuddered violently, gradually stopped spinning and at 500 feet Flying Officer McGrane had control again. I wasted no time putting on my parachute harness and placing my chute under my seat; likewise other members of the crew were doing the same. I had barely sat down when power faded again, only this time Johnny McGrane was ready for it. The flying boat went into a large yaw and then held course again - down in the tail end it was like being on the end of a large pendulum and 5 minutes later it happened again. I slipped forward to just below the tower. I grabbed Sgt. Bartlett's leg, he took his earphones off and bent down. "What gives?" I yelled. His reply "Number one plug is loose, possibly out". I returned to the blister compartment, plugged in my intercom and waited. The reassuring voice of Squadron Leader McGill came through, "I say chaps, nothing to worry about, just a little water in the carburettor, but just in case put your chutes on" !!! After a couple of hours and several dozen yaws I came to the conclusion two things were radically wrong. 1. My stomach wasn't as strong as I thought it was, and 2. If I didn't move forward smartly I would leave my supper all over the ceiling.
I made my way forward to the front gun turret and slowly regained my equilibrium. We stayed with the convoy until daylight, then returned to Noumea, landing at 0610 hours. (Note: No further attack was made on the convoy).
Footnote. Shortly after the starboard motor lost power, Flight Sgt. W.A.G. Ormesby made contact with Ile Nous Air Station, informing of them of our situation. Their advice was to return to Noumea, point the nose out to sea and bale out. We could not land as a high wind was blowing. the flare path would not hold and there was too much shipping in the harbour. (Had we bailed out with that high wind God only knows where we would have finished up). Now straight to the ablution block, a shower and then some breakfast, afterwards to commune with Morpheus for a long, long time. But it was not to be. The 500 hours check was due on XXR.
We had been awake since 0530 hours the day before, and had flown 16 hours 10 minutes. Airborne again at 0805 hours, this time with our original crew on board. At least Sgt. Farmiloe and Jack Rigger had had a night's sleep.
We landed at Lauthala Bay, Fiji, 7 hours 5 minutes later, on 9th November. After debriefing most of the crew hit the sack and slept until late afternoon, on the 10th. On the morning of the 11th of November, Crew 5 boarded XXR, gave her a good clean up and individually did all the checks, made sure all personal effects were packed up and left her for her 500 hours check by the team of expert ground crews.
On that afternoon we went into Suva and let off steam, but fortunately most of us were back at base by 10.00 p.m. Little did we realise that the events of the next 36 hours would affect us all for some time to come.
On the morning of the 12th November we were on standby to fly 4021 back to Espiritu Santo as soon as she had been test flown; however a malfunction on the run-up meant delay. I reported to sick bay as I found I was partially deaf in one ear. The flight Sgt. took a look - "yes, I can fix that". Out comes a syringe full of water and after several squirts, "Thanks Flight, that's great, I can hear again - what came out?" "Two frogs and a ton of wax", was Flight Sgt.'s reply, "Where were you last night?". At 11.45 I walked into Sergeants' Mess and at 12.10 the Orderly Sergeant arrived. "Crew 5 at readiness? Quad waiting to take you to briefing in 3 minutes". "Hold on Sergeant, is this the test flight?". "No way", replied the Sergeant, "it's on ops".
I ran to my quarters, grabbed my flying kit, plus gas mask, water bottle and Luger pistol. On the way down to briefing, somebody volunteered the information that a troop ship had been torpedoed 100 miles south of Tonga. At briefing we learned that the San Juan, carrying some 1,429 service personnel was torpedoed at 0900 hours. One torpedo in her engine room and one in her No. 1 hold.
F/O Stan Kirk of Auckland replaced our Navigator, P/O Ross Laurenson of Seatoun, Wellington - a welcome break for Ross as he was really tired. We were airborne by 1250 hours and arrived in the area at 16.20 hours, it being covered by a tropical rain storm. There was only one approach and that was a low level run at 70 feet. We levelled out and even then visibility was poor, but any lower was dangerous as we could have run into the stricken ship.
We had covered about four miles when suddenly there was a clear patch in the weather. What a slight unfolded before us! Hundreds of men in the sea below us and many, many more crammed onto bits of timber, life rafts, Carley floats, duck boards and pitifully few life boats. Off to the left, and right, on the edge of the rain, was a liberty ship [JS Note: 1561 SS Edwin T. Meredith] with landing nets or cargo nets over the side. The captain of the ship was steaming very slowly through the survivors. Many were able to climb up the nets to safety; however, he did not stop for fear of being torpedoed himself. When he cleared the rain squall - full steam for Noumea, we spotted a few seconds later the Martin Mariner, a Pan American Airways flying boat, but were unable to make radio contact with her. We estimated a 16 foot swell was running. It had picked up some forty-plus men and was not happy about taking off as he had damaged his starboard float. We continued flying around in a tight sweep, flying very low; some survivors waved to us and others I sadly noted were floating face down in their life jackets. Harry Farmiloe's came through the intercom system. "Stand by, the PBM is going to attempt to take off". We all offered a prayer for any wounded and the passengers in that aircraft as we knew full well what they would go through in the next 2 to 3 minutes.
The Mariner turned into the wind, looking like a massive bird with her gull wing and twin tail, and then I became alarmed that she was riding too low in the water. I racked my brains on aircraft recce - yes, she had a carrying capacity of only about three tons, with 40-plus men on, at least an extra 1 1/2 tons!!
She was now riding the swell and gaining speed into the wind, leaving a white trail of foam behind her. Suddenly she altered course to port, thus giving a little more lift to the damaged float on the starboard wing.
At this point she started to go through the tops of the swells, the tips of her propellors striking the sea, sending up great clouds of spray. The revs of the motor would drop rapidly, then as she went into the trough she would build up to full revs again, repeating the performance again and again, until sufficient speed and wind built up under the wings to give her lift, then she started hitting the tops of the swell with a mighty thump, leaving a trail of evenly-spaced white patches of foam behind her. Suddenly they ceased and, thank God, she was airborne.
Navigator, a new course for American flying boat base Tonga, and we were on our way climbing to 2000 feet; still lots of cloud, and poor visibility and we did not make a visual sighting of the stricken ship.

1730 hours
Landed at flying boat base Tonga, secured aircraft to buoy and awaited arrival of double ender boat. "You guys want supin?" came from two American sailors. "Yes please, fuel and depth charges". "Well, hell, the officer is away on leave. Anyway you want it, you've got it - might take a while though".
The barge finally arrived and we topped up the fuel tanks. Then while we were waiting for the depth charges we managed to get some tea which consisted mainly of spam and dehydrated this or that. The four depth charges duly arrived sitting in their cradles in the bottom of a Nats barge and at the same time the wind and the rising sea.
Flight Engineer Sgt. Rigger and Wakeford, the two Americans and myself managed two depth charges under the port wing. When we started on the starboard side the fun really began. The rising sea now a 2-foot chop rose to a 6-foot chop. The wind made the Nats barge do everything but stand still, unscrewing the protecting plate; fixing and lowering the hoist wasn't so bad, but when we took up the slack and started raising the 250lb depth charge a wave would pass under the boat, which slammed the boat up against the depth charge with considerable force, smashing the ply flooring.
The second and third wave made a shambles of more flooring as the barge had shifted position on each wave. Two things went through my mind: 1. How sensitive was the explosive?, 2. There was every likelihood of the depth charge going through the bottom of the barge.
After a very hairy performance we finally got the last one into position. By the time circuits were locked up it was dark, so another long wait while the flare path was laid out. Example - a number of 3-foot clingy type boats with an electric light on the top of a 5-foot pole powered by battery. These boats were anchored about a chain apart in a straight line directly into the wind.

2210 hours
Airborne at last, all feeling a little seasick. Within half an hour we sighted the torpedoed ship, about 20 miles away and burning brightly. Throughout the night we would use her as a bearing. Our job was to conduct a radar search and keep that sub down or sink her.
The night dragged on and the twin Pratt and Whitney engines droned on. Relentlessly, again and again we returned to the burning ship and started yet another square search. Sgt. Harry Farmiloe had decoded a message notifying us to expect a destroyer [JS Note: USS McCalla] and two sub-chasers in the area by daylight. We were to direct them to the survivors and that was another two hours away.

It was in the first light of dawn that we first spotted them. Just a voice on the intercom said "On the starboard quarters". I strained my eyes in that direction but all I could see were the black spots that I had seen on occasions for the last three hours, but wait, we were losing height and those spots were turning into blotches as we got closer, then the blotches turned into men standing on rafts, some waist deep in water. We climbed away from them and set course for the blimp on the radar screen some fifty miles away. About twenty minutes later we spotted the destroyer and sub-chasers. An enemy sub would have been bad news for the survivors at this stage of the flight. Flight Sgt. Heath came into the blister compartment, plugged in the aldis lamp and signalled the destroyer's given course and distance to reach survivors. The destroyer responded immediately and off we went to case the area of sea where the survivors were.
We came over them at 3000 feet and discovered that during the night they had spread out over an area of approximately five square miles. We flew right around the perimeter, then turned into the centre where there was a great number of life rafts. It was at this point that Sgt. Melville pointed out to the skipper the presence of sharks. The first pack appeared below and to the right, some 25 to 30 sharks moving inwards just below the surface; we were down to 500 feet and closing in, the first rafts very close now.
The second pack of sharks loomed up, only this time they were right on the surface, the centre of the pack thrashing the water and then, to my horror, I saw the two grey life jackets in the middle of the white water. Down to 100 feet we passed over the first of the rafts. Twenty to twenty-five men were standing in a tight bunch shoulder to shoulder up to their waists in the sea and the outline of rafts could be seen below them, the sheer weight having submerged it. Floating around the rafts were from four to nine men, some face down, then an astounding thing happened. After being in that exhausting position for twenty-one hours they each raised an arm very carefully not to upset the next fellow on the raft and waved to us. In the next few minutes we had passed some twenty rafts in a similar situation and they all waved. I believe it was their way of saying "thank you" for staying with us all night.
The intercom crackled. "Air Gunner stand by with the 05s will you, we'll give the sharks something else to occupy them". Quickly I locked the bulkhead doors, opened both blisters and switched on the reflector sights. Sgt. Farmiloe's voice came on the intercom, "Portside coming up, Bill". Unclipping the port browning machine gun I swung the barrel over the side, pulled the breech block back and let it fly forward taking the first half-inch armour piercing bullet into the breech, then I braced my legs as we went into a vertical bank. Suddenly the sharks were plum in the middle of the reflector sight, no lead was necessary as we were now doing a tight turn around them. I pressed the firing mechanism, putting three bursts of 25 rounds into the pack. One or two of the wounded sharks leapt right out of the water and when they fell back in the other sharks just tore them to pieces, the water coloured and turned pink, the carnage I had caused below was completed. We moved on quickly shooting up some ten packs of sharks. Some packs were swimming too deep, these we passed by. It was while we were moving onto the next pack that I spotted the duckboard. It was on the extreme out perimeter of the survivors with one man clinging to it, his legs in the water but his torso was on the board. He raised one arm and waved to us and a few minutes later we passed over a long beam with five men sitting on it and seven in the sea holding onto it and not far away three more floating face down.
At last the Destroyer and sub-chaser had arrived. We circled her while she made the first pick-up, landing nets over the side and three tiers of three sailors starting at water line to assist these exhausted men up to the deck. The destroyer stopped, then she rolled, the first two tiers of sailors disappeared under water and a minute later she rolled the opposite way, up came the sailors and each one was hanging onto a man. She rolled again and 15 to 20 men were on the nets, eager hands helping them over the rail to safety, where their clothes were stripped off them and they were taken below for a shower as most were covered in oil or diesel fuel.
The picking up of these men was being made difficult by the high swell that was still running; not only that, but when the destroyer headed for the next raft she only saw it when it was on the crest of a swell, what she did not see were six or seven survivors in between and directly in her path. When she did it was too late to dodge or stop. I watched them slide down the side of the ship, only one managing the net, and then to my horror they disappeared under the stern no the ship.
It was Sgt. Farmiloe's quick thinking that saved the day. He suggested that we use our nav smoke flare to not only mark a clear passage, but to indicate those who desperately needed to be picked up.
Flight Sgt. Ormesby got busy on the aldis lamp again, the destroyer Captain welcomed the idea and so away we went, laying a smoke flare every ten minutes, also using the aldis lamp when necessary. After an hour of this we broke away and did another sweep aroun the rafts and bits of wood, shooting up the odd packs of sharks which were still around and in large numbers. Then I spotted him, the man on the duckboard. He did not wave, he just lay there. I called up the skipper, pointing out the fact that he was all alone and obviously exhausted and would not last much longer. "Could I drop a smoke flare by him?" "How many smoke flares left Bill?" "Five" I replied. "Sorry" said the skipper, "He's only one, there are others worse off than him". I was about to reply that he had no-one to help him, no-one to keep his spirit up especially now that help was so near, then the skipper's voice came over the intercom - "Bring her round Harry, a raft has capsized over there, Larry contact the sub-chaser, get her over right away".
Half an hour later we were back near the duck board and I heaved a sigh of relief, he was still on and the sub-chaser wasn't far away. The men on the long beam got the next smoke flare and I secretly cheered as the sub-chaser headed over, but then she had moved away from the man on the duck board.
At last the survivors were few in the water and both the sub-chasers had left. Out round the perimeter again and eagerly I looked for the guy on the duck board for by now I was sharing his ordeal and then I spotted it. It took a full minute for me to accept that the duck board was empty - only another ten minutes and he would have been picked up.
My eyes searched the sea around that duck board, but no trace of him who had fought alone for thirty hours. A final low run around the wreckage in the sea and suddenly we all got a shock, for there below were three men in a rubber raft pulling the fourth one in. The rubber raft had been dropped the previous day by RNZAF Hudson bomber of No. 2 Squadron. The destroyer was 20 miles away and heading home. We soon turned her back and what a sight when he gave her full speed ahead. In no time the men were picked up and on their way home. I had a strange feeling that the sea had given back those four men.
The PBY4021 touched down at 12.25 on the 16th November 1943 at Lauthala Bay, Fiji, after 24 hours ops done on a test flight and flying 19 hours of the past 24 hours. Of the so-called few days off operational flying we had flown 44 hours 30 minutes on the 8th, 9th and 12th November 1943. Of the San Juan we heard much later - of the 1,429 Service personnel on board, apprximately 300 were lost.