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 IX)

NZ416235 W/O Ernie Alexander (Navigator)

Part IX : Halavo Bay

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.

After my discarge from hospital our squadron moved to Halavo Bay on Florida Island in the Solomons. Our crew was the first to arrive.

Halavo Bay was a previous Japanese base.

The control tower was built pagoda style, witht he walls made out of palm leaves. On every trip we did it was my job as navigator to collect the weather report, code books and information on the sector we were to fly on.

We rose at 4.00am, had breakfast, were briefed on our trip, and took off. Almost all of them were about 12 hours.

Halavo Bay was not particularly exciting, the rainfall was terrific, something in the vicinity of 250 inches in a year. Other islands recorded 400 inches.

We lived in tents for a start and were virtually surrounded by mud. When the trucks came to collect us or someone else for flying, they inevitably got stuck. So we were woken at 4.00 am whatever happened. With the high rainfall and humidity our clothes were always damp and musty. A lot of our equipment rusted and films stuck in our cameras. The tents often leaked. For a floor we had metal landing strips placed on logs. It never paid to drop anything through the holes because land crabs would take them away. Johnny Cowan, our engineer, dropped his fountain pen, and the last he saw was a crab marching away with it. They were huge animals about 8 inches across the back. A favourite trick of theirs was to climb our tents and slide down. A lot were run over by the trucks.

It was rather startling for the new-comer to listen to the bats. They flew low with a peculiar noise, and of course were hard to see. They were also quite big. The only other odd creatures about were sea snakes in some parts and giant lizards. One chap was leading one around on a rope and it was four feet long. Generally speaking wildlife took off when men arrived.

A native village was about three miles up a nearby stream. Apparently all the women folk took to the mountain tops when the Japs came, leaving the men and boys behind.

Food, the important item was poor, mainly because of the extremely high rate of chlorination and lack of knowledge on the cook's part. I would not be exaggerating to say more was thrown out than eaten. Spam, saukraut, dehydrated potatoes were always on the menu. As aircrew we received special rations. We claimed all we could get and hung on to them. Instead of going for meals we lived on toast and tinned fish, mostly salmon. Our favourite habit was to detail one to go for a meal and if it was satisfactory he would inform us and all would go.

Showers were erected outdoor, cold of course, which were very welcome in the heat. We took Atabrine tablets to protect us against Malaria, but even then some contracted. Our skin went a yellow colour, but that didn't matter, only ourselves to look at.

As at our previous base, we washed our own clothes, but of course we never saw an iron.

Generally speaking that summed up life at Halavo Bay. Writing letters, reading, sacking (sleeping) when we were off duty was all we could do.

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.

Diary of Ernest Kenyon Alexander (Part VIII)

NZ416235 W/O Ernie Alexander (Navigator)

Part VIII: Espiritu Santo

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.

Our Squadron moved to the New Hebrides after this, at a place called Espiritu Santo. It was a French - British Condominium, but all civilians had disappeared with the war. A few Chinese remained and lived in one area. They wandered around the camp looking for scraps of food. Occasionally hill tribes came down from the mountains on a searching mission. They carried bows and arrows and long knives, but appeared harmless. I can well remember watching them looking for souvenirs which had been discarded by us. One of them found a shoe far too big for him, but he hobbled around in it and was as proud as punch. When one found something they all darted in his direction. In peace time the island must have run several herds of cows. When we arrived they were just wandering about with calves of all ages suckling them. Espiritu Santo was the site of hundreds of acres of coconut plantations owned by Lever Bros., a rather pretty river named Renee went through the middle. We did a bit of exploring and travelled several miles up stream. The jungle was very thick and several places there were malaria mosquitos.

Our camp consisted of Quonset huts spread under coconut trees. The Americans had an excellent anti-malaria unit which kept a watch out for malaria spots. Our squadron was based in Segond Channel, a narrow inlet well sheltered. Warships of all kinds used it too and at times you could hardly move. Pilots had to be very careful landing and taking off. One of our boys, Colin Burgess, water-looped his plane one night and sheared the wing off when he hit a destroyer. A bomb landed on top of an engineer, he was seriously injured and eventually died. At the end of the channel there were submarine nets and another pilot collected one of these when he took off. Several of the crew were killed.

Our flying was mainly patrol work on a different sector every day. Sometimes we were engaged on hunter-killer exercises. This involved searching for a submarine during which aircraft were constantly in the area for 100 hours. Destroyers also patrolled, the idea was that the sub would have to come up sooner or later to charge its batteries and then have to face attack. On one occasion a sub was chased in a 20 mile radius for three weeks. It was attacked many times but crash dived. Eventually we heard no more and could only assume it was on the bottom for good.

We carried anti-submarine bombs on our wings, they were pre-set to go off at a certain depth.

The weather could be quite bad at times and most unpredictable, once it almost led to our undoing. I normally set a course from base, but this time skipper, Bill Mackley, said he would fly up the coast and I could give him a course from a certain Cape. All went well until we ran into a blinding storm, next thing we knew we were heading for a cliff face and Bill took wild evasive action with inches to spare. He must have almost tipped the plane over because everything ended up in the bilge. After this experience a course was set from base. On another occasion our plane developed engine trouble, but we got back without much bother. We found the catalinas were equipped with wonderful motors, they purred away for hours.

We saw little Japanese aerial activity in Santos. However on the anniversary of a certan Prince's death they sent a plane over and dropped a load of bombs. The only casualties were a lot of cows which got in the way.

One of the boys who came back from Canada with us, Ron Payne, was on a Ventura Squadron on the other side of the island. We visited him one day and he was most unhappy. His pilot was anything but safe and had been involved in several close shaves. "He will kill us all one day" he said, and in a couple of moths it happened. They took off the strip which was facing the sea and dived into the drink. all were lost. Ron had been home on leave a fortnight previously and was married during his few days off.

[JS Note: 9 June 1944 RNZAF Ventura NZ4564 captained by P/O Baird travelled from Vila to Santo and bounced when landing on an uneven part of the strip, on attempting to go around again the port wing struck trees and the a/c crashed and caught fire. NZ416152 W/O Ron Payne, 25 (Navigator), NZ414900 W/O Ryder Wakely, 27 (Wireless Op.), NZ4215747 Sgt Alec Miller, 19 (Air Gunner) and NZ40729 W/O Roy Tarrant, 26 (Air Gunner) were killed. Source: Martyn, E.W., For your tomorrow, Vol. II]

We lost several of another crew at Santos. F/O von Tunzleman was on detached flight to Funafuti Island [Tuvalu] and during take-off the second pilot misunderstood instructions with the throttles. They waterlooped, tore a wing off, and almost sank.

I spent a few days in an American base hospital towards the end of our stay in Santos. I contracted piles, and elected to have them removed by local anaesthetic. In the ward there were about 60 servicemen, mostly Americans. It was quite interesting because they represented about 25 nationalities. One chap fought for the Germans in the First World War when he was 16 years of age. Many of them only emigrated to America in recent years. They all had one thing in common, a great love of their new country.

After my discharge from hospital our squadron moved to Halavo Bay on Florida Island in the Solomons. Our crew was the first to arrive.

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 ...

Diary of Ernest Kenyon Alexander (Part VI)

NZ416235 W/O Ernie Alexander (Navigator)

Part VI: To the Pacific

These experiences are from extracts of letters that I wrote to my grandfather Mr. A. K. Alexander of 15 Oakley Avenue, Hamilton, when I did my aircrew training in Canada.

[JS Note: After leave in the United States] Our journey back to Canada was non-stop, and we were posted to Halifax, for embarkation. When we arrived we found 7,000 fully trained aircrew waiting for their notices. We were stony broke and had to wait about 10 days for some pay. We had less than we should have had, because Mick Cassidy lost $25.00 and we helped him with his loss. And to cap it all, Colin Bailey was looking through his money belt as he did periodically, and found $2.00 just as our pay came. How we could have helped him spend that $2.00. A money belt was worn around your waist under your clothes and contained many compartments for your money. All servicemen were issued with these.

We stayed in Halifax for six weeks and had a good rest. The course was strenuous and the leave quite hectic, having travelled many thousands of miles. It was good to see some of our friends who trained at other stations in Canada. I don't think we went far afield in Halifax , because we were on 24 hour call. Bob Shewry was one of our course who never came to Halifax. He married a Canadian girl and was posted to the Bermudas. Later he operated from Ireland.

One thing that amused me was when a bottle of Coke formerly priced at 5 cents in a Coke machine, was increased to 6 cents. Their answer was to leave every sixth bottle empty. What a joke it was to be caught with a bottle of nothing.

In Halifax we had time to reflect on the past 10 months. What a wonderful training we had received, we all agreed the Empire Training Scheme was a great success. All the allied nations sent their airmen to Canada to train. In Toronto one station was called 'Little Norway', all the trainees had escaped from Norway in boats. There were Frenchmen, Belgians, Poles, Americans, and all the Empire nations.

Our mail was fairly regular, about six weeks to two months, and as far as I know I never lost any. Censors never worried us, as we soon learnt to keep any mention of the war or our movements out of them.

While in Halifax we received news that several of our mates who went to England as bombardiers were already killed in operations. It was a particularly bad patch in the war, with heavy raids. The Atlantic was also a hot spot with heavy submarine activity. We were told that batches of 20 airmen were being sent across on freighters, as that was the only way. We waited for our turn and then one day a call came. In alphabetical the names were read, Alexander, Bailey, Cowern and so on. We were off to England, we thought. As servicemen we were never told our destination. We said our hurried farewells, "see you on the other side", we cried. On the train and south we went. The next we knew we were in New York. An army truck backed up to our carriage, loaded us in like cattle, took us to the ship, repeated the performance, and the gang plank was up. It was night time and we soon settled into our bunks. The boat was the T.S.S. Akaroa. Next day we discovered we were heading South, but at this stage it did not mean a great deal. We were in a convoy, destroyers and cruisers as escorts, and aircraft and balloons overhead. What a contrast to ten months ago when we were on our own. during that period the German subs sank 400 ships in three months. The Americans didn't realise the reflected lights from the coastal cities were silhouetting shipping and the Germans just sat and waited and picked them off. However blackouts changed that.

In a day or two we knew we were headed for the canal again and it was the Pacific for us. In six weeks we were home and after a weeks leave sent onto the islands. First of all Wing Commander Freeman, later killed on Kittyhawks, interviewed us and said we would fly on Catalinas. What a thrill, on of the biggest planes about at that time.

[JS Note: NZ1026 Wg/Cmdr Trevor Freeman DSO DFC, officer commanding the RNZAF Fighter Wing, on 17 December 1943 flying P-40N Warhawk NZ3153/F and leading 24 aircraft, arrived over Rabaul 1030 hours. Was seen under attack by seven or eight enemy fighters at 1500 feet near Hunter Point, SW New Ireland. Lost without trace. Source Martyn, E.W., For your tomorrow, Vol. II]

Some of the boys were put on Hudsons and Venturas. So in due course I was a navigator on No. 6 F.B. Squadron in the Pacific.

A week in New Zealand soon went and we boarded the Matua for Suva. The temperature rose quickly as it was only a three day trip north. Everyone enjoyed sitting on the deck lapping up the sunshine. the meals were excellent and the cabins first class. shorts were donned on the second day and some of them did not fit too well. One chap, Bill Jordon, a short fat chap found his came below his knees. "If that is what they give me, I will wear them" he said, and he did. He subsequently became 2nd wireless operator in our crew.

It was a different feeling leaving home the second time. Most of the boys were quiet, nobody talked, just wandered to their cabins as the boat sailed. hard to explain how we all felt. Going to a war zone was different perhaps.

In Suva we were sent to Lauthala Bay, allotted wooden huts in a dispersal area. They were small but adequate, about two or four of us in each. One door and four wooden windows which we pushed outwards. We slept on stretchers and had a mosquito net suspended from the ceiling. when you piled into bed you made sure it was tucked in.

Coming direct from a Canadian winter we were all pretty pale even though we passed through the tropics. The mosquitos obviously knew this and enjoyed their feast. For the first ten days they simply ate us alive. They mostly attacked us in the evening when we were taking star shots. We were anxious to perfect our astro and practised quite a lot. In a few days I had my first flight as second navigator. We were aloft 7 1/2 hours and I thought this was terrific. Having meals in the air was a new experience. It made me realise that navigating a flying boat was no walkover and we were going to be real busy.

From the air the islands looked beautiful, the colours and coral reefs were terrific. Lauthala Bay was known as an Operational Training Unit.

It was strange being on a flying boat and landing on the water. The creak as the hull hit the water was quite strange, and if the landing was a bit off we would rise momentarily before we hit again.

After a trip or two I found to my delight I was not being airsick and this was a great relief. After my experience in Canada I wondered just how I would be. Throughout my flying career I was never ever sick again, even though others all around me were. I put it down to the fact that in Canada I was so anxious to do well I must have suffered some sort of nervous anxiety.

In due course we were crewed up, nine in all. My Skipper (First Pilot) was Bill Mackley DFC ...

Diary of Ernest Kenyon Alexander (Part V)

NZ416235 W/O Ernie Alexander (Navigator)

Part V: Chatham, some personalities and graduation

These experiences are from extracts of letters that I wrote to my grandfather Mr. A. K. Alexander of 15 Oakley Avenue, Hamilton, when I did my aircrew training in Canada.

By mid term most boys on the course discovered how they were faring. The examinations gave them an indication of their ability or lack of it as far as being navigators was concerned.

Early on the course Charlie Frazer went home, supposedly air sick, but I think it was excessive home sickness. For a start his wife was not keen on him going overseas, and there was slight friction. To make it worse the first six weeks in Chatham he received no mail, it went elsewhere. Poor Charlie was thinking the worst with all the Yanks in New Zealand. After the war I met him in Papakura, he was one of the attendants at the Kingseat Hospital. The next to go home was Pip Stapleton, never keen on it at any stage, and then Harold Crampton, Tom Potts, Ted Thurston and the two Marshalls turned it in. The first two were grey wolves and the whole five remustered as bombardiers. They actually qualified for their wings before we finished our course and were on operations in England when we were in Halifax. Harold Crampton was killed when the bomb from another Stirling took the nose off their plane, and Harold went with it. The pilot bought the plane home with the greatest difficulty, a great feat. [JS Note. Friday 11 August 1944, 514 Squadron Lancaster II LL697/B2 took off at 14.13 hours captained by W/O W.D. Brickwood for a raid on Lens rail yards. Over the target the nose was struck by a falling bomb. Air bomber, Harold Crompton, was thrown out. LL697 returned to Woolbridge Suffolk at 17.30 hrs. LL697 never flew again and the surviving crew members flying Lancaster II LL731/U were shot down over Europe on the 12 September 1944. Source Martyn, E.W., For your tomorrow, Vol. II] Harold was one who performed amazing feats with the astro-graph, which no other navigator did. "Cooking" the astro-graph it was called, but it didn't teach you navigation. He also developed a 'plum' when he joined the RNZAF and it became part of him. A character, liked to be popular.

Tom Potts, a former school teachershould have passed his course but the green Canadian bottled beer was to great an attraction. Every night without fail he spent hours in the canteen, and by 10 O'clock would be on top of the piano, singing (or trying to) like a troubador. Often he would come back to the barracks and grab a mop and march up and down reciting the "The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven", until someone would drop from the top bunk and put him under the cold shower, then he would cry like a baby. He was killed in England after a few raids. [JS Note. 24 July 1944, 75 (NZ) Squadron Lancaster I HK575/O took off at 2155 hrs for raid on Stuttgart. Shot down by night-fighter and crashed near Chateau Voue killing the crew of seven including Air Bomber NZ421143 Thomas Potts, age 27, and Captain NZ415216 James McRae, age 27. Source Martyn, E.W., For your tomorrow, Vol. II]

Most course members lost trace of Ted Thurston, but he survived the war. someone saw him in Wellington arguing with the referee during a game of rugby football. He was always a thorn in my side because he did his best to prevent me from studying. A favourite jibe of his was, "You will do well Ernie if you work hard". A type of fifth columnist.

Of the two Jamiesons, Laurie was definitely killed, and no one ever heard of the other one. I fancy he went west somehow. [JS Note. 31 May 1944, 15 Squadron Lancaster I LM121/C took off from Mildenhall at 2357 hrs and was shot down by a night-fighter killing the crew of seven including Air Bomber NZ415636 Laurence Jamieson, age 26. Source Martyn, E.W., For your tomorrow, Vol. II]

Towards the end of our course two others dropped out, they lost confidence believing they could not cope with the job. On the other hand some of the older boys stuck it out. They had left school many years before the war and their attitude was, they can throw me out, but I will not go voluntarily. Typical of them was Jack McConachie and Mick Cassidy. Jack was an electrician and Mick a coalman. I can still remember Jack arguing for some vital marks in the subject Electricity and Magnetism. He knew his sparks but the instructor knew the book side of it. However Jack squeezed about three marks which he badly needed. Both eventually flew Catalinas and made good navigators.

The top three on the course were Ross Laurenson (died of Meningitis after the war [JS Note. 16 April 1945], Laurie Berg and Jim Lyon. All had just left university and swot was no trouble to them.

A spur to our course was a statement by an instructor that whoever came bottom, would be posted to British Columbia to train on the Torpedo-Bombers Hampdens. No one minded British Columbia, but Hampdens were suicide. The average expectancy of life was about two raids. Fortunately for us, the only Canadian who joined the course, Len Saffron, volunteered. We never heard if he survived. [JS Note. Len Saffron went on to fly in RCAF 422 Squadron and survived the war.]

Graduation day was a wonderful occasion, a culmination of weeks of hard work and for all who passed a great achievement. When it is considered to get into the air force you were required to pass a strict medical, do pre air force educational training, and then an extremely hard course covering about nine months, the successful ones had something to be proud of.

I started in Rotorua with a course of 60. I came second in that lot, and 30 were aqccepted to train as navigators, the remainder doing the bombardier course. Nineteen finally received the observers wing on that parade, a proud moment and no one hid their elation.

My marks were Navigation No.1 76%, Navigation No.2 71%, Maps and Charts 88%, Meteorology 71%, Compasses 65%, Reconnaisance 90%, Photography 88%, Instruments 64%, Aircraft recognition 76%, Signals (written) 64%, Signals (practical) 95%, Bombing 90%, Armaments 90%.

My average was 78.5% and I came fifth, a result of a lot of hard work. Believe me it did not come easy. The total hours flown on course including night and day amounted to 87, mostly in trips of no more than three hours.

So I was a fully fledged navigator, and in future would be responsible for giving correct courses, finding out where we were, and working out E.T.A. (estimated time of arrivals). The full significance of this responsibility had not dawned on me at this stage. My only thoughts, "others were doing it, why couldn't I?"

However we were faced with more training yet, six weeks at Fingal, Ontario, for bombing and gunnery, and another six weeks at Summerside in Prince Edward Island. The latter really gave us confidence, we were made to see that navigation really worked. It was mainly reconnaisance training, flying out to sea about 150 miles and returning home again. To find out we could do it was great. Usually we were given the job of finding a harbour, photographing it, drawing all the details on a plan, such as ships, wharves, oil tanks, etc. Because we had to skim over the sea at nought feet, the pilots loved it. Such a contrast to the humdrum flying. One day a pilot shot up a farmer who was driving his horse and sledge across the frozen ground. The horse took off, leaving the farmer shaking his fist at the monster above. I often wonder the outcome of this.

During the whole of our training in Canada we had only three breaks. One was a long weekend when we went to Quebec and the other two at the end of courses, when we visited the United States. [JS Note : Here Ernie uses several pages describing his leave in Quebec, Boston, Detroit, Pittsburg, Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York.]

Diary of Ernest Kenyon Alexander (Part IV)

NZ416235 W/O Ernie Alexander (Navigator)

Part IV: 10 Air Observers School, Chatham.

These experiences are from extracts of letters that I wrote to my grandfather Mr. A. K. Alexander of 15 Oakley Avenue, Hamilton, when I did my aircrew training in Canada.

Flying, which everyone on the course looked forward to, started soon after we arrived. The first was a familiarisation trip with two navigators. The greatest problem was to realise that when you were working out a course, the plane was still heading on the old one and wouldn't stop, but we soon learned that no matter what you gave the pilot he would always bring you home. Most were old bush pilots who did hours of flying in the North and were reputed to be able to fly by the seat of their pants. No pilot would venture too far away from the beaten track. At night time they would keep a good eye on the towns. Once, however this didn't happen. A pupil called Scotty, an ex Grey wolf (grounded pilot) gave a reciprocal course on the home leg. The pilot flew it this time, and ironically was recognising all the towns on the return journey. In due course their E.T.A. (estimated time of arrival) had expired and Chatham wasn't there. They flew on and soon were short on fuel, and turned on their landing lights to find somewhere to land. They found the edge of a lake and landed in shallow water, pulling up just in front of a huge rock. Scotty and the crew found they were in Halifax or nearby. He always had a habit of pulling his flying gear over his pyjamas, and spent the next two days wandering around like this. Finally he was washed out of the course, and later did a bombardier's training. He went to England and apparently survived the war.

The only problem with flying as far as I was concerned was airsickness. When the doctor told me he could do no more I just put up with it. Once I was forced to return home, but this proved fatal. Once more and I would be grounded I was told, so I never turned back. My standard equipment was a collection of cardboard boxes to contain what I couldn't hold. I eventually was so bad that the mere smell of a plane started me off. After a few minutes i was in the dry reach stage. I squared the pilots to keep quiet and I did my best, but my air work suffered. Of course I had to dispose of the boxes before returning, so the pleasant field below were the usual target. Poor devils on earth. The boys always reminded me to take my standard equipment with me. "Got your boxes" they would quip. Two on the course did go home because of air sickness.

A favourite pastime in 10 A.O.S. was to raid one anothers dormitory as a way of relaxation. Usually all ended well, except one night when a French-Canadian was involved. Poor sport he was, and informed the orderly officer who happened to be an American, a reconnaissance instructor.

One N.Z.'er and an Aussie had been celebrating too much, and subsequently were sent to an Air Force jail in Monckton for a week to cool off. But this turned the heat on at Chatham 10 A.O.S. A group of three Aussies planned reprisals, which incidently was one of the best kept secrets of the war. I personally only knew who one was, and that was when he left Canada.

The first act was to cut the stairways down with a fire axe. All the camp received a weeks C.B. (confined to barracks) for this. Act No. 2, do the job again and cut through the repairs this time. Result, 14 days C.B for the camp. But the rub was that the instructors were involved too, they couldn't leave camp when their courses were involved. Finally the Commanding Officer decided only the Aussies and N.Z.'ers were responsible, so the rest of the pupils were set free.

The select three planned further reprisals and amongst these were stealing the station flag, a copy of Janes Fighting Ships, and examination papers set for reconnaissance. The latter two belonged to the American officer, and this was a distinct embarrassment to him because Janes were a secret document to be kept under lock and key. They were a copy of all the latest planes and ships of all nations of the World, allied and enemy. He had left them on his desk.

In 14 days order was restored, the Commanding Officer was relieved of his position, and the brains behind the whole scheme eventually was given a commission off course. A well kept secret, otherwise he would probably have been discharged from the Air Force.

My personal action in this was to skip camp after about 10 days, for a few hours at the pictures. The stress of constant study, often late at night, needed a break, and Bob Shewry and myself decide to try. We marched along the road to the hospital to visit a supposed sick friend, then darted across the road to the fence and pulled the netting apart, which had been conveniently cut by the first N.Z. course at Chatham. I learn't afterwards that the Officers' mess was in sight of this spot, but they were human. We darted across to some woods, joined the road and made our way to the pictures, taking our aircrew flashes out of our caps. Recognised Special Police (S.P.'s) but they turned the blind eye. The fun started when we went to the Australia-N.Z. Club for coffee and doughnuts. The girls on duty were astounded to see us and plagued us with questions on what was going on back at camp. Apparently the town was alive with rumours, the incident had really livened up the place.

Coffee almost finished and two S.Po's appeared. One was a chap whom I had been invited home with by some locals for dinner, after attending church a couple of Sundays previously. He must have decided I was a reasonable sort of bloke because he just stood contemplating. Feeling cheeky I asked how many he had caught tonight and he said "You are the eleventh". "You won't need us," I replied, and to our amazement he said, "If you get back to camp without being caught we will say nothing." (Just our names, rank and number in his book in case). Bob and I moved off in due course, and went in the back of the camp as the night planes were coming in. We ducked behind snow drifts when lights were showing, and finally mingled witht he returning crews. We lived on tenter hooks for a few days, but nothing happened. All training camps in Canada were surrounded by tall cyclone netting fences, with barbed wire on top. The only legal way out was by the guard gate with a pass.

Before the snows started a sports day was held between the courses, football, tug-of-war, etc. etc. Number 58, our course, won with 39 points, the next closest being 32. It was a great day. The Canuks thought we were mad the way we played football.

Money is none too plentiful, and the generosity of the people is appreciated. As one way of saving money we cut each others hair. My home efforts are finding plenty of customers over here. A barber charges about 75 cents, N.Z. price 1/6, Canadian equivalent 4/-.