Crew of WW2 Lancaster DV189 T2

Crew photo from left Thomas "Rocky" Roxby, Jack Sawkins, Don Fadden, James "Gil" Bryson, Charlie "Taff" Gundry, Jim Donnan, Paul Evans.

 

USS Barb WW2

USS Barb crew WWII

 

Jim Donnan lancaster wireless operator as a POW in Germany

 

A V1 about to impact, probably in Antwerp. Picture courtesy of Terry Foote, taken by his father. You have to admire the bravery of the (American) photographer!

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Christmas at war, with more seasonal tales, including a special feature on what Christmas was like in various countries around the globe during WW2.  
V1 Doodlebug bombs over Manchester
The Last Flight of Lancaster DV189 
The Journal of Flight Sergeant Jim Browning
Much more!

 

Fighting Through Podcast WW2 Episode 96 -

Christmas at War Around the World 2023

More great WW2 unpublished Christmassy!

More ww2 history

WWII military history podcasts

Fighting through is a regularly recommended WWII memoirs podcast

Intro Passage 1 ww2 memoirs

On Christmas Eve 1944, 45 Doodlebugs were launched off the Yorkshire coast from beneath Heinkel He 111 bombers flying over the North Sea.

Intro Passage 2 ww2 podcasts

He scrambled up and lunged at me head-first, gripping me like a

wrestler, trying to make me fall. I prised him off me. He swiped at

my head, missed and grabbed me again. I pushed him off,

Intro Passage 3 ww2 memoirs

It was a moonlight and as I crossed the street a shadow passed over my head. It was a v1 bomb. I was 10 years old.

Intro Passage 4 ww2 history

Suddenly a series of thuds vibrated through the floor and the aircraft seemed to bank away to starboard. I leapt up from my seat to get a look at the starboard engines – they were on fire.

TR

Welcome

Welcome to this ww2 podcast

Voted one of the best military history podcasts by 5000 regular listeners

 

Hello again and another Christmas WW2 welcome to the Fighting Through second world war podcast. 

 

Ko Paul Cheall to ku ing wah – I’ll explain that later but I’ve said it for listener Louey Trevett – I’ll explain shortly.

 

Put it another way, I’m Paul Cheall, son of Bill Cheall whose WWII memoirs have been published by Pen and Sword – in FTFDTH. 

The aim of this podcast is to read family stories, memoirs, and interviews with veterans in all the countries and all the forces. I dare you to listen!

Today, we celebrate another Christmas at war and indeed Hogmanay, with a Santa’s sack absolutely bulging with more seasonal tales of guns and goodwill, including a special feature on what Christmas was like in various countries around the globe. What was it like?

And just to remind you, if you want to fill your December with a catch up on all the previous Christmas episodes for this podcast, you can access them easily by clicking on the episodes item on the website menu and selecting - Christmas! And I for one cannot wait. It’s what December is for!

 

Did you recognise that mystery sound?  It’s a poignant throwback to vintage 1940’s Christmases when those lucky enough to have enough peace and a tree to decorate could do just that – I couldn’t resist downloading it from FreeSound when I was shopping around for the backing music for this episode.

 

 

Surprise ww2 memoirs

Here’s this week’s surprise story

Bomber

On December 20, 1943, a miracle happened in the darkest hours of World War II.

Just four days before Christmas, two enemies—a German fighter ace and an American bomber pilot—met in the skies over Germany. What they did - had not happened before, or since. They decided not to kill one another.

The American’s bomber was damaged. The German’s fighter was primed for the kill. But when the German’s eyes met those of the American pilot, something changed in both men.

Instead of destroying the bomber, the German escorted it out of Germany, to safety. The two pilots parted with a salute. And then, in the late 1980s, as old men, the American and the German searched for one another, reunited, and became best friends.

It’s the greatest little-known story of World War II.

The story is taken from a book by Adam Makos - A Higher Call: An Incredible True Story of Combat and Chivalry in the War-Torn Skies of World War II.

There’s an interview between the author and Battleland at the link in the WWII show notes.

Link to article

Bomber enemies became friends in ww2.

https://nation.time.com/2012/12/20/a-christmas-story-but-not-by-charles-dickens/

 

Moving on:

Save the last bullet - The Shoes - and ww2 podcasts

This story is from Heidi Langbein’s book Save the Last Bullet. Short but very sweet revenge is how I’d describe it. Young Willi has been moved away from home for safety from the war. He hasn’t started fighting yet - This is when he’s still at school.

Chapter 14 Schleching

Willi has been staying with a family in Konstanz, the Volmars. But the time to move on has arrived …

So Willi left Schleching and settled into a small hotel with the rest of his school group. This passage picks up his story a few weeks later when the kids go out on a walk.

 

One day in late February 1945, the sun finally broke through the

cloud cover for the first time in three months, and the temperature

was almost mild. We decided to go hiking to escape the feeling of

having been cooped up all winter and climbed a mountain called

the [Gygle Shtyne] Geigelstein. We took turns racing up the steep incline, enjoying

our newfound freedom, with stumbles and falls along the way. The

valley below us, sparsely dotted with quaint wooden cabins still

partially covered in snow, looked peaceful, like nothing bad could

ever reach it.

When we arrived at the top, breathless and beaming with

satisfaction that we had made it, we lay down to sunbathe. The

sunshine felt pleasantly warm, despite there still being patches of

snow on the ground. I must have fallen into a deep sleep for a while

because when I woke up I was alone and found that some kid had

removed my shoes – a pair I’d been given at Christmas.

The sun was lower, and it had to be afternoon

already. I stared down at the mountain trail that I would have to

brave in bare feet, and I knew I had better get started because it

was going to take a long time and I risked running out of daylight.

 

Without shoes, the path was steep and treacherous. I kept slipping

and had to grab on to rocks to catch myself, every time wincing at

the pain of the sharp stones and brambles embedding themselves in

my feet as I struggled for purchase, and scraping my soles in trying to

secure a foothold so I wouldn’t tumble down the mountain. When I

finally got to the bottom I could hardly walk any more, my feet were

so raw and bloody. As I limped into the village, a kid who had been

on the hike informed on the culprit, probably expecting to witness a

good show when I got my hands on him. The prankster’s name was

Karl Hasenkamm. His parents owned a bar in Witten, close to my

parents’ house.

‘You just wait …’ I hissed as I passed the kid in search of Karl.

 

The kid followed me.

 

I found Karl walking down the street with some classmates, my

shoes dangling around his neck tied together by their shoelaces.

‘Hey, idiot,’ I called out.

‘What?’ he countered, stopping in the middle of the street with a

swagger, trying to impress his friends.

I walked up to him, adrenalin pumping so hard I didn’t feel the

pain in my feet. He didn’t see the punch coming. I hit him so hard

I knocked him off his feet, and my shoes flew off his neck on to

the ground. A circle formed around us, the other kids egging us on.

He scrambled up and lunged at me head-first, gripping me like a

wrestler, trying to make me fall. I prised him off me. He swiped at

my head, missed and grabbed me again. I pushed him off, and when

he charged back, I hit him again, so hard that he flew back, fell and,

this time, didn’t get back up.

‘That’s what, arsehole’, I said,

I picked up my shoes, and walked

away with a slight limp but with my head held high, leaving him on

the ground moaning.

I was pretty sure he’d think twice about having fun at my

expense again.

There you go, that’s from Heidi Langbein’s book Save the Last Bullet. Episode 69 if you want more.

Feedback time

Sue Metcalfe – No time for dreams

Last ep we covered the memoirs of Maj Robert Metcalfe in the Green Howards at Dunkirk and more. His daughter Sue Metcalfe emailed me to says thanks for the work I did

“What a heartfelt tribute to my father. You did his story justice, and made his story live again. It was very touching for me personally and he would be absolutely tickled by your podcast. Thank you so much.

 

Dad wrote his book in 1995 when he was 80 years old and published it two years later. He passed in 2005 at age 90. He could still keep time to the GH regimental march and never grew old. He did have the shrapnel in his groin surgically removed in the early 1960s. He never liked being in a hospital - perhaps too many memories.   

 

Best,

Sue 

 

Bob Metcalfe Steam!

What the heck – ever on the lookout for Christmas stories, and whilst were on the subject of Bob Metcalfe, yours truly just happened to notice a little Christmas escapade in Bob’s book.

Drinks and trains!!

Another Bob

Here’s another passage from Bob’s book No Time for Dreams.

It’s when he’s based in Sicily in 1943

Louis Trevett from Waiheke in NZ.

who shared his family history with us on the last episode

 

Hi paul I just listened to episode 95 and noticed that you absolutely slaughtered the word waiheke. it is pronounced why hekky - say it really fast also for fun.

 

Of course in looking all this up I discovered that this language is Maori.

 

Louis cruelly taunted me further by asking:

 

Could you please say this on your next podcast Ko Paul toku ing wah

which means, in Maori, my name is paul. Well there you go Louis – I did it twice.

 

PS from Louis

The troops in the desert most feared by the germans were the 28th Maori battalion because they feared that if they surrendered they would be shot.

 

Sounds to me a bit like the fierce Ghurkas from the country of Nepal, near India, who were also greatly feared by the enemy, particularly for the damage they could do with their long curved knives – the deadly Kukrie.

 

Louis thanks for all that. I can now add Why hekky to my list of other previously mis-pronounced words like leftenant, Cenbra and Melbun amongst many others probably! What would I be without you kind listeners to correct my pronunciation – probably episode 500 I guess! Thought for the day – pronunciation only has one O in it. Think about that.

 

TR

 

Family stories 3 The Last Flight of Lancaster DV189 T2

Royal Air Force

About air raids on Germany

2005

THE LAST FLIGHT OF LANCASTER BIII DV189 BQ-T2 by

Jim Donnan

Features Jim Donnan, wireless operator, submitted to BBC by Jim's son-in-law David Kirk

(Submitted by Jim's son-in-law, David Kirk with the full permission of his widow Margaret.)

It was New Year's Day 1944. Following two days of rest, we were back on operations. Our crew was on the Order of Battle and for this particular trip we were to fly in Lancaster DV189 T2.

We had been engaged in routine pre-operational checks and testing of our equipment prior to the main briefing, which commenced in a tense atmosphere. When the curtain was drawn aside exposing the operational map, the target was Berlin for the third consecutive time, only this time our route to the Big City was almost direct from the Dutch coast across an area which was becoming increasingly dangerous because of night fighter activity.

Deteriorating weather conditions delayed our take-off for several hours. It was therefore difficult to relax during this period.

Our crew:-

F.O. J G Bryson Pilot

Sgt. T F M Roxby Navigator

Sgt. D F Fadden Flight Engineer

1. Sgt. P H Evans Bomb Aimer

Sgt. J J Sawkins Mid Upper Gunner

Sgt. W C Gundry Rear Gunner

Sgt. J E Donnan Wireless Operator

We joined 550 Squadron on its formation at Waltham, Grimsby on the 25 November 1943, having transferred from 12 Squadron at Wickenby, where we had flown on operations from the 3rd September until the 24th November. Our last three operations there had also taken us to Berlin.

As New Year's Day was drawing to a close, we were preparing for take-off and at fourteen minutes past midnight we were airborne and on our way at last. The sky was dark and overcast as we flew through layers of broken cloud, climbing to our operational height heading east over the North Sea.

As we approached the Dutch coast, we could see that the anti-aircraft defences were very active and we became alert to the dangers ahead. Flying over Germany there were occasional bursts of flak and flashes lit up the thick, unbroken cloud along the route. While searching the night fighter waveband, I was aware of considerable activity by the German Control; we found it necessary to keep a sharp lookout even though our trip had been uneventful so far.

Our navigator called for a slight change in course for the final leg to Berlin as we reached a position between Hannover and Bremen.

It was almost immediately afterwards that a series of thuds vibrated through the floor and the aircraft seemed to bank away to starboard. I leapt up from my seat to the astrodome where I could see the starboard engines were on fire. As I switched over from radio to intercom, I saw that a fire had started under the navigator's table on the floor just behind the pilot. It was soon burning fiercely.

The pilot gave the order to abandon the aircraft. I clipped on my parachute and as I moved forward, it was found that the front escape hatch would not open. The engineer joined the bomb aimer in trying to release it. As I stood behind the navigator, waiting to exit, the rear gunner said that he was having trouble with the rear turret. I then signalled that I would go to the rear exit. The navigator was standing beside the pilot ready to exit as I scrambled over the main spar and along the fuselage to the rear door, losing my shoes on the way.

When I got there, the mid upper gunner was ready to leave and the rear gunner was out of his turret and preparing to come forward. I then jettisoned the rear door as the flames from the starboard wing streamed past, licking the tail plane. Grasping the release handle on my parachute, I was preparing to jump, but I must have lost consciousness as I have no recollection of what happened next, or how I left the plane.

When I regained consciousness, my parachute was already open and I was floating in pitch darkness, very cold, and my feet were freezing. I seemed to be a long time coming down but as I descended through the clouds, dark shadows appeared and I landed on soft ground in an open space. Gathering up my parachute, I dashed over to a clump of trees, where I sat on the ground shivering and wondering how I could avoid capture. I removed all the identification from my battledress, put padding from my Mae West inside my socks and after disposing of my unwanted equipment, I set off walking to get away from the area where I had landed.

The ground was very soft and wet and there was no sound of any activity in the area. It was still dark and I appeared to be going around in circles. Snow had been falling for a while and I was very wet and cold. I then stumbled across a tool shed where I was able to shelter and found a pair of wooden clogs.

When daylight came, I could see that the shed was at the side of a track which ran through a peat cutting area with blocks of peat stacked along the side.

I ventured out, keeping to the countryside and away from the roads. I was very thirsty and decided to look for a more populated area where I could get help. I made my way along a narrow country road until I could see what looked like farm buildings in the distance. I made my way towards the buildings and although the area appeared to be inhabited, there was no one about. I rested in a cowshed until evening. I really knew that I could not go on without help, my feet and legs were swollen and the clogs were useless.

As there did not appear to be anyone about, I decided to go out in search of food and drink. I had not gone far when I was challenged by a man who came out and said something that I did not understand. I indicated that I wanted something to drink. I was taken into a kitchen and given food and drink. Various people came and asked me questions that I could not understand, so I did not try to answer.

After some time there, I was taken to a coffee house and given a glass of beer whilst further discussion took place between the people there. Soon afterwards a lady came in and spoke to me in English. I couldn't take in what she was saying but I replied, "Oh, you speak English!" She then told me that she thought that I was a British airman and asked me why I had not got any shoes on. She said that someone would come to see me. It was not long after that when two men in uniform arrived and I was taken into custody.

The following day, I was interviewed by a Luftwaffe officer at the nearby Flugplatz, airbase. He told me who I was and asked me where I had been since the crash. He asked me if I would like to know about my comrades, saying that they had all been accounted for but two had been killed in the crash.

It was then that I found that the engineer and bomb aimer were with me at the same Flugplatz. They were able to assist me when we were taken under armed guard by train to Dulag Luft at Frankfurt where we met up with our two air gunners. After spending several days there, we were transported by rail in cattle trucks to Stalag IVb at Muhlberg/Elbe where we remained until the end of the war.

In May 1990 I met Dick Breedijk who was very interested in researching aircraft crash sites between 1940 and 1945 in Holland. Dick very kindly volunteered to help locate where my aircraft had crashed in Germany and after very thorough and painstaking research    Holtrop near Bremen. He had communicated with many local historians and people in the area and as a result of his investigations, an article was published in the local German newspaper "Die Harke", of which the following are translated extracts:

"Friedrich Deike: ' The Bomber Crash in January 1944 Almost Became a Catastrophe for Schweringen'

"In the middle forties, hundreds of 4-engined Lancaster bombers flew over the territory of Nienburg to transport their deadly cargo towards Berlin and other cities. Not just a few were attacked by German fighters and shot down. It happened to the seven crew members of a Lancaster that started out a few minutes after the end of New Year's Day 1944 from Waltham, Grimsby and belonged to 550 Squadron. Two and a half hours' later it was shot down near Nienburg by a night fighter. Two crew members were killed. Five bailed out by parachute. . . . . . ."

"Friedrich Deike and Heinrich Eickhoff were, in 1944, only 15 and 16 years old and lived in Holtrup. They haven't forgotten that New Year's evening of 1944. There was an air raid alarm and Eickhoff had just returned home from a party in Sebbenhausen. It was a soggy, cold night when the sirens started to shriek."

“‘Suddenly there was a loud explosion like I have never heard,' he says.’ Outside it was as clear as day and there was fire everywhere. In the cellar the preserves fell from the shelves. Immediately the word spread around that a bomber had crashed and exploded and some airmen had bailed out by parachute' . . . ."

"Friedrich says that when his father looked out, he suddenly stared at a sea of fire. The deafening explosion blew open doors, plaster fell from the walls, windows shattered and roofs were ripped off . . . ."

Friedrich added:

"The bomber was blown into thousands of pieces. The four motors were found hundreds of metres away in a field near Schweringen. The crash place was turned into a deep crater"

"Heinrich is now the Burgermeister of Holtrup and Schweringen where he was born. He states: 'I can vividly remember the day the British bomber crashed. It crashed with its complete bomb load, causing a huge crater, with wreckage parts scattered over a wide area. As a curious 14 year old boy, I arrived at the crater before the area was sealed off. A local military unit came and searched the area for bodies, which were put in a coffin. Three men were taken prisoner in the area. We didn't know that there were seven crew.'

 

* * * *

Jim Donnan:

Thanks to Dick’s fantastic work I was able to return to the area on the 2 January 1994 the fiftieth anniversary of our crash.

I flew with my son-in-law David Kirk, from Manchester to Amsterdam, and then travelled by car driven by Dick Breedijk. We were also accompanied by Herman Bijlard, a fellow researcher and friend of Dick. (Herman had translated for Dick the many letters to and from Germany in the course of his research.) Our purpose was to visit the graves of my two comrades in Hannover War Cemetery, and also the crash area where they had died.

On Monday the 3rd we were met in Holtrup by the Burgermeister, Heinrich Bockman, Friedrich Deike and Wilheim Meier. We then proceeded to the crash site at Schweringsfeld in Holtrup, where a reporter, Britta Mahrholz from the newspaper "Die Harke", greeted us and took a keen interest in the event that happened fifty years ago.

The crash of the Lancaster and the explosion of the bomb load could have been a major disaster for Holtrup or Schweringen, but it took place between them.

When we left the site of the crash, we were taken to the Coffee House in Holtrup where we were introduced to Annie Huppe, who is now 82. She was the lady who came to the coffee house when I was taken there after being captured because she could speak English. She was very pleased to find that I was now wearing shoes!

At an informal gathering held there, Herr Bockman made a short speech welcoming me to Holtrup and comparing my visit on this occasion with the ill-fated flight in which I took part fifty years before. He expressed his gratitude for my announcing my current visit unlike the one I made fifty years previously. He also made reference to the German saying, that if a person survived a disaster, as I had done, then they were reborn. We should, therefore, be celebrating my fiftieth birthday, to which we all drank. (copiously, I have to say).

 

Everybody was very helpful and friendly and we had a most enjoyable time.

During the next day, we were shown around the local area where the crew had come down by parachute and the locations where some had been captured. We also travelled around the very boggy area into which I had descended but I was unable to identify the place where I had buried my parachute.

We then visited the Flugplatz where three of us were taken after we had been captured, and from there to the railway station from which we were escorted by train to Dulag Luft. The whole of the area was very much as I had remembered it, although I did not see much of it in daylight at that time. It was, however, very wet and some areas were flooded due to the overflowing of the River Weser from recent heavy rain.

Before leaving the area, we visited the churchyards at Hassel and Hoya where our pilot and navigator were first buried before being transferred to the Hannover War Cemetery.

The following day, we set out for Hannover after making a final visit to the place of the crash and a few calls on local people whom we had met on our visit. On our way, we visited Wilhelm Meier at Eystrup, who showed us the crash site of another Lancaster that came down the same night as ours, killing six of the crew.

We arrived at Hannover War Cemetery next morning and visited the graves of F O Bryson and Sgt Roxby, where I laid a wreath in their memory on behalf of the surviving crew members and 550 Squadron.

We also located the graves of the crew members of three Lancasters that came from 61 Squadron, 106 Squadron and 467 Squadron. Twenty-one of their crew members also died that night.

The following is an extract from my son-in-law's diary,

"I was very moved by the number of graves of such young men and paid particular attention to the memory of those who had also fallen fifty years ago. The inscription on one young man's grave seemed to embrace the whole sorrowful but pleasantly kept site. ‘In memory of a loving son who gave his life so that England may remain free. Your duty now done you can rest in peace. Love Mum and Dad.' This and other equally moving epitaphs reminded me of how lucky and grateful I was."

 

* * * *

For all of us, this was a very emotional experience. The visit to the area had enabled us to clarify much of what had happened when our aircraft was attacked by a night fighter.

The starboard wing and the incendiary bombs at the front of the bomb bay had been set on fire by a "Schrage-Musik" attack, which may also have damaged the front escape hatch. The initial action taken by the pilot did not extinguish the fires and when the order was given to bale out, he still had control of the burning aircraft.

Normally I would have followed the navigator out through the front emergency exit, so had I not gone to the rear, I would not have survived. The bomb aimer and flight engineer were in the nose section when the aircraft suddenly dived, trapping them so that they could not move; they were released when an explosion blew off the front of the nose section, enabling them to escape by parachute just before the crash. Wreckage from the nose section was found about 2 km from the crash site and near the spot where the flight engineer came down. The bomb aimer landed close to the crash site. It is possible that a further attack was made by the fighter, causing the sudden loss of control.

I would like to thank the many people in Germany who gave us so much help with our research and for such a friendly welcome on our visit to the area, also to David and Herman for their support and assistance, and a very special thanks to Dick for the tremendous amount of time and work he put in, researching the circumstances of the crash. I asked Dick if he would like to add anything to this record of events and I received the following comment:

“I am very happy to get this opportunity to thank Jim Donnan and all the other ex- RAF members, especially those of Bomber Command, for their enormous input and bravery during World War 2.

"I lived then, in that part of Holland, that was liberated only after the 'unconditional surrender' by the German occupiers. One of the reasons for this was that the bombings went on up until the very last moment. I also want to thank everyone who, in one way or another, helped in the dropping of food. I had been born in 1939 and I can remember in those early years of my life, the feeling of hunger and the taste of sugar beet and tulip bulbs. . . ."

 

 

Stalag 1V B ~ Jim DONNAN

 

Written by David Kirk (Jim’s son in law, sadly Jim passed away in July 2003)

Jim was shot down on the 1st January 1944, near the village of Holtrop Germany (see ‘The last flight of Lancaster B111 DV 189 BQ-T2). Whilst he was willing to talk about his last flight and the time up to when he was taken prisoner, he spoke very little about his period of captivity. I have pieced together the following from conversations we had and notes he made some years ago.

A few days after parachuting from his blazing aircraft Jim was arrested and held in a Police Station cell. I quote from Jim’s notes, “The following morning a woman brought in some food and a short time later an officer came into the cell and took me to an outside toilet. I was finding it almost impossible to walk as I had sustained leg injuries. I tried to indicate that I needed medical attention. The officer pulled out his revolver and shook it at me, shouting something like, ‘This be good for you’. Some time later I was collected by the Luftwaffe and taken to a nearby airfield.”

Jim was held at what is now Segel Flugplatz near Hoya in Germany. There he was to discover that two of his crew had been killed in the crash and the remainder taken prisoner. Together with two other crew members he was escorted by train to Dulag Luft in Frankfurt where the surviving crew members, Don Fadden, Charlie Gundry, Paul Evans, Jack Sawkins and himself were all reunited. Jim recalled feeling very vulnerable on this journey, when going through public places.

After interrogation they were all then transported by cattle truck to Stalag Luft 1V B Muhlberg on Elbe. At the prison camp Jim spent the next seven weeks in the Lazarett receiving medical attention for his injuries before being discharged into the camp.

Jim remained in Stalag 1V B until the camp was liberated by the Russian Army on 23rd April 1944.

Jim did speak of the prisoners raiding the camp’s offices after liberation and he was able to obtain his Dulag-Luft Kriegs gefangen enkartei (prisoner of war card index) from which the above photographs have been copied. On the reverse is attached his Kriegs gefangen enlager (prisoner of war record).

There are also photos of:

Sgt Don Fadden, prisoner 1802535 and Sgt Charlie Gundry, prisoner 1654359.

Stalag 1VB postcard photos. I believe these were taken by a Dutch POW. I have seen many of them on other WW2 web-sites.

He also had a letter from a Polish Officer (First Canadian Army) Wauda G… Majewska.

The following note, apparently an anonymous account of an American ex POW’s visit to the area of Stalag Luft 1V B was also amongst Jim’s papers:

MUHLBERG 1V B

Apparently the site is now wooded and an elderly resident gave the following account. "It is covered with trees because returning civilians found their homes damaged by the Russian forces and went to live in the POW camp which still had light, water and stoves. Three weeks after they had returned the Russians found them, forced them out into an adjacent field where they were made to watch whilst the Red Army blew up every building in the camp. The East German government had subsequently made the woods into a memorial to remind future generations of the Second World War".

Roll of honour

Our crew:-

F.O. J G Bryson Pilot

Sgt. T F M Roxby Navigator

Sgt. D F Fadden Flight Engineer

1. Sgt. P H Evans Bomb Aimer

Sgt. J J Sawkins Mid Upper Gunner

Sgt. W C Gundry Rear Gunner

Sgt. J E Donnan Wireless Operator

 

Shout outs

Will Killigan ww2 podcast

Just outside of fort benning. Columbus Georgia .

Home of the US Army infantry and recently armor school too. Lots of history and a great museum

Craige Lynes UK – messenger - Raf Barford St. John

hi Paul, thank you for making such a brilliant podcast!!!

I was hooked earlier this year from the first episode, and I've binged on it since then whilst sat driving my tractor through harvest. 

Sadly unless I'm alone in the tractor then I can't listen to the podcast as I'll only miss bits and I don't want to do that! Thanks to Spotify [unwrapped] they've told me how much I've listened to you talking, and wow it shocked me. A whole 84 hours of listening!  Upto episode 67.

 

[I have a close relationship with an air field that had the test flights of the Gloucester e.28/39 jet air craft, close enough that i  drive up and down the runways every day in the winter when out shepherding 🙂  it's got a strange feeling up there for sure and I'm proud of its history.  It was a flying school to start with I believe, then housed Wellingtons and the Gloucester. 

 

In my area there's vast air fields and MOD bases, you once mentioned Raf Bicester, that's only "up the road"  as is Raf Croughton, Upper Heyford, Brize Norton, Enstone, Shenington/Edge Hill" which also had the Gloucester fly from it.. thats just to name a few. 🙂]

Craige thanks so much. I reckon if you ever tired of the tractor, you could easily convert to tour guide around all those such historic places. Amazing stuff.

 

Adrian Pinkus
I'm such a tragic listener - I'm listening  while I'm working night shift. I’m from Sydney Australia. I relic detect during my days off. I detect around old army bases finding buttons, badges and buckles and even coins plus lots off training rounds. One of my best find is an Australia badge that they wore on their lapels during ww1. Just thought I would share - keep you the great episodes .

Pics: Just a couple of relics that I've pulled out of the ground. It’s a great feeling knowing that one of our diggers/soldiers had used these at one time while he was training and then sent overseas to fight. The bullets are a std round and the, the one with a point - the round one - is a dumb dumb round . The Aussie digger used them during the Anzac campaign on Gallipoli. The dumb dumb rounds were later banned as they caused too much damage.

Cheers Paul

I'm listening to your podcast while writing this

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Family stories 3 - best military history podcasts

Poignant No Desk 582

My great grandfather was Italian. Before ww2 he went to fight in the Spanish civil war (29th of December. He returned to Italy on the 9th of june 1939 then 3 months later he went to fight in Africa because of ww2. Unfortunately for him some time in 1941 (I think) he got captured by the British and was put in a POW camp in Britain (Eastling, Southampton).

He wasn't released until the 22nd of March 1946. So that’s like 5 years as a POW. After he returned to Italy he decided to move to England where he lived until his death sometime in the early 2000's.

No Desk 582

Reddit

That is so poignant, and what sort of message do we get there about looking after your prisoners and taking care of them as you’d like to be looked after yourselves.

Family stories 3 Red Cross parcels BBC

Prisoner of War parcels by Patrick Dickinson. No doubt many of these parcels were sent out and received by grateful prisoners over the Christmas period.

Hove, Sussex

2004

Grand Avenue, which leads down to the sea-front at Hove on the Sussex coast, is now almost entirely made-up of large blocks of luxury flats. In the 1940's, however, it boasted some of the most expensive private houses in Brighton and Hove. One of these was taken over early in the war by the British Red Cross, and became a centre for the packing of P.O.W. parcels. These were then handed over to the International Red Cross for distribution to prisoner-of-war camps all over Europe.

At the age of 10 in 1943 I became involved in this work during school holidays. Another boy, called Henry, and myself were approached by one of his neighbours, whose husband was in a P.O.W. camp in Germany. She was a volunteer parcel-packer with the Red Cross, and said they were very short-staffed and needed help with the "fetching and carrying", so as to free up the more experienced ladies to do the actual packing. So for two hours two mornings a week that is what we did.

The rooms on the ground floor of the house were filled with long trestle tables at which the packers, many in the W.V.S., sat with a sack of straw, or maybe raffia, between them. The contents of the food parcels, tins of fruit, bars of chocolate, and packets of dried fruit etc., were stored in the basement. These had to be brought up on trolleys in a lift, one of the main attractions of the job as far as Henry and I were concerned, and taken round to the packers at their tables, together with flat-pack cardboard boxes. As each box was filled to a regulation formula it had to be carried by Henry or me and stacked in an adjacent room, and that was the last we saw of them.

I wonder if there are any other survivors left who were engaged in this branch of "war work". Somewhere, too, in the archives of the British Red Cross, presumably there are statistical records of the parcels and their contents sent to prisoner-of-war camps throughout Europe.

That reminds me of a time years ago when I was a half responsible senior schoolboy.

I did a temporary job working for the post office during the school holidays over the lead up to Christmas. I can remember several times delivering to an office on this bleak industrial estate, delivering through rain hail and mud, feet rubbed raw, gangrene nearly setting in – you get the picture.

 

I thought the girls working there had taken a shine to me when, one morning, they asked me if I would be working the following day. The implication was that Sherry and mince pie was going to be on offer and I looked forward to it.

 

I arrived the next day with the post and a spring in my step to find that the office had closed for Christmas!

I can’t repeat the language. I used under my breath, but it wasn’t pretty. I did put the mail in their letterbox, but if I’d really thought about it, I would have stuck it somewhere else. Ideas through the contact section on the website please. 

I’m not sure if CCTV was common in those days but either way I’ll bet those girls had a real laugh at my expense!

Listener Mark Wright-Johnson  ww2 podcast

Santa Fe, New Mexico

Hi Paul,  I was off camping with my daughter and I had Thunder Below as an audio book.  Here are some passages for you to cut and paste the story as you feel is best.

All the best. Mark

 

This is a Christmas story from Eugene Fluckey’s book “Thunder Below”

about USS Barb submarine.

https://amzn.to/4a9dS3k

 

Before I run with the story I’ll share a little background about Eugene Fluckey.

According to wiki,

Eugene Bennett Fluckey, nicknamed "Lucky Fluckey", gosh, you’ve got to make sure you say that right - was a United States Navy rear admiral who received the Medal of Honor and four Navy Crosses during his service as a submarine commander in World War II.

 

Fluckey's war record included 16 ships sunk for over 95,000 tons - the most tonnage of any U.S. submarine captain in history.

 

USS Barb is famous as a handful of crew members invaded Japan long enough to place one of the scuttling charges on a railroad bridge with a micro switch. If you look at their battle flag, you will see a train among the ship silhouettes. And it does indeed.

 

On Christmas morning the Crews mess was filled with jovial breakfasters. Breakfast included hot cross buns, using a recipe from the wife of a sailor.

Someone had drawn a Christmas tree on the back of a chart and hung it on the back of a bulkhead in the crews mess. Others joined in and drew ornaments.”

The captain had received what looked like a phonograph record and a number of other packages from parents to slip under the tree. He carefully unwrapped the record and played it without introduction

 

“Soon the mess was saturated with the angelic soprano voice of a child singing silent night and it came upon a midnight clear.

It had been recorded for the crew by the baby sister of a crew member, Glen, who put his cup down and cocked his head.

“‘It’s Eva Jewel!  My little sister singing!’”

“Glen listened with undivided attention - unashamed of the tears moistening his cheeks.

“All round thunderous applause followed”

The Captain then read an accompanying letter

“This precious jewel is for all in the USS Barb

Pics in show notes of the flag and crew – maybe one of them is Glen who’s sweet singing for a moment, brought those brave sailors to tears one Christmas day.

 

War stuff 2 Lisa Loftis from Missouri.

Lisa

Xmas wwi from Lisa

I’m reading The Christmas Truce . This quote is from Pte John Dymond, 2nd BN Devonshire RGT

“When in the trenches it was up to our knees in mud and water, and very cold; but we don’t mind. We know we have got to do it, so we stick it with a joke and a smile.”

I need that attitude come Monday mornings! Lol 😂 Says Lisa …

Another funny line from the same book

“It is strange how used we have become used to the noise of the big guns. During our periods of repose we are more easily awakened by the yelping of the farmyard watch dog than by the sound of artillery. It is generally thought the dog will have an accident shortly.”

Ha ha ha poor doggie! 🐶

Thank you Lisa!

 V1 attack on Manchester, Christmas Eve 1944

Manchester Doodlebug attack

Ian Burgess from Bury, Greater Manchester

aircrashsites.co.uk – history, photos and forum – some great content

https://aircrashsites.co.uk/air-raids-bomb-sites/luftwaffe-v1-attack-on-manchester-christmas-eve-1944/

see sound of doodle

Ian DB

Good luck with the podcast about the Manchester attack. A lot of people are surprised there was an attack so far north. It's clear however from the comments on the pages about specific bombs, that the parents of those who were kids at the time had seen - and heard - footage in newsreels of V1s attacking London and southern and eastern England, and so knew what the sound was and got their kids to hide under their beds.

---

After the air raids of 1940 and 1941, the North of England saw little of the Luftwaffe following Hitler’s decision to go to war with the Soviet Union. German bombers were pulled from attacking British cities and while V1 flying bombs and V2 rockets fell on London and the South East, they could not get as far north as Manchester from the launch ramps in Occupied Europe.

However on Christmas Eve 1944, 45 Doodlebugs were launched off the Yorkshire coast from beneath Heinkel He111 bombers flying over the North Sea. The bombers released the V1s aimed at Manchester, then turned back to base. Many of the missiles landed harmlessly; the worst was at Abbey Hills Road in Oldham where 27 people were killed.

Some stats about this air attack;

45 V1s were launched in total.

31 crossed the Yorkshire coast, while 14 fell in the North Sea.

Only 7 fell within the built up area of what is now Greater Manchester, and only 1 missile (out of 45) fell within the Civil Defence Area for Manchester (that one was at Didsbury).

It was the furthest north V1s were ever used.

 

42 people were killed in the attack.

109 were injured, of which 51 people were seriously injured.

 

The V1s were launched between 0500 and 0600 on the morning of Christmas Eve 1944.

It took about 30 minutes from launch to the missiles falling to earth.

Typically buildings were damaged up to a mile away. The missiles could not be guided with accuracy, hence they came down in fields, on the moors as well as in towns. Sometimes they would turn round or spiral down. A few of the Doodlebugs were well off target, one landing near Chester, one as far north as County Durham while another came down at Woodford in Northamptonshire.

One of the attacking Heinkel 111s was shot down over the North Sea by Mosquito TA 389 while another was damaged by Mosquito HK 247 and crash landed at Leck in Germany, killing one of the crew.

From the numerous testimonies beneath the photos on this site from people who were there, it is clear that although V1s were unheard of in the north of England, people quickly recognised the tell-tale sound of the Argus pulsejet engine from having seen newsreels of V1 attacks on London. Consequently they reacted quickly, getting children to hide under their beds.

About V1 Flying Bombs

V1s were in use from the summer of 1944. Although the majority were launched from ramps in occupied Europe and aimed at London, over a thousand were air launched from beneath Heinkel bombers over the North Sea.

 

V1s were over 27 feet long with a wingspan of 17 and a half feet. They carried an 850 kg warhead and flew at about 400mph.

Also called Buzzbombs (on account of the noise of the pulsejet engine) or Doodlebugs, the V1 was part of Hitler’s Vergeltungswaffen programme, i.e. ‘revenge weapons.’ There was no intention to attack particular targets which might assist the war – ordnance factories or airfields, for example. V1s could not be aimed with such precision. Instead the intention was to strike terror among British civilians as revenge for what the Allied airforces were doing to German civilians.

Below; A V1 about to impact, probably in Antwerp. Picture courtesy of Terry Foote, taken by his father. You have to admire the bravery of the (American) photographer!

Had V1s been in use earlier in the war, the outcome may have been very different. They were cheap, involved no risk to Luftwaffe personnel, put RAF fighters on the defensive and caused massive damage when they hit built-up areas, as well as affect the morale of British civilians. V1s were the first cruise missiles.

There was not much in the way of a guidance system, a basic autopilot kept the flying bomb stable, using the rudder to steer rather than the weapon needing to bank. A propeller on the nose counted down to the intended target area, at which point the weapon would be put into a steep dive. This caused the fuel flow to be cut, meaning people on the ground knew that if the overhead V1 suddenly went quiet, it was about to impact. The Luftwaffe got round this flaw and later models went into a powered dive with no warning.

 

V1s were painted pale blue/grey underneath with olive drab on the upper surfaces. The inside of the metal was painted red.

Sometimes propaganda leaflets, mini copies of Signal magazine and ‘POW letters’ were stashed in canisters in the missile. As the engine cut, the canisters were ejected and, the Germans hoped, the material would be picked up by British civilians. Many did so out of curiosity. This is an example;

These letters were genuine. The idea of these Prisoner of War letters was that someone would pick them up and one would eventually make its way to the relative, whereupon the person would write to their relative in a POW camp, and the Germans would know then where the letter was found and thus where their missile fell… It was a long shot really, depending  on the letter getting to the relative and then the relative obligingly telling the German censor how they came about it!

Links to photos of the V1 bomb sites from this attack I have visited.

Stockport, Cheshire

Matley, Cheshire

Edgworth, Lancashire

Howden Moor, Derbyshire

Sowerby, Yorkshire

Tottington, Lancashire

Oldham, Lancashire

Oswaldtwistle, Lancashire

Radcliffe, Manchester

Worsley, Manchester

Black Edge, Buxton

Macclesfield Forest, Cheshire

Didsbury, Manchester

 

 

https://aircrashsites.co.uk/air-raids-bomb-sites/luftwaffe-v1-attack-on-manchester-christmas-eve-1944/

Bethnal Green Tube Station was the scene of a dreadful civilian disaster when people panicked and surged forward while seeking shelter during an air raid. Pleased your Dad and your Uncle survived the blast!

 

James mclaren says:

December 6, 2013 at 7:42 pm

On x-mas eve 1944 at beswick in manchester my family was in a street air shelter during an air raid alert. I was sent to return an empty cocoa jug to our home a few yards away. It was a moonlight and as I crossed the street a shadow passed over my head. It was a v1 bomb gliding silently to its doom. I was 10 years old.

Hi James, a scary memory to have, thanks for adding that. Your parents must have thought air raids were a thing of the past, the sirens had barely sounded at all throughout 1944 – until Christmas Eve.

Elephant says:

October 9, 2015 at 8:42 pm

My Great Aunt was in the raid on Oldham. I was born on a street two away from Abbeyhills and my Mother often talked about the raid. I remember there were new houses in the gap where the Doodlebug had dropped which looked very strange. The raid was designed to destroy Manchester.

Regan, Kevin says:

February 6, 2016 at 10:07 pm

Christmas Eve 1944, Our farm at Scammenden had no gas, electricity or water suply…there were the wells and rivers. The search lights were the only glow – piercing the sky on a distant horizon. The bombers were occasionally illuminated like dancing fish – a dance macabre a fish bowl, flying into the ground as the ack ack pierced their armour.

As time passed, they perfected intercontinental rocketry, indeed, inter world rocket science, to be sure.

Pitch black, the moors make only a sound of absolute silence. Clean, clear, unspoilt. They launched their vengeful weapons from the under carriage, released when near the Yorkshire coast. Five ballistic missiles flew overhead. I fell into the grass and froze, what on Gods earth is this, witchcraft, fire in the sky – manchester must be the target, the end of days?

Jeremy Sullivan says:

April 12, 2021 at 3:46 pm

My Mother passed away a few years ago and I have recently been sorting out her old PC. Over the years she often spoke about her WRAF days during the war, and below I found a couple of her accounts of 24 December 1944. I have included these two as there seems to be a slight contradiction as to the amount of V1 splitting on her radar screen. I guess old age might have something to do with her recollection.

1st account

The 1944 early morning raid on 24 December 1944 I remember well. I was a radar operator on night duty at RAF Stenigot and was the first person to pick up the incoming raiders on the CRT ( Cathode Ray Tube)

in front of me. They were about 100 miles distant and coming almost directly towards our station . Filter Room had nothing on their table and asked if the signals could be birds . As the range shortened other stations along the coast began to report and panic set in . At about 50 miles I reported that they looked like V1’s when each track split into three with one starting to retreat and the other two coming on towards the coast. They were then identified as Hostile. Once they crossed the coast the ROC Royal Observation Corps were plotting them but as some of them were heading our way a couple of people went out and saw two of them, one almost overhead.

In 1944 Radar was still Very Secret so no mention of our part was ever made public at that time .

2nd account

Memories of 24 December 1944

Ex-Radar Operator – LACW  leading aircraftwoman  in the WAAF

Today is my 83rd birthday so my memory is obviously not what it was but I recall events in the distant past in greater detail than something which happened last week.

I was stationed at RAF Stenigot, a radar station, inland of Louth, Lincolnshire on six weeks “loan” from RAF Stoke Holy Cross near Norwich where I had been involved in trying to plot V2s. Four “senior”  leading aircraftwoman  LACWs were loaned to Stenigot, one to each Watch as extra help for senior NCOs newly arrived back in this country after years overseas and who had no experience of the latest equipment.

On the night of 23/24 December I was on the night watch, ie 11pm on the 23rd to 8am the next morning. There was little or no activity as far as I recall and none expected . I can’t remember how many people were on watch, possibly eight or nine, certainly no more. It was usual practice to have an hour each on the various positions which had to be manned, some could be doubled up at very slack times as on this occasion. After an hour “on the “tub” ie looking at the screen ,the cathode ray tube, for signs of aircraft activity , the following hour was free. My turn came at, I think,2pm. Some of the girls were making paper decorations for the Christmas entertainment and we were chatting idly, to help keep alert. Now this is where my story gets a little technical

The Ch stations had a B system , the ‘gap filler’, with aerials set at different heights to the main ones. This occasionally picked up aircraft that were not visible, or very faint on the main receiver.

It was accepted practice to go over to the gap system every ten minutes just to see if there was anything on it. Sometime after taking over, I do not recall how long, I idly pressed the B button and saw to my great surprise numerous echoes at say 80 miles or so heading towards the coast.

 Immediately I asked Filter Room if they had any activity on the table, “No” they said with the usual question,” Are you sure it’s not birds?” By this time the echoes had come in to around 50 miles from our coast line and as I was watching, each echo suddenly started to split into two: one starting to retreat while the other one continued towards us. At this point I told Filter Room that they looked like V1s to me, having seen them once before at a previous station. By now other stations had got them on their screens, the CHLs would have good sightings. Filter Room was in a Panic and we had to ring down to camp to get our Technical Officer to come up to the Operational site. .At least two of the flying bombs passed over us, one quite close according to a couple of people who went outside to look for them. I had exceeded my one hour stint in front of the screen but was asked to stay on until all the plots had crossed the coast. From what I remember the V1s must have crossed the coast over quite a wide area as they were well spaced out.

Of course we soon started to plot our own Fighters going out after the German raiders .

From the plots which we passed to the Filter Room, I was asked to try and draw a map of the tracks before going off duty. I had never seen this done before and did not see it done again but we just did as asked in those days without question .

After a night watch most stations did the 6pm to 11pm that same evening. Hence I was on watch that night, Christmas Eve 1944. Needless to say, there was a full watch instead of the skeleton watch which would have been the norm. We were not given much information and I thought Nottingham was as far as any V1 had reached . I believe the station received a ‘ Good Work ‘ message of acknowledgement but I guess we soon forgot all about the event as just another episode in daily life. It was what we called a ‘bind’ for a while, having a full watch with the Tech. Officer on duty and not much flying.

It did not register with me as a special event at the time and it is only in [much later years] that I have learned the full story even though I can say that I was the first person to have picked up the V1s on that fateful night. I was surprised to learn very recently that one flying bomb had actually reached the outskirts of Chester, where I have lived for many years.

 

Too many others to mention

I’d recommend this web site for all there is to know about the Doodlebugs and there are loads of stories from people who experienced them.

See link!

Reddit Christmas around the world

Christmas at Colditz

Not family but -

Growing up I lived in the UK for four years. One year at Christmas one of the “family” gifts (Santa brought gifts for individuals as well as the family) was a board game called Escape from Colditz. It’s about prisoners of war trying to escape from a German castle that was used as a POW camp (with some daring escape / attempts being true stories).  We then later met a local person that had been held captive there. It was so wild to be playing a game about escaping from a POW camp and then to meet one of the actual POWs.

DJJediJeff

 

UK

My great grandmother lived through world war 1 and 2. She lived on the edge of Liverpool which was heavily bombed in world war 2. She was pregnant with my great uncle and my nan during the war and had to give birth to them both in a house that had its windows blown out by bombs.

Christmas from what she told me was very very cold and having so many family members and no money they hardly got any presents. During the First World War when my great granny was a teen they all had to work in place of their father who went to war. The whole family, which included young children saved up enough money by working in factories and farms to have a goose for dinner and that’s it. They also went to church.

In world war 2 when my granny was married she had enough money to get one toy for her eldest son and the babies didn’t get anything. They still went to church though and they had loads of family around to make bearable. There was so many living in the house that many of them had to sleep on the floor and they had no Christmas tree. I don’t know how they all got by in a tiny house with more than ten people living in it and no windows in the middle of winter. Must have been absolutely freezing.

MrsPygmyPiggy

ITALY

Poor farmers they were, and poor farmers they kept being.

There's nothing interesting to say about the Christmas during the World Wars, food might have been the same as that eaten the rest of the year, generally soups and vegetables and if they had access to it they would probably have eaten a little more meat than usual (a luxury for many at the time) with what little "sweets" they could find/make. There wasn't much of a difference between the already low quantity of foods avayable in Italy since the mid 1930s up to 1940 and the war time rationing.

Something that didn't change though was going to mass, as it was still attended with the whole family.

TheCommentaryKing

IRELAND

3/4 of my grandparents lived in stone huts barely fit for habitation with no light or heat except that which a fire could produce and no running water, something that persisted while my parents were kids

They dressed in their best clothes and went to mass, dealt with the animals and then they did what all impoverished Irish families did for entertainment; they told stories

If there was alcohol the adults would drink some

My grandmothers family were particularly well off and I remember her mentioning that they would listen to the radio. The first year after the war she got a banana in her Christmas stocking and it was the first one she'd ever seen

I think my mother's parents would have fish for Christmas dinner because it was a holy day

Darth Bfeidir

HUNGARY

It was the time when the heavy fighting in the Siege of Budapest started. I heard stories about stolen property and a dead newborn. Obviously a lot of changes were made to traditions, including scavenging for horse meat.

TUDORAPO

 

NETHERLANDS

What they did was try to survive, just like in the rest of the war. We were relatively lucky, we were liberated in september of 1944 by the Polish, the best guys you could get to liberate you, and the part where my grandparents lived was handed over without that much of a fight. Some 30 km to the west there was really heavy fighting, since that was the area that controlled the entrance to the Westerschelde and thus the access to the port of Antwerp.

Not to mention that food was scarce in most of the country. In the countryside it wasn't as bad as in the big cities, but it was still pretty bad.

Stravven

SPAIN

My grandparents were really, really poor during WWII (civil war/dictatorship in Spain), to the point of living in a one-room house, so they really couldn't celebrate Christmas. The only thing my grandma told me about it was that the best Christmas present she received as a child was an apple.  

Arrila

FINLAND

Can’t imagine it to have been too great.

For all of my great grandfathers, they spent christmas in a trench or in a hut inside the trench. They did this for 5 chrsitmas’, the ones who lived until the end anyway. Their families likely had a normal christmas for that time, with rationing ofc.

IceClimbers

GERMANY

I can say, that christmas was very unhappy in Germany, especially in WW1, cuz many rations were going to the front. WW1 had one Winter that was so rough that it was called the "Rübenwinter" or "carrot winter" roughly translated, because many lived on mostly carrots then

Edit: I cannot talk about Personal experiences, because all of my relatives who lived in the war have

-died

-never Talked about the war

-stayed in a care Center during the war (and nearly got killed there btw)

SchatzMeyster

SWEDEN

Well Christmas during WWI , well I know what  my gran on my mother's side had,  she used to have nuts and candies and bowl of fine porridge and nice dinner. But her father died due to being forced to patrol a  town in Northern Sweden in thin wool uniform and his lugns couldn't handle the cold.  He had a warm  sheep skin coat home he wasn't allowed to use.  So after that Christmas, it was social welfare,  a bowl of bone broth with veggies or watery porridge, 5 kr ( whole social welfare for a year) and  pair shoes to take home . Yes, they had to go, to be washed and deloused ( my gran or her brother never had lice) or my great grandmother would be seen as neglectful  .  At home  if their cow ( house cow as many had with out being farmers)  still gave milk, then a thick porridge made with pearl barely and milk and with lingon .  My great gran prided her self in at  Christmas eve they would go to bed with a full belly.

WWII My grandfather had Christmas pike,  with potatoes and some type of veggies  and for dessert sugar pears ( pears was free and they been preserved in autumn). The pike wasn't part of rationing and he would spend  his free time  2 week before Christmas trying to fish it up, and then pack in snow to preserve it, it sometimes came alive when thawed out.  This was standard food for Christmas because they where not rich but not poor, they where sort of lower middle class ,  gran and granddad  both worked at the local papermill.  But they always had family over and I know ever one brought some thing.

I know my maternal side lived in Stockholm during the WWII and could get better  food and I know  they and the neighbour  helped each other out  and  both maternal grandparents was hard on sharing what they could  , because they both knew how it is to  go to bed hungry.  They had gone from poverty to upper middle class.

CakePhool

NETHERLANDS

I remember a story from my grandfather that, as a Working class Catholic family from Amsterdam, they would have Midnight Mass and do their annual confessions. But all street lights had to be turned off to prevent air raids, so walking back they could barely see anything. My Great-grandfather tripped over something, and according to grampa, he cursed and sweared so hard, he had to "walk right back to confess again".

SubNL96

ITALY

My grandma’s family (all the village actually) suffered from it only around the end when Italy was split between the Italian social republic and the kingdom of Italy who just betrayed the axis. This because her village was very close to the front and so the Germans used the village as a base, everyone had to donate food to them and anything else they needed. She said unjustified violence never happened but they did kill some suspect partisans. My other grandma had to host firstly a group of German soldiers and some months later Americans!

Powerful Source

France

I think my family had it pretty good and didn’t need to make a lot of changes since they were all pretty wealthy back then - one side of my family used to own a shoe factory - and on the other side they were collaborators with the Germans (which I’m not proud of) so they probably got more rations than the average population.

NbFox

FINLAND

For my grandparents it was either the front line or at home with complete light discipline to deny Soviet bombers any easy targets or landmarks.

Any imported product such as tobacco, coffee, flavored booze and fruits were rationed. Domestic products such as sugar, meat, flour, milk, eggs and butter were also rationed. Coffee was either cut entirely or surrogated with e.g. roasted barley or chicory/dandelion root. Booze was distilled from wood pulp bi-products from forest industry. And so on.

So they didn’t have much but they had each other.

MentalRepairs

 

US ARMY PIC

So, after all these posts on Reddit, an American guy wades in and adds:

Man, these guys manage smiles even though it was such an awful time - while I’m here with a long face on moping that the remote is too far to reach..

It’s all reinforced some Resolutions I’ve decided to make next year.

Every time I see colorized images, it just reminds me of how young these guys are. It’s just mind-blowing to me that these guys are 21 years old and going off to a world war.

 

PRESENTS from wwii

Holland sends Canada 10,000 tulip bulbs every year for their help in liberating them from the Nazi’s in 1945.

Norway UK

The Japanese gave America its Washington Cherry Blossoms as a 'thank you' for mediating the end of the Russo-Japanese War. Teddy Roosevelt also won the Nobel Peace Prize for it.

Spooky or What theme

Family stories 2 - James Papalia Christmas story

I’ll try and raise the mood now, after all those slightly sad stories.

Frank Papalia has sent this next story in, from son James’s new book where he continues his mysterious leap into the world of wars past..

 

Its’s a Christmas story in which James and his friends split up and end up in different places and witness different aspects of the war. Couple of his friends are going to be in a home where their two sons are off to war and see how it affects them, his sisters are on a ship where they meet grandpa joe again as he spends christmas island hopping …

 

Franks says that James thinks it’s a cool story and better than just the horrors of war. It puts a nice human touch on it and highlights humanity in the face of unspeakable sadness and horrors.  

 

Christmas At War by James Papalia

I woke up in a barracks. It was Christmas day. I smelled turkey being cooked and Christmas trees. I heard bells jingling and Christmas carols being sung. I saw snow covered grounds, fireplaces roaring and a bunch of British soldiers standing guard, smiling and singing. I noticed one I have seen before in some of my adventures.

It was Bill Cheall, father of my friend Paul Cheall. I walked over to Bill and said, “Hi Bill do you remember me from Dunkirk 1940?”

Bill said to me, “Son, what are you doing here?”

I said to him “I don't know, but what is going on?”

Bill and I talked a little bit and then he told me what he was doing. “My company is throwing a Christmas party for poor German children that have nowhere else to go.”

I said to him, “After all that time fighting and risking your life, you would still do that for German kids?”

Bill was very proud and said it was nice to celebrate a Christmas without war and that they were really happy to give those kids some cheerfulness and we felt cheerful ourselves.

Bill was injured in the war and was moved from his Green Howards to a guard post in Occupied Germany. I asked him when he could go see his family. He said, “Hopefully soon. I miss them and my home a lot.”

I realized it was very tough on him to be far away from home on Christmas, but was very proud of him for helping those poor German kids. Bill had fought from Dunkirk to Hamburg and was now serving Christmas joy and humanity to his former rivals, and giving German children, who also had suffered, a very merry Christmas.

While I was with Bill, my sisters Ava and Emily ended up on a ship in Japan! They were very scared, but were relieved when they heard men singing Christmas songs and eating cookies sent to the men, from a base, that had arrived that day. They knew a face from pictures and decided to join him. “Grandpa Joe?” they asked.

The young Marine looked puzzled, “I am Joe, but not Grandpa Joe.”

Ava asked for a bite of his cookie. Emily was just scared. Joe Dimichele said, “What are you kids doing here?”

Ava said she didn't know, but wanted to have some of the cookies. Grandpa Joe said he and the Marines were ready to continue Island Hopping, but got a brief break in the fighting to celebrate Christmas aboard a ship.

The girls were happy to meet him and listened to him tell his story to them. He was very sad being away from his home and his family but was looking forward to helping to win the war. These soldiers did not get the opportunity to celebrate with their families, or get a Christmas tree or presents. They were stuck on a ship.

Meanwhile, my pals Conor, Logan, Finn and Mac ended up in a house in New York City, in 1944. It was a family celebrating Christmas with two empty chairs. They asked where the kids came from, but the boys did not know how to answer them. They found out that this family had sent their two boys off to war and did not have information about them. Christmas was not the same this year without their boys, but they were hopeful that they would return.

Before they ate, they sat down and prayed and had some turkey dinner. The boys enjoyed it and enjoyed talking to this nice family. They could feel the sadness though, as the mom and dad really hoped that their boys would be back soon, healthy and safe.

So many families sent their children off to war. Many did not return. Christmas was never the same for those families. This family was just like so many others, trying to make the best of a bad situation.

That night we all ended up together somehow. We talked about how difficult it was for those troops, for those families and for us. We were sad for them all and wished we could bring them some Christmas joy. That night we all fell deep asleep. When we woke up, we were somewhere new, but where?

Time for the PS’s!

 James Smith Browning

It’s entitled The Journal of a Flight Sergeant/Radio Specialist

 

A bit of Wiki background before we wade into it …

The Anglo-Iraqi War was a British-led Allied military campaign in 1941 against the Kingdom of Iraq under Rashid Gaylani, who had seized power in the 1941 Iraqi coup d'état with assistance from Germany and Italy.

The campaign resulted in the downfall of Gaylani's government, the re-occupation of Iraq by the British, and the return to power of the Regent of Iraq, Prince 'Abd al-Ilah, a British ally.

So Germany and Italy firstly supported the overthrow of the government of Iraq in 1941.

Then the British piled in and returned the ruler to power. And if anyone can recall the late veteran Wilf Shaw’s mention of Iraq in his war, then this is the background, though I don’t think Wilf actually did any fighting there. I think Churchill just had a word in Gaylani’s ear and said “ Ere, do you realise Wilf Shaw and his mates are over here?” Well that was all the Iraqis needed – and they buggered off.

It only lasted 30 days.

So this story features

Royal Air Force

James Smith Browning

Iraq - Chapter 4 - on leave

At Christmas we had a really good time. By now our canteen was well organised and we had obtained bags of beer and fags from the NAAFI. Every man in the billet, drinker and non-drinker, clubbed into a common fund, each an equal amount, and we bought from the canteen, beer and cigs and from the town a few large fruit cakes, sweets, nuts, oranges, cigars and a few bottles of Hadba and Irak.

One corner of the billet was cleared by the expedient of squeezing all the beds a bit closer and in that corner we built a bar. Above the bar we hung a sign which we had pinched from a hotel in the town reading 'In bounds to H B M officers only' – that’s His Britannic Majesty.

There was a competition for the best dressed billet on the station but although we had spent considerable time and money decorating ours we did not enter, for ours was intended as a public bar not a private room and anyone was welcome at any time. For these hectic days and nights we had hardly a quiet moment, the room was always full of visitors singing songs and swapping stories. We had officers, NCO's and men all having a good time together and when anyone passed out we just shoved him in bed to sleep it off.

We were the only unfortunate ones for whereas the main part of the station had time off these days, we being classed as "essential duties", had to carry on in our normal routine throughout - so we had to be for the main part of the time sober. All good things must have an end and, ours being at an end, we quickly settled back to normality.

After these hectic days at Christmas I had no intentions of celebrating on Hogmanay but the lads decided otherwise saying that as I had played my part in celebrating Christmas which is their holiday, they must help the Scotsmen celebrate Neerday.

So we got some more beer and then went into town to start off events. Town was only in bounds until half past nine so our visit there was only in the nature of a preliminary warmer. Arrived back in camp, a little merry, we settled down to celebrate proper and pretty soon had quite a big crowd in the billet. At that time our billet was an assembly room at times of celebration for the more bright or boozy of the crowd.

After a while the place was invaded by Scots men and eventually I was hauled off to their billet to sing Scots songs for Scots blood. These lads had managed to procure from somewhere a couple of bottles of the real stuff – whisky whisper - funny how a Scotsman smells it out at Hogmanay - and celebrations continued in growing tempo.

When twelve o'clock was intimated the real old was opened and we toasted Scotland and out families and friends there, how we wished we were with them. About two in the morning I managed to get away from the party, just in time for I was then only just able to take myself back to my billet and put myself to bed. That finished celebrations for the year unless of course we decided to celebrate and hold a party on anyone's birthday. It's surprising how often birthdays come up.

I write regularly to my father, often in verse in the hope of escaping the attentions of the censors. I felt prompted to write that night, prompted by nostalgic thoughts of home, and perhaps the "spirit" of Hogmanay.

 

Peter:

Message 5 - Christmas 1944

Posted on: 17 December 2003 by Peter - WW2 Site Helper

Hi Frank

 

By the time it came to be the turn of these poor three donkeys the cats had long disappeared. I remember in either January or February 1945 we were digging in preparation for planting maize when I unearthed a slow worm (often confused with grass snakes). It was quickly skinned and put in the fire embers where we were digging (it was bitterly cold). My father cut some and tried it, then handed some to me saying "Just think of it as fish, Peter".

 

Hunger is a wonderful sauce and my dad was extremely resourceful. We never got round to eating any insects, such as beetles and most larvae, there was no need and once summer arrived there was plenty of fruit and greens (salads of dandelions, especially) and he knew dozens of edible mushrooms and where to find them. But my dad pointed out what insects he thought I should eat if the worst came to the very worst.

 

There were plenty of snails and frogs (not just the legs of the frog, all of it) and fresh water shrimp. My mother could never bring herself to eat any of these, but our eating them left more ordinary fare for her.

 

 

Contributed by

Peoples War Team in the East Midlands

People in story:

Betty Edmonds, Ken and Emily Adams

Location of story:

Mansfield, Nottingham

Background to story:

Civilian

Article ID:

A3995058

Contributed on:

03 May 2005

"This story was submitted to the site by the BBC's Peoples War Team in the East Midlands with Betty Edmonds permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions"

 

I was about 6 years of age. Christmas was a very special time and my Mother saved rations and coupons for Christmas Cake and a Pudding which I helped to mix and put in 3 silver three penny bits. Some how we always had one each!

 

Prisoners — usually Italian I believe and a few German were under guard in quarters in Sherwood Forest. Dad was serving in the NFS. I don’t know how arrangements were made but trusted citizens were contacted via NFS. On Christmas Day two soldiers would arrive in the morning bringing three “prisoners”. They were always family people, kind , thoughtful and had good manners. They were always family people, kind, thoughtful and had good manners. They played with me, told me stories of their homes and we laughed a lot.

 

We sat round a cheery coal fire in the front room (we usually only had a fire in the dining room).

 

We shared a wonderful Christmas dinner. Dad always made a table decoration out of cotton wool and hid a few sweets in parcels in it. We each pulled a string and had a present. The guests always brought presents. I remember a hand painted tile for Mum and Dad, a wobbling wooden duck for me; a home made puppet (from a sock). Dad had a hand made cigarette box. Our guests were given socks, gloves and on one occasion a guest said he missed his wife s linen so Mum made him two pillow cases from an old sheet and embroidered them.

 

After dinner we played games in the front room — card games, magic puzzles such as saucers and photographer (I’ve tried these with children in school and they are fascinated). The Kings speech was a must on the radio.

 

We also sang carols round the piano. One guest was brilliant and he and dad played duets.

 

I recall hugging one guest as he stood by our Christmas tree in the hall, crying as he said his families names. Mum asked if they had photos and all had so we put the pictures on the tree and sang a carol — it was wonderful.

 

Tea time was supper. Sandwiches, home made buns, Christmas cake, jelly.

 

At 6.00pm (Dad told me), the escorts arrived. They were given a glass of sherry — guests too and wished happy Christmas and a blessed new year.

 

I’ve often wondered what happened to our guests. Each year they made Christmas special. They too had loved ones — even in wartime. We shared what little we had and celebrated the true meaning of Christmas. Where are we now 64 years later?

 

 

People in story:

mavis kimberley

Location of story:

lincoln

Background to story:

Civilian

Article ID:

A4552012

Contributed on:

26 July 2005

At school I was called rails because my arms and legs were thin, but I had plenty of energy.

 

Our Christmas decorations got so tatty, little artificial Christmas trees which had hardly any green left on them, little broken candles which we put into little holders with clips on them. Glass baubles which were all broken, couldn’t be replaced. We made home made streamers. In 1944 when Christmas decorations had all but disappeared, my brother came home with bundles of silver strips - Just right for decorations. We made silver chains for the sitting and dining rooms and also gave some to my friend. We thought how fantastic the rooms looked, my brother told us that had fallen off the back of a lorry (we were surrounded by airfields). It wasn’t until after the war was over that we found out what these strips were really used for. We always had presents at Christmas, I don’t know how my mother go them. They were generally secondhand. I had a small maroon coloured cycle, it was probably third hand and I loved it. My brother taught me to ride it (no stabilizers) and I gave backies to my friends. It lasted years and then it was sold on.

 

I had a good Christmas in 1944 (I wrote in my 5 year diary sent to me by an American penfriend). I had been given 4 books, some hankies, a padded coat hanger, a pen and a face flannel. What would today’s children think of these gifts?

 

 

 

PS Time for a party – I’ve written here!

Although on this occasion we’re looking at one of the further reaches of the war, BBC again  have several stories – considering that data base is twenty years old its doing very well and maturing like a fine bottle of Calvados. Yep I know C doesn’t mature. But it’s Christmas and anything can happen in the spooky realms of the FTP!

This is from James Jim Smith Browning

New Years Eve 1944 by RAF Cosford Roadshow

This takes us to NYE 1944 with a story from

George Hart ( Air Gunner)

Based in Jawshore Jessore, India

Royal Air Force

Life in the jungle serving on a Special Operations Squadron was something of a boring life because of the tight security. There was nothing in Jessore to relieve the boredom, so it is hardly surprising that hair was let down on New Years Eve.

During an all ranks party, among other events, someone torched the lavatory "basha" and the fire crew instead of using the extinguishers, threw them on the fire! Among those present at the party was the Squadron Gunnery Leader, a Flight Lieutenant of Italian origin, complete with kilt, red headed and sporting an enormous handlebar moustache and very much under the influence. Not being the most popular member of the unit, it was not surprising that next morning he awoke to find that half of his pride and joy had been shaved off.

So much for a mixture of boredom and beer.

Most embarrassing moment of my life Hogmanay 1940

Bob Borthwick

Stonehaven, Scotland

‘At the Hogmanay ball in the Sergeant’s Mess, Wynne and I were dancing the Dashing White Sergeant. I released my partner too soon only to see Wynne sliding over the dance floor with her kilt over her head. Years of applying soap flakes to the wooden dance floor [at least] had the effect of making the transit smooth, if no less embarrassing, for both parties.’

 

This last track featured on the intro but here’s the full monty of it. The story behind it is this.

Outro

Dave in Camas – near Washington USA -  says:

My son's high school marching band once had a Christmas concert, and this is the one of the last songs of the concert, the one they’d played in two Christmas parades. The concert took place in the school theater. It starts out with the drum major's whistle, followed by about a minute of the drum cadence.

During the cadence all the kids march from the stage up the aisles, surrounding the audience. I am seated in between the aisles, which are now lined with band members. We hear the drum major again, then the band begins playing. After a couple of minutes, the song finishes and the audience breaks into applause.

I’ve gotta go now – I’ve got presents to wrap. Christmas Cards to write.

Merry Christmas Everybody! And a happy Hogmanay. And thanks to each and everyone of you for your great support this year.

 

I’m Paul Cheall saying

Cheers, Merry Christmas

And above all Slanje – as they say in Scotland!