Vale Peter Ilbery

Vale Peter Ilbery OAM, former 455 Squadron pilot. 

I owe him much. 

Peter had written a couple of books on the Empire Air Training Scheme (Hatching an Air Force and Empire Airmen Strike Back) and, while researching Clive Caldwell Air Ace, I spoke to him about the scheme as well Caldwell as a leader and the nature of leadership. Peter, who had served with 455 Squadron during the war, compared Caldwell’s leadership practice with that of 455’s one-time CO Jack Davenport. 

Sometime after finishing CCAA, aviation author Lex McAulay, who assumed I would continue to research Australian pilots, emailled me a list of possible ‘candidates’. Jack Davenport was on the list. Next thing I knew, Peter was on the phone saying he had heard I was going to write about Jack Davenport. And it seemed I was! 

Peter, who were there from the beginning of Jack Davenport Beaufighter Leader, offered me encouragement and moral support throughout and provided a sounding board to some of my ideas. He ‘volunteered’ to read early drafts and wrote the forward. He was there at the launch. I owe him so much.

While I know (sadly now, knew) him as a former beaufighter pilot and mentor, others will remember him as a medical doctor, radiation researcher, radiobiologist and radiodiagnostician, historian of the Empire Air Training Scheme and the man who established the Commonwealth Air Memorial at Dallachy. Vale Peter 10 December 2017.

https://www.awm.gov.au/collection/P02095.001

 https://sydney.edu.au/medicine/museum/mwmuseum/index.php/Ilbery,_Peter_Leslie_Thomas

Another miserable Kriegie Christmas

Charlie Fry and Beryl Smith had known each other for five or six years when he embarked for the UK in July 1937.

(Photo with application for Point Cook cadetship, NAA A9300, Fry, C.H.) 

 A graduate of 20 Course, 1 Flying Training School, Point Cook (ranked 16th with 70.9 per cent) he was on his way to take up a short service commission with the RAF. The couple wouldn’t see each other again for a little over eight years.

(20 Course, 1 Flying Training School, Point Cook. Fry, front row, third from left. Courtesy RAAF Museum.) 

After completing his training in the UK, and a brief stint in 32 Squadron, Charlie joined 112 Squadron RAF, transferring to Egypt in May 1939, flying Gladiators. The couple wrote regularly during their separation, but after almost two years apart they missed each other terribly. As war clouds thickened, Charlie had ‘had a bit of the blues for the last couple of months’ but letters from Beryl—or Bebs—were just the tonic he needed to cheer him up. Photos were also a significant means of maintaining their strong connection and helped him imagine what she was doing back in Australia while he was on operational service. ‘They were lovely snaps of you dear, and [I] would very much like to have some others too if you have them, I can just imagine what a lovely time you must be having’. They also kindled regret at the fun times they were missing out on as a couple. ‘God I wish I were home.’

(Beryl Smith. Courtesy of the Fry family archive.)

Two months after the outbreak of war, Charlie wrote to Beryl with the question he wished he had put to her before he left Australia. He hadn’t, though, because ‘I sincerely wanted to ask you to wait for me to return home, but I did not dare to, as it seemed so unfair because five years’—the period of his short service commission—‘is a very long time’. After three years separation, and with a new war, however, everything was different. ‘Please darling, this is a proposal: I want to marry you’. Moreover, he wanted her to come to Egypt so they could be together.

(Unattributed engagement notice. Courtesy of the Fry family archive.)

Beryl accepted immediately, but it was over a month before Charlie received word. He was ecstatic: ‘At last my dream of almost eight years has materialised and I am very proud and happy of what we have so far accomplished. I was out on a desert landing ground when an aircraft brought your cable, and the pilot thought I had gone crazy with the antics that I performed’.

Much as they wanted to, it was not possible for Beryl to cross the world to be with her new fiancé. Within months, 112 Squadron was in action. From Egypt it moved to Greece, and then to Crete. Gladiators had been traded for Hurricanes and Charlie, now a flight commander, was in frequent combat. ‘Crete was being subjected to Stuka attacks and the sky was often thick with Messerschmitts’, he later recalled. On 16 May 1941, ‘a fateful day’, Charlie, or Digger, as he was known almost from the time he had set foot in England, was in battle yet again:

‘They appeared again in the very early morning, followed by Ju88s, Dornier 17s, and Ju52s. Crete was subjected to a great softening-up before the troop-carrying gliders came on the scene. The sky also turned white with the canopies of German parachutists. The tide of our war had turned.’

Charlie was attacked: ‘My Hurricane lay in ruins after I was shot down, but I survived’. 

Injured and unable to fly, Charlie made himself useful. He set about building pens to protect the squadron’s aircraft. As Crete fell to the Germans, and their aerodrome was taken, Charlie attempted to construct another strip in the hills. When he realised there was no hope, he organised the evacuation of the remaining squadron members. As one of his comrades recollected, ‘He used to lay up in the hills during the day, and at night he would take … [his men] down to the beaches on the off-chance of a warship being around. I know there were occasions when he could have made his escape but he preferred, as is the duty of an officer, to remain with his men to the last—good old Digger’.

Charlie succeeded in getting off two officers and three airmen before he was captured on 6 June 1941. He was the last of the squadron’s officers remaining on Crete. And so, lauded his friend, ‘he remained at his post to the last. A good pilot, a good officer, and an excellent leader of men’. (His service in Greece was later acknowledged by a Greek DFC and a British DFC.)

For Beryl, who had regularly received letters from her fiancé, there was only worrying silence and unanswered questions: what had happened to Charlie? And then, on 14 August, ‘It was with gladness and thanksgiving, after many weeks of knowing you to be missing that I heard you were a Prisoner of War. Chas it is impossible to describe how happy and relieved I was to learn of your whereabouts. I sincerely hope you are well and safe’. Four days earlier, Charlie had written his first missive to her since capture: ‘At last I am able to write to you I am very well and uninjured’. It took over four months before those precious words arrived just after Christmas 1941.

(POW identity card, Charles Horace Fry 40047, NAA A13950.) 

(POW postcard, Charles Fry to Beryl Smith, 10 August 1941, received 29 December 1941.
Courtesy of the Fry family archive.)

In that first POW postcard, Charlie wrote that he had lost all his photos of Beryl on Crete and asked if she would send him some more. So treasured was her image—and perhaps also conscious of the changes brought about by passing time—it was a question he continued to ask throughout almost four years of captivity. Beryl did not hesitate to respond. Indeed, throughout his captivity, she placed Charlie and his needs firmly at the centre of her life.

She joined the POW Relatives’ Association, she raised funds for the association, assiduously read its newsletter, made contact with other families of captives, spoke with a repatriated prisoner, all to glean information about Charlie and the prisoner of war camps in which he was incarcerated. She diligently worked for his comfort. 

(Beryl Smith. Courtesy of the Fry family archive.)

She wrote frequently, sent photos, arranged for cigarette and book parcels to be sent to him, contributed financially to parcels sent from British relatives, kept in touch with his family and friends, lobbied for his actions to be appropriately recognised, and sought future career advice on his behalf. She wrote about family, a little about what she did in her limited spare time so he could picture her life but, as a minister’s confidential typist, she could write little of her career.

 (Beryl Smith’s receipts from David Jones for parcels. Courtesy of the Fry family archive.) 

(Letter from Beryl Smith to the Editor, The Sydney Morning Herald, 20 December 1943. Courtesy of the Fry family archive.)

Beryl provided Charlie with a real link to home. He in turn did his best to maintain that link. As well as his regular letters, he asked the Irving Air Chute company to send Beryl the caterpillar pin which signified that ‘he had saved his life with one our chutes’.

(Letter to Beryl Smith from the Caterpillar Club, 7 September 1943. Courtesy of the Fry family archive.)

(The Sunday Sun, 9 November 1943. Courtesy of the Fry family archive.) 

Most of Beryl’s letters—and Charlie’s to her—focused on their love for each other. ‘My love’; ‘my darling’; how much they ‘missed’ each other. Interestingly, they wrote little of the future, or the life they planned to share with each other. As Charlie’s captivity dragged on, the most important thing for each was to reinforce the strength of their love.

During the course of his long captivity, Charlie spent time in Oflag XC, Lubeck, Oflag VIB, Warburg, Stalag Luft III, and Oflag XXIB, Schubin. On 2 April 1943, he returned to Stalag Luft III. Captivity was not an easy state for Charlie. He endured physical and psychological stresses but he appeared to suffer more from his long separation from Beryl. She too felt the strain of being apart. They tried to be cheerful, but both had doubts about the other’s constancy, and they did little to hide it.

‘Charl, dearest, I love you very very much—it is most anguishing to be separated from you for so long and I am looking forward longingly to the day when I shall be in your arms again. You are the only one I care for (or have ever cared for Chas)—since the very first day I met you … . I sincerely hope, Chas, that you reciprocate my feelings and that these long years apart have not dimmed your ardour for me.’

Both were conscious of the passage of years. On 29 November 1943, Charles wrote, ‘By the time this will reach you, you will have had your 28th birthday. [Beryl was born on 5 March 1915.] Happy returns darling gosh I wish I were here with you darling for I would have lots more to tell you. I miss you darling and hope we shall be together again soon. Cheerio my dear you have all my love, yours for ever’.

(Charles Fry in Oflag XXIB, Schubin late 1942, after their heads were shaven. Fry second from left. 

Courtesy of the Fry family archive.) 

By December 1944, the strain was almost unendurable. It was their seventh Christmas apart and Charlie’s fourth in captivity. He had sent her Christmas cards in times past but if he had this time, it did not reach her. 

(Christmas Card from No 1 Flying Training School, RAAF Point Cook, 1936. Courtesy of the Fry family archive.) 

(POW Christmas card from Charles Fry to Beryl Smith POW,  postmarked 22 November 1942 while he was in Schubin, received 12 March 1942. Courtesy of the Fry family archive.) 

On 12 December, Beryl wrote again to Charles. It was her last letter addressed to him at Stalag Luft III, yet he never received it. [She typed all of her letters and kept the flimsy.] ‘How are you, my precious darling? Sick and tired of waiting, I guess. I feel that way at times too. Not tired of waiting for you my darling but tired of having to wait.’ It was a poignant letter, full of all the longing a woman felt for a man she had not seen since July 1937. It suggested a silence that, despite the many letters over the years, stretched between them. It hinted at the things that could not be told because of censorship, or because they both recognised that ‘one must keep a happy exterior and write bright cheery letters’, or because some words simply could not be put on paper: they could only be whispered between lovers entwined in each other’s arms:

‘I wish I could express what is in my mind—tell you how I feel and what thoughts I have about life, the war and ourselves … . I really think of some marvellous things to say to you but when I come to write them it is very very difficult. I feel I would like to tell you how much I love you and adore you and that you are the embodiment of all my dreams—that I miss you very very much and am often unhappy and sad about that. I would like to tell you that I dream of the time we will be together and that you will say that you love me and think that I am beautiful … I try to imagine what it will be like to have your arms around me and to feel your kisses.’

As Beryl wondered what she would do when they were reunited—‘Will I rush forward and throw my arms madly around your neck and kiss you and kiss you and kiss you—or will I stand shyly by whilst you embrace your mother and family and wait my turn later on’—Charlie was having a ‘miserable Christmas’. ‘How I would like to be with you there’, he wrote. He had been at a low ebb during the last weeks of 1944 as the hoped-for release in the wake of the D-Day invasion had failed to eventuate. The only joy was the ‘lovely Christmass [sic] present of three letters … Thanks darling they were lovely letters’. Realising yet another birthday was nigh, he wrote, ‘Hope you receive this before your birthday darling with all my love for a happy birthday & may the next one be happier’.

Beryl’s 30th birthday was no happier. Charlie still had not returned to her and, by March 1945, was off the radar. She had not heard from him for weeks. Mail from Germany was irregular at that stage of the war and Charlie had not written since the prisoners had evacuated from Stalag Luft III at the end of January 1945. After months of silence and anxiety over Charlie’s fate, Beryl finally heard the wonderful news that he had been liberated and was back in England. ‘There are no words to express my happiness and joy’, she wrote on 14 May. ‘Oh my darling. I am so happy. I sincerely trust you are in good health and none the worse for your experiences. Gee Charles it is hard to believe after all these years. I can hardly wait to see you, dearest, and to have your arms around me.’

(August 1945, taken at Buckingham Palace just after DFC investiture. Unknown source.)

Charlie was soon on his way, excited to be returning home and to Beryl. On 6 September 1945, as he approached Australian waters six years to the day when he had proposed by letter, he sent the most welcome telegram: ‘Be with you soon for good. Happy excited love Charles’. 

(Courtesy of the Fry family archive.) 

Charlie disembarked in Sydney on the 9th. Less than two weeks later, on 22 September 1945, Charlie and Beryl married. They were together at last: ‘for good’.

(Cutting the cake. 22 September 1945. Courtesy of the Fry family archive.) 

William Storey Moore: An Irish Eagle

(William Storey Moore, 1941. Private Collection, with thanks.)

Some time ago, Britain at War Magazine published my article exploring the service details of two Battle of Britain pilots. (‘Battle of Britain Revealed. New Information on Australian Pilots’, Britain at War Magazine, Issue 75, July 2013.) I had been curious as to why two pilots long acknowledged as Australian were not honoured as such by the Australian War Memorial. After deeper research, I discovered that one of those pilots, Peter John Moore, was indeed Australian and the AWM duly acknowledged his connection on their commemorative roll. https://www.awm.gov.au/collection/P10031852 I also discovered that William Storey Moore was Irish.

The article included the scant details of William Storey Moore’s short life and death; I later put them up on my blog. Recently, a family member contacted me and shared what she knew about the Irish airman. Importantly, she revealed the true nature of Billy’s Australian connection which may have contributed to his attribution as one of the Australian ‘Few’. With her permission, I now share it with you.   

William Storey Moore—or Billy as he was known to the family—was born in Dublin on 21 November 1916. His father was William Moore MA of 10 Frankford Park, Dundrum, Dublin. Wikipedia tells me that it wasn't until Article 4 of the Irish constitution was adopted in 1937 by the government under Éamon de Valera that Éire was decreed asthe name of the state, or in the English language, Ireland.]   Billy's mother Ruby (née Bedford) had been born in Rockhampton, Queensland.

Ruby came to Ireland in about 1911 to visit relations. Her family wasn’t able to meet her when the boat docked so a cousin asked his friend William to greet her instead. Ruby and William married and soon started their family: Hugh Bedford (27 April 1915); Billy; Sidney (later Sydney) Alexander (24 January 1918); and Ruby Bedford (13 November 1918).

Billy was schooled in Dublin until 1932, possibly at The High School, which his brother Sidney attended. He continued his education in Australia between 1934 and 36 and spent some time on a property at Kellyville, northwest of Sydney, NSW (known as Bob’s Ranch). He also perhaps holidayed at Aspendale Beach, near Melbourne. 

(Billy at Bob's Ranch. Private Collection, with thanks.)

Shortly after his return to the United Kingdom, he joined the RAF on a short service commission in June 1937. He began ab initio training on 24 May, was appointed acting pilot officer on 9 August 1937, and proceeded to 10 Flying Training School, Tern Hill on 21 August 1937. He was appointed Pilot Officer on 24 May 1938, service number 40007, and joined the FAA Pool at Gosport on 10 October. He was promoted to Flying Officer on 12 December 1939. Eire was officially neutral during the Second World War but Billy proudly wore his RAF wings. He had willingly sworn an oath to serve the English king and country. As a member of the Commonwealth, he also fought for his mother’s country, Australia.

(William Storey Moore, 1941. Private Collection, with thanks.)

Like other young men, Billy balanced love and family with service. At some point he met Celia Beck and they married on 4 July 1940, in St Peter’s Church, Over Wallop, Hampshire. Their son Liam (an Irish diminutive of William) was born on 9 November 1942.

(Billy and Celia, possibly on their wedding day. Private Collection, with thanks.)

When I discovered that Billy was not Australian, I reluctantly stopped researching his aerial career and focused on the young men featured in my Australian Eagles and Australia’s Few and the Battle of Britain. I thank my friend Geoff Simpson and his research for the most recent edition of Men of the Battle of Britain additional details of Billy’s service life.

Billy joined 236 Squadron at Martlesham Heath on 26 January 1940 (coincidentally given his Australian connection and heritage, Australia Day). There he flew Blenheims on anti-submarine patrols for Coastal Command (and, briefly, with Fighter Command). The squadron later moved to Mount Batten and, on 26 October, during the dying days of the Battle of Britain, he was appointed ‘C’ Flight Commander. On 19 November, Billy led his flight to RAF Aldergrove where it joined a flight from 235 Squadron to reform 272 Squadron. Billy was then appointed commander of 272 Squadron’s ‘A’ Flight. The squadron was originally equipped with Blenheims but later converted to Beaufighters. Billy flew his first sortie with the newly operational squadron on 23 November 1940. He was promoted to Flight Lieutenant on 3 December and then to Squadron Leader on 1 March 1942.

On 29 October 1943, Billy was posted to 143 Squadron, based at Portreath, Cornwall, flying Beaufighters. The squadron provided fighter support for anti-submarine aircraft operating over the Bay of Biscay. The 143 Squadron operations record book reveals that, at 9.50 a.m. on 24 December, six Beaufighters were detailed to carry out an interception over the Bay. They sighted two Heinkel He 177s. Squadron Leader Moore, who was flying Beaufighter ‘N’ JM160, engaged one of the Heinkels at 500 yards. It was his first combat since commencing his second tour. Billy closed, firing to 200 yards. Then, a vivid flash was seen in front of ‘N’, which broke in two and disintegrated. Billy and his navigator, Pilot Officer Philip Heslop Froment, were killed instantly. The squadron’s Commanding Officer, Wing Commander Edric Hartgill Hardy, later speculated in his combat report that ‘N’ was shot down because of its slow closing speed in the field of fire of the enemy’s rear cannon.

Wing Commander Edric Hardy’s sketch of Beaufighter ‘N’ JM160’s last moments. 143 Squadron Operations Record Book, National Archives UK, AIR 27/978

Billy and Froment are both honoured on the Air Forces Memorial at Runnymede and a brief outline of Billy’s life and service appears on http://www.bbm.org.uk/airmen/MooreWS.htm

Air Forces Memorial at Runnymede. (Personal collection.)

(Battle of Britain Monument. Personal collection.) 

Billy’s death on Christmas Eve 1943, at the age of 27, was just one sadness which his family had to endure. Less than two years later, on 10 October 1945, his brother Hugh died. Then, on 31 May 1946, on the Isle of Wight, little Liam succumbed to peritonitis; he had been treated for gastroenteritis but had actually had a burst appendix. I can’t begin to imagine what Billy’s mother, Ruby, felt, losing two sons and a grandson in quick succession. Nor can I imagine Celia’s grief at the loss of her handsome husband of three years, and their cherished son, named after his father and grandfather. Celia later went to Australia, remarried a Mr McIntyre at some point, and lived in Brisbane. The Irish connection lost contact and knows nothing more of her.

So little is known about this young Irishman in the RAF who is numbered as one of ‘The Few’. But Billy lived well and served with courage. He is remembered within his extended family as a larger than life person who had been liked by everyone.

My concluding words of the Britain at War article where I revealed Billy’s Irish heritage were: ‘Now that William Storey Moore’s true nationality has been established, he can be honoured as an Irishman and commemorated as one of Ireland’s fallen. Hopefully, something more of his life and contribution—in particular his Battle of Britain service—will be discovered in his true homeland.’ Perhaps it has. I discovered today that there is a brief chapter about him in Ireland’s Aviator Heroes of WWII by John Mercer. 

https://issuu.com/irishpublisher/docs/ireland_s_aviator_heroes_of_wwii_pr

Vale Billy Moore, as we commemorate the 74th anniversary of his death.

The Ten Commandments - Kriegie Style

Over the last few months, I’ve been delving into the place of religion in helping the airmen prisoners of war in Stalag Luft III cope with captivity. Some men had profound faith which provided much comfort. Others disclosed a particularly secular—even wryly humorous—relationship with religion.

For many, ‘monotony’ was the key characteristic of life in a prisoner of war camp. One wit, for instance, pointed out that Hebrews 13:8—‘Jesus Christ the same yesterday and today and forever’—admirably summed up their ‘kriegie’ life. Many relieved the boredom with escape work. When the time came to name North Compound’s the three major escape tunnels, George Harsh, who was in charge of security, favoured calling them ‘The Father’, ‘The Son’ and ‘The Holy Ghost’. 

(Author photo from George Harsh: Lonesome Road, Longman, 1971)

Roger Bushell, the escape mastermind, however, vetoed the idea because they would need all the help they could get, and they didn’t want to ‘start out by making the Almighty cross with us’. Bushell then settled on the less irreverent and more anodyne and the tunnels were dubbed ‘Tom’, ‘Dick’ and ‘Harry’.

(Lifted from https://blog.findmypast.com/in-our-prisoner-of-war-records-the-real-great-escapers-1406166255.html)

There were many off duty hours to fill and when they weren’t digging tunnels or carrying out other important escape related jobs, the men were always keen to keep their minds active and stimulated. John Osborne, for example, read religion along with science and philosophy for intellectual interest and a starting point for debate. 

(From the John Carlisle Osborne collection.  Courtesy of Narromine Aviation Museum)

Dick Winn read the Bible and Koran from cover to cover but not for the religious inspiration: ‘these books were so good, because they took so long to read’.

(Dick Winn's POW card)

Some, however, even in times of literary starvation, such as in Stalag IIIA, Luckenwalde after the evacuation from Stalag Luft III, could not stomach the word of God. Bruce Lumsden who carried on the forced march a copy of A Christmas Carol, a hymn book, and his precious Bible recalled that, for weeks, the Dickens ‘was passed around the hut from one to another kriegie, hungry for a read. One or two also borrowed my Bible’.

(Bruce Lumsden and his bible, courtesy of the Bradbeer/Lumsden family) 

Parodying the Ten Commandments, ‘The Kriegie’s Commandments’ exhorted the prisoners ‘to do no arbeit’ (work), or ‘dhobi’ (washing), and to ‘get into as many rackets as possible’. The humour of the ‘commandments’ helped make light of their new life. They also prescribed a formula for harmonious communal living. The ‘commandments’ promoted kriegie safety (‘Thou shalt not walk over the warning wire’) and reflected civilised society’s laws in, for example, the prohibition against stealing (‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s bedboards; nor his palliasse nor his dixie, nor his irons, nor anything that is his’). But they were also subversive. In forbidding arbeit, encouraging their fellows to be involved in rackets, and exposing ‘the rest’, i.e. German involvement in the rackets, the ‘commandments’ also condoned active and passive resistance.

(Courtesy of Alex Kerr)

Kriegie ingenuity and the Melbourne Cup!

Tin bashers such as Tony Gordon, who was noted by Bill Fordyce as North Compound’s ‘official’ tin basher, played a key role in Stalag Luft III’s physical comfort.

(Caricature of Tony Gordon, by Bill Fordyce. Fordyce's wartime log book, courtesy of Lily Fordyce)

As had prisoners of war in earlier conflicts, they produced artefacts which are generally described as ‘trench art’ from materials at hand—particularly dried milk powder tins the equivalent of the Great War’s bully beef tin—including kitchen and table utensils, biscuit grinders, jugs, tea pots, and coffee percolators.

(Klim tin, 'lifted' from the internet so long ago I have no idea where it came from. Sorry.)

The tin bashers also played a key role in the camp’s social life. George Archer sketched ‘Simo’s Masterpiece’, a brewing still manufactured by ‘Brew Fuhrer’ Laurie Simpson, noting that the fractionating column was constructed out of Klim, Ovaltine and cheese tins, joined together with solder from cigarette packet foil.

(George Archer's wartime log book, courtesy of David Archer)

Some became so skilled that tin bashing evolved from the purely utilitarian. Illustrations of percolators, tea pots and coffee pots in Belaria compound’s record of captivity, for instance, indicate that aesthetic form became as important in kriegie manufacture as function.

(Cousens, (ed), The Log: Stalag Luft III Belaria–Sagan 1939–1945. Cheltenham: the author, [1947], p. 193.)

The tin bashers also built chip heaters, ‘blowers’, and stoves. Tim Mayo, for instance, constructed a stove for his room out of Klim (powdered milk) tins, clay, bricks and solder from silver paper. The force draft cooker, known as a ‘blower’ or ‘stufa’, which ‘burns at a fierce heat’, used ‘fuel of all descriptions’. It was particularly useful when ‘fuel is almost non existent’, and is considered by historian Peter Doyle to be ‘the epitome of POW ingenuity’ and an ‘icon of captivity’.

(From Ken Todd's wartime log book, courtesy of Peter Todd)

But given that today will see the yearly running of the 'race that stops the nation', this post particularly celebrates the exemplary work of Bill Fordyce during his stint in an Italian POW camp, PG 78, Sulmona.

 

(Bill Fordyce, in happier times, courtesy of Lily Fordyce.)

He designed the 1942 Melbourne Cup trophy and ‘horses’. The blurry images are from Bill’s log book and the sharp image (AWM) P00631.005 is from the AWM collection. If you look carefully you can see Bill’s name on the stables.

.

 

 

Introducing William Henry Edwards DFC

One of Stalag Luft III's Australians in the RAF was William Henry Edwards, known as Bill to the family. 

Born on 18 October 1915, Bill grew up in Leichhardt (Sydney) NSW. He applied for and was successful in obtaining a pilot training cadetship at 1 Flying Training School, Point Cook and commenced 20 Course in July 1937. He was in the same intake as Stuart Walch and Jack Kennedy (Battle of Britain), and over lapped Des Sheen’s and Pat Hughes’ 19 Course. Also on 20 Course were Allan Mulligan and Charles Fry who would also fetch up in Stalag Luft III. 

Point Cook 20 Course 1937

Bill, Point Cook, 20 Course. 1937. 

Some of that time is described in my Australia’s Few and the Battle of Britain. But here is the description of 20 Course’s initiation, engineered by Pat Hughes and co (from Pat’s diary) which did not make it into the book:

On 24 July, a cold Victorian winter’s night, 19 Course took the disrobed juniors down to the seaplane hangars. There, they painted them with dope—a flammable lacquer applied to aircraft to weatherproof the fabric stretched over the airframe—and branded some with a cold, and some with a hot, iron. They then sprayed them up and down a ladder with a fireman’s hose before throwing them into the icy sea. Finally, the hapless new boys were knighted on a block of ice with an electric shock. ‘Whoopee’, wrote Pat, as he signed off on his description of the night’s overly aggressive high jinks.

Bill graduated 32nd in class with 64.88%. From Point Cook, Bill embarked for the UK on the RMS Orama, and a Short Service Commission with the RAF.

Bill on the RMS Orama. Courtesy of Ross Edwards.

After completion of his RAF training, he was posted to 211 Squadron RAF, then, on outbreak of war, to 107 Squadron RAF.

He served in the Norway campaign and his sterling service was recognised with the award of a Distinguished Flying Cross. Citation: In April, 1940, this officer was pilot of one of six aircraft which left to attack Stavanger aerodrome and seaplane base. The weather was so bad that five aircraft were compelled to abandon the task but Flying Officer Edwards succeeded in getting through, attacked the objectives and obtained valuable information. On the previous day he was pilot of one of twelve, aircraft ordered to attack the same objectives. Despite a heavy snow storm, which forced him to fly very low, he reached the target and attacked it in the face of heavy anti-aircraft fire. When returning he attacked a Dormer seaplane with his guns and scored hits. On both days this officer displayed great skill and determination, and courage of a high order.

The first Australian awarded the DFC was Dereck French, of Point Cook’s 21 Course, which overlapped Bill’s. The senior cadets, including Bill, according to French, treated 21 Course ‘like the lowest form of animal life’ and they organised an initiation similar to their own which French considered ‘silly, primitive...childish’. But enough of the gossip.

From Norway to France with 107 Squadron and the Battle of France. On 12 May 1940, the squadron was detailed to attack roads near Maastricht. Blenheim IV P4905 was shot down by Me 109s over Bettehoven at 9.25 am. LAC Palmer was killed, Sergeant Luter and Flying Officer Edwards, were captured. Bill was processed into captivity as POW No 326. Two other Australians destined for Stalag Luft III were captured that day: Guy Grey-Smith, whose Point Cook course overlapped Bill’s (and who experienced that silly, childish initiation meted out by Bill’s crowd), and Ian ‘Digger’ McIntosh.

Australians in Stalag XXIB, Schubin, Christmas 1942. Courtesy of David Archer.

Bill picked up the nickname ‘Hap’ at some point and spent time in a number of camps including Stalag XXA, Thorn and Oflag VIB, Warburg. He arrived in XXIB, Schubin 4 September 1942, then, when the North Compound opened, he was transferred to SLIII in April 1943. 

(Bill's grandson tells me that, according to Alex Gould, the original nickname was 'Happy'. George Archer's records indicate that it was then later shortened to 'Hap'.)  

Bill, Christmas 1942, at Schubin. Courtesy of David Archer. 

He was repatriated on 8 September 44 because of medical grounds. George Archer noted in his letter 24 July 1944 that ‘another batch of repats leave this week including three Aussies—Chuck Lark will know them—‘Dusty’ Miller, ‘Hap’ Edwards, and Tom Bax’. The East Compound history notes that information was sent to Britain via repatriated POWs ‘who were briefed by the Senior British Officer and his Staff and learned by heart’. They were then delivered ‘to an Intelligence Officer on arrival in the UK’.

Bill married Monica Hay Fenton Wingate in the UK in 1945. He later returned to Australia where at some point he became a service station proprietor. He and Monica had two children. On 30 September 1955, at the age of 39, he died in Concord Hospital (Sydney) NSW of Myelofibrosis (a serious bone marrow disorder) of which he had suffered over a number of years.