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

http://bit.ly/yUJP4K

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.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/adelaide_archivist/4106332281/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/adelaide_archivist/4107094578/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/adelaide_archivist/3083460719/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/adelaide_archivist/3083460721/

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 ...

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.

Memoirs of W/O John Hall

Memoirs of Warrant Officer John W. Hall Armaments Section No.6 Squadron

With thanks to John's daughter Nancy Bamford and family for permission to publish his memoirs.

The Air Force and Me
At the time of the outbreak of war my father and I owned a farm at Taupaki. We were about to sell the farm with the thought of purchasing a larger unit. Instead, I decided I was going to join the Air Force. We sold the farm and I insisted that my father take the equity of the farm as he needed support having been injured in an accident on the railway about 10 years previously and he was partially paralysed. My application for the Air Force was accepted and I went for a medical examination. My only interest in the Air Force was to be Aircrew. Unfortunately for me on the medical examination I was found to have a visual defect which made me unsuitable for all aircrew. However the Air Force offered me a position on the ground staff. In this I was not interested in the slightest and went off to join the Army. I was accepted by the Army but their medical examination found me “Permanently Medically Unfit!”. I had never suffered a blow like this before. I was devastated and couldn't believe it. Being rejected twice, I had to go back to accept the Air Force offer of ground staff. I was instructed to report to RNZAF Station Whenuapai with the rank of Aircraftsman First Class ACHGD. I thought this sounded very grand, I didn't know that at that time AC1 was the rank for all those over 20 years and ACHGD meant aircraft hand general duties. Those in this rank performed every general purpose or menial work that the Air Force had to offer. On reporting to Whenuapai I was instructed to see the station warrant officer by the name of Mr Trott. Warrant Officers in the Air Force were the only ones addressed as “Mr”. In my interview with him he asked me what I did in civilian life, I said I was a farmer. I could see that this put him at a bit of a loss because as I guessed there would not be many vacancies in the Air Force for farmers. Then he came up with a bright idea. Have you ever used a telephone, on my answer Yes, he said right, we will make you a telephone operator. This work I carried out on my first 2 or 3 months while I was searching for something more meaningful to do in the war effort. I found that I could apply to be an armourer and to go on an armourer's course. I needed to wait about 2 months before going on this course and in the mean time, I was transferred to the armoury at Whenuapai to work. I was fortunate in that I was learning and working on a lot of machine guns and armoury equipment before going on the course. At this period I found that I could get a long weekend pass from my previous section and the next week get a long weekend pass from my new section. At this time weekend leave was permitted only once a fortnight, but I got both of them for about six weeks. I came back from leave from one weekend to find that I was on charge - I had been drawn for guard duty and I wasn't there - a terrible crime. I found that I was charged with being absent from guard, absent without leave and guilty of conduct to prejudice the good order and discipline of the Royal NZ Air Force. When I appeared to answer the charge the armament officer was most amused because of the racket that I had been able to perform. I was punished by being given one day confined to camp and being recorded as having been admonished. I lost my privilege of having long weekends each week.
Eventually I was sent to the armament school which was then situated at Wigram. I had quite an advantage over others because of my practical experience at Whenuapai. I also studied while a lot of those on the course just had a jolly good time. I passed out of the course equal top and while I was still AC1, I automatically attained the rank of LAC (Leading Air Craftsman) after 3 months. My posting from the course was to RNZAF Station Taieri. I arrived there in winter and it was a winter of dreadful frosts. The frosts lay like snow on the ground. As with all Air Force stations we could only have leave one weekend in two. One incident that I would like to record happened when one Airman found that he could go across the airfield to the back road to Mosgiel at night, and he had a source of booze. He would regularly get on whisky. One night on returning he couldn't make it back to the dormitory, but collapsed at the edge of the flying field. The patrolmen going around in the morning saw this heap of white and had never seen that before so they prodded it with rifles. The lump stirred and our friend blearily got to his feet - he had been all night in the deepest frost of the year. He got to his feet and ambled away, back to the mess for breakfast and so warming were the properties of whisky that he suffered no ill effects, also the thick Air Force great coat helped him.
At Taieri I was engaged chiefly in instructing airman pilots in the armaments their aircraft would carry. Airman pilots were pilots under training and could be distinguished from other air personnel as each has a white facing on his field service cap. It was mostly of machine guns and I had to take parties of them to the range for machine gun practise. Our butts can be seen today if one goes from Dukes Road parallel with the railway to the aero club.
While at Taieri during the weekends whilst on leave, we of the Air Force were always seeking entertainment. We were very pleased to find the availability of the ANA dances put on by a number of good ladies in Dunedin. The ANA (Army, Navy & Airforce) Club was run on very strict lines. The Dunedin ladies were all young women who could only attend if they were members and could only become members by invitation. There I met Frances who was later to become my wife. About a month before we were due to be married I was posted to No.1 stores depot at Te Rapa. There were hundreds of Air Force personnel at Te Rapa, all of them clerical staff or stores wallahs. I was the only armourer and it appears that I was sent there to be a technical adviser regarding armament stores held there. This was the most useless, dead end job I have ever had, I had no meaningful work to do and yet I had the most terrible task to get leave to get leave to get back to Dunedin to be married. I was allowed only one week. On my way through Wellington I was so fed up with the uselessness of my work that I decided to go to Air Department. Air Department was the Holy of Holies in the Air Force. It was situated in Stout street, Wellington, and rigorously guarded. It was absolutely forbidden for any personnel to go there without authority. I went, marched in the door, as if on official business, could see at a glance that the Chief Armament Office for the whole of the RNZAF was on the fourth floor and took the lift. I entered his office and told his receptionist who I was and that I requested to see him. The armament staff officer was one Wing Commander Wix. He made me very welcome which surprised me and did not question my bowling into Air Department. He chatted with me for about half an hour, asked about what I had been doing in the Air Force and what stores were at Te Rapa and was most agreeable. It was he who got his office staff to look up my file and told me that I had come top equal on the armourer's course. I told him that my purpose in seeing him was to seek his assistance in me being posted overseas. In this matter he didn't commit himself. We parted on very friendly terms and I found it no trouble to leave Air Department. Poor Frances did not know until I rang from the South Island that we could be married on the due date (3rd March). We had the most meagre honeymoon of 3 days and I had to leave her in Christchurch while I went back to Te Rapa. When I arrived back at Te Rapa I found that I was promoted to Corporal and posted to Woodbourne. In Woodbourne my work was again instructing airman pilots but they at this stage were more advanced in their flying and I had to instruct in a lot more armament subjects. Despite all my efforts I still could not get a posting overseas. In the end I was sent on a course to Rongotai again passing through Wellington, once again I decided to beard the lion in his den and went back to Air Department. Same procedure as before, but this time there was a different armament staff officer, one Squadron Leader Greenaway. Once again, I had quite a long chat, once again I requested that I be posted overseas, and went on my way. What amazed me was, that on neither visit to Air Department, did the Staff Officer question my being into Air Department, out of bounds except on Official Business. On returning to my station at Woodbourne, I found that I was promoted to Sergeant, and posted to instruct in the armament school which was now situated in RNZAF Station, Levin.
How I wished that I had gone to Air Department earlier because who knows what rank I might have attained since I was promoted each time I went there. The armament school at Levin was out of place and was planned to be shifted to Woodbourne. Levin was a completely drill and discipline station, it seemed to be there solely to impart drill and discipline and spit and polish. The atmosphere was quite foreign to me. Soon after my arrival a huge wing parade was planned. Personnel from other stations converged upon Levin, the top brass from Air Department and Ohakea were there and the big parade ground was planned to be filled. I was instructed that I had to take a flight from the armament school to this wing parade. In vain did I try to get out of it, saying I knew nothing of the procedures - to no avail, on the day in question I marched a flight, one of three from the armament school to this big wing parade. The order was clearly given "At the halt facing left, form flight." I could see the immaculate way in which the preceding flights carried out this manoeuvre. When it came to my turn, I marched my flight up to the proper position. I should have given the order, Halt, Left Turn, Form Flight. They should all have halted, turned left and marched in a cartwheel fashion to neatly join the parade. I had not a clue what to order - I said "Halt", looked around in dismay, they were all standing there behind me. There were several other Flights behind mine forced to mark time as I held up the whole works. In desperation, I said, "do the same as the others have done." They all shambled like Browns' cows to raggedly form a proper position in the parade. This is the way in which I mucked up the whole big wing parade at Levin. They couldn't do anything to discipline me because I had never had any parade ground training, but the Commanding Officer at Levin had a jolly good try. One good result was I was excused from the next wing parade. About a month after arriving at Levin the whole armament school was shifted to Woodbourne. While there I made repeated applications for overseas service but to no avail. I eventually became the head instructor , then suddenly out of the blue I had a posting to the Islands.
We first left Whenuapai in a C47 aircraft and were flown straight to New Caledonia where we stayed overnight. The following morning we were flown to Guadalcanal. Having waited there overnight, I was one of the few going to No. 6 Flying Boat Squadron on Florida Island. When I arrived at the armament section at Halavo Bay I was met by a number of my previous pupils. As I had been a strict instructor, I wondered at my reception, but was surprised to be greeted as a long lost friend. I was in charge of the servicing of all the armament of the Catalina Flying Boat section of our squadron. Our No. 6 squadron had approx 300 personnel. Our aircraft had 2 duties, one was anti sub marine patrol, where frequently all the depth charges would be dropped on Japanese submarines. The other function was what they called Dumbo, where every bit of weight was taken from the aircraft, guns etc, and the aircraft flew the maximum time in the air, about 20 hours and the object was to pick up survivors in life rafts, from torpedoed ships or aircraft which had had to ditch or had been shot down. Our squadron had picked up quite a number. Soon after arriving at Halavo Bay, a fault developed; some of our depth charges were not exploding. It was left entirely to me to find out why. I found that the fuses fitted to these depth charges had a lubricant which became sticky in the humidity and the fuses were not being armed, so the depth charges did not explode. There were not text books there regarding these fuses, but I knew them back to front having instructed in them. Also some of my armourers had been instructed in them by me. I had to have all of the fuses, bought into the armoury to be stripped down and cleaned of the sticky lubricant. The Americans had quite a different system for depth charges used on warships. They used the same as we did on aircraft in the Atlantic but ours was the only squadron using them in the Pacific where humidity was so high. English depth charges were a superior design both aerial and surface models being activated by hydrostatic pressure. I had our stock of fuses brought into the armoury ready to start work on what should have been an easy task. Each fuse contained a massive explosive (would blow up a whole house), suddenly I was aware that I was alone in the armoury - everyone had gone, finding urgent work elsewhere - they didn't trust me, they thought I was going to blow the whole place up! I had to carry out the modifications on all the fuses on my own, but the depth charges worked after that. Our Catalina aircraft were purely flying boats, each aircraft had to have extra temporary wheels fitted and the aircraft dragged out of the water each night - servicing was then done high up on the coral beach. During the day the heat inside the aircraft was intense but the work had to be done. It was a practise to wear light weight khaki underpants as the sole piece of clothing. Some of the work had to be done at night, when the temperature in confined spaces was bearable. It was my job to check everything of armament equipment before an aircraft could go out - that is machine guns, depth charges and their racks. The crew who worked on getting the aircraft in and out of the water were always naked and once when an aircraft came in and was pulled out from the water up onto the coral beach, out stepped a party of American nurses, much to the consternation of the landing party. When the aircraft was in the water it was necessary to be moored until the engines could be started. The engines could not be started until a very big petrol powered engine inside the aircraft was started up, it was called the APU, Auxiliary Power Unit, on no account were the mooring lines to be released unless the APU was going and aircraft engines started. In charge of the landing party was one L A C named Roache - because he stuttered, he had the unkind nick name of Yakka. At one time one of the landing party by mistake released the mooring rope, the aircraft started drifting, the APU had not been started, the engines had not been started, the aircrew in the aircraft had not been alerted, and Yakka Rouche was stuttering You're, You're, You're, and he just could not get it out - at last he got it out "You're adrift" and the aircrew were just able to get the APU started and the aircraft engines started before the aircraft ground onto the coral reef. Being only a thin skinned aluminium hull, if the aircraft had drifted onto the coral reef, the hull would have been ruined, the aircraft would sink and would have to be written off as there were no repair facilities for such a big job on our squadron.
Several days every week when all the aircraft were home, we had time in the late afternoon to go for a swim. The water was always absolutely warm and swimming was a pleasure, of course no bathing costumes were worn. On Halavo Bay the sergeants lived in huts with sergeants, did not mix with corporals or airmen, or with officers. I was one of a bridge 4 who were; "Win" Churchill, "Mac" McKenzie and the fourth was Ed Hillary who was a navigator airgunner on our aircraft. Aircrew had a fortnights leave back in NZ every three months and it always amazed me that Ed Hillary would spend his fortnight climbing in the Southern Alps after being in the heat of the tropics. Most of the sergeants' huts were 4 men ones, but I shared a 2 man with Cliff Mills and we got along very well. I had the use of a bomb truck to go back into the back country where we had a bomb storage area and a pyrotechnic store. I could keep an eye on wild pawpaws and beat the birds to them when I saw the first sign of ripening. These were welcome additions to the diet for Cliff and myself as we could not stomach some of the horrible food dished up from the kitchens. We always used mosquito nets, the need for them was not great as the Americans had a tremendous policy that there was not stagnant water anywhere for the anopheles mosquito to breed. On our base was a contingent of about 200 American Navy men who had their own camp and facilities. They were American SeaBees (construction battalion). They had been forgotten by the United States Navy and for the first six months of my tour with No. 6 squadron they had virtually nothing to do, then all of a sudden they were all shipped out and we saw no more of them. In the sergeant's mess, beer was available in only quart size bottles and we could buy one each evening when stock was available. Price 10c (American) per bottle. We had landing craft available, run by our own marine section for our necessary transport, 3 times while I was on the station I had to go on one of these craft over to Guadalcanal, approx 50 miles to get further supplies of depth charges.
We had an extended lunch hour of 2 hours unless something urgent had to be done, during this time I would usually write to Frances and the temperature being so hot I would often break off to have a luke warm shower to cool off a bit. Our starting time in the morning was 6.30 or 7 a.m. and we worked in the afternoon until everything was done.
Life on Halavo Bay was very busy, every day a working day, heat so intense that one wore an absolute minimum and there was practically no shade. We were under the command of the United States Navy - all our food supplies came through American sources but the good beef sourced from NZ was grabbed by the Americans, we were fobbed off with the mutton which was the only meat we saw. We had to take 2 very large salt tablets with each meal to counter salt loss and subsequent prickly heat. I was on No 6 Flying Boat Squadron at Halavo Bay for almost 12 months, then came VJ day and it was all over. Every piece of equipment which we had, we were required to take out on landing barges and dump in the sea. I saw probably millions of dollars of beautiful equipment dumped because the Americans insisted that it should not be reused. Most of us picked the best tools we could to take home for our own use - quite contrary to regulations. Slowly but surely, our squadron was reduced and our personnel repatriated. In my last fortnight at Halavo Bay I was the only senior NCO left and I was made Station Warrant Officer. We were in the 2nd to last aircraft to leave Halavo bay and so heavy was the equipment in the kit bag of every man that the aircraft went for many miles before it could take off - but at last got into the air and we were flown straight home from there where we landed at Hobsonville. I was given final leave of 1 month, discharged to the Air Force reserve, thus ended my contact with the Air Force after nearly 5 years.