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.

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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.

'Ever remembered'. James Catanach, Anzac Day 1944

Jimmy Catanach had been a prisoner of war for almost seven months before unburdening himself to his brother, Bill, on 28 March 1943. It had been a long journey from Melbourne, where he had been born on 23 November 1921, to Stalag Luft III, Sagan. He had enlisted in the RAAF when he was 18; was promoted to squadron leader; and had been awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross for daring raids over Lorient in north-western France, and the German cities of Cologne, Hamburg, Essen, and Lubeck, all before his 21st birthday. The most recent stage of his journey to captivity had begun on 4 September 1942.

Numbers 144 and 455 squadrons had been deployed to Russia as part of Operation Orator, to protect a convoy taking vital supplies to Russia: Jimmy was 455 Squadron’s youngest squadron leader and was lauded as the youngest in the RAAF. He was a lively, boisterous man, much loved by his crew and squadron friends. His commanding officer, Grant Lindeman, recalled that, as they were lined up to depart, ‘Jimmy of course couldn’t restrain himself to wait his turn; he taxied into the first gap in the line and was off like a blooming rocket’. Lindeman had ‘never seen such a wealth of superfluous energy in any individual over the age of twelve as Jimmy constantly had at his disposal. He didn’t drink or smoke; he talked at an incredible speed; he couldn’t stand still for a second, but he hopped about all the time you were talking to him till you were nearly giddy’. In his opinion, Jimmy ‘was a most excellent Flight Commander, and was probably the most generally liked man in the whole squadron’.

Members of 455 Squadron, August 1942. 

L-R: Jack Davenport, Jimmy Catanach, Grant Lindeman, Les Oliver, Bob Holmes. Author's collection

Jimmy was piloting Hampden AT109, which experienced a great deal of flak as it crossed the Norwegian coast. He realised they were rapidly losing fuel. Rather than risk the engines cutting out, he took the first opportunity to land. He touched down safely on a strip of heather adjoining a beach near Vardo, in northern Norway. Jimmy, his navigator Flying Officer George ‘Bob’ Anderson, wireless operator/upper gunner Flight Sergeant Cecil Cameron, lower rear gunner Sergeant John Hayes and their passenger Flight Sergeant John Davidson, a ground crew fitter, attempted to destroy the Hampden, but they were fired on by soldiers from one direction and a patrol boat from the coast. The five were taken prisoner; Bob Anderson and Jimmy were sent to Stalag Luft III.

455 Squadron, April 1942. L-R  Wilson,  Bob Anderson, Smart,  Humphrey, Acting S/L Jimmy Catanach DFC, 

Miller, and Clarke. https://www.awm.gov.au/collection/SUK10124/

Jimmy’s handful of earlier letters to his parents had been upbeat and emphasised his good spirits. His letter of 28 March 1943 was more subdued. He told Bill as much of the truth as he could within the constraints of censorship. He confessed his part in the events precipitating capture: ‘my arrival in enemy territory was far from glorious. I force landed as a result of fuel shortage caused by a sequence of misfortunes, mostly due to my own foolishness and partly due to climate conditions and enemy action’. Although the memory of it still ‘gets me down a bit’ he tried to push recollections aside and conceded that ‘present circumstances are not so bad’. Food, thanks to Red Cross parcels—when available—‘is quite good’ and living conditions were tolerable, if ‘a bit trying’. By far ‘the worst thing’ was ‘the lack of comradeship male & female and the futility of the existence.’ Even so, Jimmy kept himself busy with exercise, cooking, study and reading. But even as he made the most of life behind barbed wired, he planned for his future: ‘The end of the war is the main interest and topic of conversation … I am going to try studying Gem[m]ology & Bookkeeping etc. but am considering the idea of staying in service’.

But, unlike the majority of Stalag Luft III’s prisoners, Jimmy did not experience a life outside of captivity. Almost exactly twelve months after writing to Bill, he was dead, one of fifty Allied airmen—including five Australians—killed in the ‘Great Escape’ reprisals.

 Jimmy after he had been captured after the mass breakout. Lifted from http://twicsy.com/i/6iideb

The men of Stalag Luft III were shocked, ‘shaken and despondent’ when they heard of the death of their fellow prisoners. They held a memorial parade after roll call. They wore black flashes. They observed a period of mourning. They commemorated the dead in their wartime log books. Later, they built a memorial to comrades who had merely been carrying out their service duty to escape.

Sagan Memorial to the Fifty, courtesy of Geoff Swallow

Jimmy’s loss in particular affected his friends: Ronnie Baines who he had welcomed and taken under his wing and into his room on Baines’ first day in Stalag Luft III; Tony Gordon who had trained with him and never stopped grieving for his first RAAF friend; Bob Anderson who had flown with him and whose friendship had been forged under difficult and dangerous conditions.

Ronnie Baines

Tony Gordon and Jimmy Catanach, courtesy of Drew Gordon

 Bob Anderson. Courtesy of David Archer  

On Anzac Day 1944—less than three weeks after they had heard the ‘crushing news’ that most of those who had participated in the mass breakout of 24/25 March had been killed on Hitler’s orders—Jimmy’s Australian friends of North Compound gathered in the theatre with their compatriots from New Zealand. There, Padre Watson took a special Anzac Day service. Afterwards, they assembled for a series of group photographs taken by one of the German guards.

Anzac Day 1944. https://www.awm.gov.au/collection/P00270.027

The Australian ranks were depleted: as well as Jimmy, Albert Hake, John Williams, Reg Kierath and Thomas Leigh had been executed. Dressed as smartly as could be in worn RAAF and RAF uniforms, they proudly declared that they were air force men. On the day in which Australians and New Zealanders, honour their war dead, their photos were as much statements of Australian pride, unity and defiance against the enemy as they were portraits of grief. Last year, Jimmy had stood with them on Anzac Day.

Anzac Day 1943. Courtesy of Ian Fraser

 This year he was missing, ‘his duty fearlessly and nobly done’. But, he was ‘Ever remembered’. 

Jimmy Catanach’s headstone, Old Garrison Cemetery, Posen, courtesy of Geoff Swallow, 

Photographic Archive of Headstones and Memorials WW2 by Spidge

 Jimmy Catanach’s letters are held by the Shrine of Remembrance, Melbourne. I would like to thank Jenna Blyth, Collections Manager, and Neil Sharkey, Exhibitions Curator, who allowed me to consult the James Catanach Collection in October 2016.

A kriegie's wife writes

It’s easy to forget that the wives, fiancées and girlfriends of prisoners of war had it just as rough as their menfolk, but in a different way, of course.

I am currently going through the letters of Lola Hutchinson. She had been married to Doug for five years, and separated from him because of overseas service and captivity for four years. 

Doug and Lola Hutchinson,  25 March 1939. Courtesy of Robert Douglas Hutchinson.

Lola wrote to Doug every week and was lucky if she received one letter a month in return. She was in despair because he was badly injured when his aircraft crashed in a minefield near Heraklion, Crete after being shot down by machine gun fire on 22 July 1943. It was a terrible situation. The aircraft was on fire. The pilot had an arm shot off, the navigator had severe head wounds, the second Wop/AG was killed, and Doug had shrapnel wounds to foot (with a large chunk missing), elbow, legs and body. Although severely wounded, he had managed to drag his crew members to safety. Lola knew he was injured but, because of the difficult mail situation—and because he had omitted to tell her—she did not know that he had only been in hospital for a month and was on the road to recovery and out of hospital.

Every letter to him reiterated her worry that he was still seriously injured and badly burnt. And where was he burned? Was it his face? She had no idea if her handsome husband’s good looks were intact. Putting that aside, the strain of separation was difficult. She missed him and needed to know that he still loved her, as much as she loved him. She also felt the strain on their married life. They were young, and they didn’t have one. Despite censorship and the effects it might have on her husband, she dropped a hint about the strains:

‘I’m hoping and praying for you to be home for your next birthday, wouldn’t that be rather a wonderful thing to happen sweetheart? My dear you should see me now, it’s terribly hot and I’m lying on the floor with only a pair of scanties, a floral skirt and a white open neck blouse on.’

Usually, though, she was more circumspect in her correspondence which, perhaps, was just as well, for both of them. But nothing could stop her remembering their time together, turning over memories and hoping to make new memories when he returned. As she wrote her weekly letter, she listened to the radio:

‘They have been playing lots of new numbers and one of them, a favourite of mine, is “Every night about this time”. It’s funny but when I hear it played I always think of you, somehow the words bring back memories.’

Lola didn’t mention which version but perhaps it was this 1942 recording by the Ink Spots. I can see why she liked it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cPNFpeYemAY

Incidentally, Doug received Lola’s letter about four months later. Mails had been disrupted and it was his first letter for a few months. ‘I must say your description of how you were coping with the hot weather was rather vivid. Almost distracting to me’.

Easter, Kriegie style,

Given today is Easter Sunday, and I spent the morning stuffing my face with chocolate cake, I wondered how the air force prisoners I am studying spent their Easters in captivity.

Interestingly, Christmas is mentioned a number of times in letters and wartime log books but I only found a handful of Easter mentions in the personal collections I ‘hold’. It seems as if Easter didn’t have the same resonance for the majority as a time of Christian celebration but, for some, it provided a handy point of reference when recalling events. For some, it was point from which they could look forward, hopefully marking the end of their captivity. 

For Geoff Cornish, it marked the beginning of captivity. He was ‘marched off to a car … and taken away up to Amsterdam, and that was Easter Thursday 1941 … I spent Easter Thursday in gaol in Amsterdam’. Then, on Easter Monday, he was taken to Dulag Luft for interrogation. ‘There they questioned you, tried to get information about you more than your name, rank and number but it was fairly easy to resist, there was no torture or anything like that. If you didn’t answer you didn’t answer.’

Courtesy of Paul Royle, via Charles Page.

At Sulmona in Italy, Albert Comber sent a special message to his loved ones via the Vatican for Easter 1943. He was much cheered by the recent war news and, ‘everyone of course wishes that the whole business would end very soon’. But when Easter came and went, ‘one realised how quickly the months slip by—perhaps Christmas will see me home’. (It didn’t; by that stage he was in Stalag Luft III.)

Courtesy of Cath McNamara. 

Prisoners of war needed a lot of humour to help them cope with a seemingly limitless captivity. And chocolate. Just after Easter 1943, Justin O’Byrne wrote to his family and told then how the big Easter Monday sports day had been marred by the weather. Life, however, was not too bad in Stalag Luft III. ‘I have become quite used to the diet now, but look forward to the chocolate in the clothing parcels ... so bung in the chocolate for all you’re worth’.

Courtesy of Anne O’Byrne.

In April 1944, George Archer sent Easter greetings to his family. ‘Once more Easter is with us and I only trust the next service will be at St Marks’, his local church. 

Courtesy of David Archer.

He was to be disappointed. He was still a prisoner of war at Easter 1945. By Easter 1946, however, the war was over and he and his fellows were free men at last. 

I couldn’t find any drawings relating to Easter in wartime log books but I am quite taken by this rendition of Bugs Bunny by Cy Borsht, poking fun of the their kriegie accommodation. Happy Easter.

Courtesy of Cy Borsht.