The wedding

Before we get back into the logbook, I have a few more photos to share. I’ve already related how my parents met but if you missed the story, you can catch up here.

My mother (who died in 2007) was always a very stylish woman. Even in her late 80s/early 90s, should wouldn’t dream of going out of the house without makeup on and her beloved high heels. Her favourite colour scheme was black and white, which is a combination I favour too. So she had two-toned black and white shoes or she’d wear black pants with a white top.

When she was in her 20s and working in Sydney, she had a dressmaker called Madam. I’m sure this woman had a name other than Madam but this is what my mother called her when she spoke to me about her. Apparently, she made her wedding dress – a duck egg blue tailored suit.

I don’t know why my mother didn’t go for the flouncy white wedding dress and long veil. I didn’t either when I married. Maybe it had something to do with wartime and shortage of fabric.

My parents were married in New Zealand on October 12, 1945 and, as far as I know, this was some three months or so after they met on a bus in Sydney. Now before you jump to conclusions, nope, my mother wasn’t expecting a bundle of joy. In fact, no children appeared until the early 1950s.

According to family legend (and it’s all a bit mysterious, I’m not sure I have the full story) – there were two children before me, both boys. I believe one was stillborn; I’m not sure about the other. Then there was a long gap between them and me – I was apparently quite the surprise for older parents.

Anyway. I found this photo of Dad and I guess he sent this to my mother. And their wedding photo. I’ve included a recent shot of me so you can put a face to the person writing this blog – do you see any family resemblance?!

 

Life of the party

Dad was always a very positive, happy person. I rarely saw him in an iffy mood and, when he was a bit cranky, it was usually because he was being asked to queue up for something. My parents were both into dancing and during the 1950s, before I was born, they apparently used to go to nightclubs in Sydney every Saturday night. My mother was a fantastic dancer and I often saw them dancing in the living room to some romantic music. I found this so embarrassing that I’d flee back into my bedroom to listen to some heavy metal music. Dad would appear at the doorway to my room pretty soon and tell me to turn the “noise” down

I was rummaging through a packing box a few weeks ago and came across this photo of Dad. I vaguely recall someone telling me it was taken at an office fancy dress party. This could have been my grandfather’s importing/exporting company as Dad worked with my grandfather in the 1950s before branching out into his own importing company.

In this photo, Dad looks just like he was as I was growing up. Always joking, laughing and seeing the bright side of everything. He was a very confident man; extremely good at what we’d now call networking or working the floor. You know: the whole meet and greet stuff. He’d walk into a room and start chatting with anyone and everyone. He had a very calm demeanor, whereas my mother was prone to slightly panicking over things.

I don’t recognise anyone else in the photo below and I’m not sure what fancy dress Dad was adopting – maybe a pirate.

Dad is on the far right.

No. 1 A.D.U.

In the last post, I said I was puzzling over what A.D.U. stood for. I’m grappling with all the acronyms in Dad’s pilot logbook but obviously confused myself because when I looked again at the particular page in his logbook that is the subject of today’s post – well, there it was in HUGE capital letters – A.D.U. And it stands for Aircraft Delivery Unit. Duh!

So as far as I can work out, Dad finished his fighter pilot training with 71 Operational Training Unit (71 O.T.U) at the end of December 1942. You can catch up on his training here.

I don’t know why but he was then stationed at No.1 A.D.U. I’m going to guess at this – I think that pilots in an A.D.U. delivered or transported aircraft that were either new or repaired to R.A.F. squadrons. Dad was only in No.1 A.D.U. from January 14-30, 1943 when he then moved to No. 2. A.D.U. Perhaps he was waiting to be transferred to the 127 Squadron, which he joined in April, 1943.

The images below show his logbook for January 1943 and I think this is the first mention of flying a D.C.3. This makes sense to me now. As a kid, Dad used to take me to Sydney airport on a Sunday. This was back in the day when you could stand on the roof of the terminal building and watch planes take off and land. I even have a very hazy recollection of meeting someone at the bottom of the steps as they were disembarking. No paranoid airport security back then! And I remember him telling me that the D.C.3 was a great aircraft to fly.

Dad was also flying a Hurricane IIC and you can see from the images below the routes he flew. What’s interesting is that Dad now starts to make comments in his logbook. Up to now, it was all Sequence of Instruction stuff but, from now on, we find out about the purpose of missions, what problems Dad encountered and so on.

Dad’s handwriting is oh-so-familiar to me. Even so, I’m having a bit of trouble deciphering his first comment. I think it says “Dome ‘drome (i.e.aerodrome) – right in the jungle. Nasty place to force lob”. The other two comments are:

• Brake pressure ‘went for a Burton’. O.K. though, 1/4 mile runway!
• Over the Nubian Desert – not too nice flying this.

I had to chuckle at the “went for a Burton” comment – Dad often uttered this phrase. He also often said “bad show”, which is a phrase I sometimes say too.

Seems that Dad might also have been testing aircraft – the entry for January 20 says “Air Test (Ikeja)“. Ikeja is in Lagos, Nigeria and this makes sense as the entry above this says that Dad flew the El Geniena-Lagos route (although I think he meant El Geneina).

For those of you interested in flying hours, you can see the Grand Total in the images below. And if anyone has information on No.1. A.D.U. or the routes flown, leave a comment please.

Shadow firing and squadron formation

Dad was stationed at the 71 O.T.U. Carthago from November 1 to December 28, 1942. O.T.U. stands for Operational Training Unit and it seems that Dad was undertaking a fighter pilot course. He was following a Sequence of Instruction that included: battle formation; shadow firing; air to ground firing; squadron formation; oxygen climbs; aerobatics; and dog fighting. You can catch up on earlier entries from his pilot logbook here and here if you’re interested in 71 O.T.U.

From a summary in his logbook, looks like Dad was going up and down in Harvard I and II; Hurricane I and Hurricane IIB; as well as a Tomahawk. Because I’ve never really seen any of these planes, I had to do some research. Go here to read about the Harvard, Hurricane I and IIB planes. But the Tomahawk? No idea. So more research.

I’m not absolutely certain of this (and I know that experts reading this blog will help me out) but seems the Tomahawk was what the British Commonwealth air forces called the Curtiss P-40 Warhawk, which was an American single-engine, single-seat attack aircraft.

Dad seemed to be flying a number of different Hurricane and Harvard aircraft according to the aircraft numbers in his logbook. Guess you needed to be able to scramble into any plane when flying off on a mission. Seems he only flew one Tomahawk with the aircraft number AH955.

The Duty column in his logbook refers to a cine gun (and more research for me). Again, I’m not sure but I think these guns were aerial camera guns and started filming when the guns were fired. That’s why you get WWII footage from fighter planes. I find this quite amazing actually and wonder what the focal distance was between the object and the fighter plane and what lenses were used. I suspect they would have used 16mm film.

Below are photos of Dad’s logbook from December 2 to December 23, 1942. The only thing of note seems to be that on December 14, he had to return to base due to an overheating Hurricane. Click on the images to enlarge. You will see the Summary of his fighter pilot training at 71 O.T.U.

On December 28, he completed his fighter pilot course and was then stationed at 22 P.T.C. Almaza, Egypt from January 2 to January 8, 1943. P.T.C. stands for Personnel Transit Centre and he was on his way to No.1 and No 2. A.D.U., then 136 AAD Benghasi. I’m still figuring out what A.D.U. stands for or what 136 AAD Benghasi was i.e. a squadron? Then, on April 6, 1943 he joined the 127 Squadron in St.Jean, Palestine.

Before we get to his logbook entries for the 127 Squadron, Dad starts to make comments about his flying and missions whilst stationed at No.1 and No.2 A.D.U. For me, it’s fascinating to read how Dad had brake pressure problems or he was covering an on-the-ground convoy whilst flying high over the Nubian Desert. The Duty column is really giving me problems though – can’t understand the abbreviations and numbers Dad used. But we can worry about this in the next blog post!

In transit

From Dad’s Record of Service, I know he was in transit to New Zealand from January 18, 1944. This followed about six weeks at the 12 P.D.R.C. in Brighton, UK (P.D.R.C. standing for Personnel Despatch and Reception Centre). I must see if I can research what troop ship he sailed on back to NZ.

I’m sure he was really looking forward to going home to Island Bay in Wellington. Although it would have been a little sad because his father died in 1943, so when he left NZ to go to war, that was the last time (as far as I know) that he ever saw his father.

I do know from both my parents that they met whilst Dad was in transit back to NZ. They were married on October 12, 1945. I’m pretty sure this photo was taken in Martin Place in Sydney, Australia. That’s where I was born and raised so I know Martin Place VERY well (I even worked around there) – the pillars and archway in the photo are Martin Place for sure.

The chap with Dad is probably the very same one my mother complained about. She always told me that two “uncouth New Zealanders” came on some tour bus that was taking mainly American service personnel to the scenic Blue Mountains (about 2 hours out of Sydney). She was a hostess on this bus – she was working in some capacity for the American Army in Sydney.

She always related this story with a twinkle in her eye. My parents were married 43 years – until Dad died in 1988 – and I never heard or saw a fight going on between them. I believe they were very happily married.

So I guess he met my mother on the bus and that was that. I’m pretty sure they were married back in New Zealand and then returned to Australia. Dad bought a piece of land in St.Ives and they built the home I grew up in.

I'm absolutely certain Dad and the other chap are posing for this photo in Martin Place, Sydney, Australia. Dad is on the right.

Here's a photo of my mother, Shirley Jenkins (née Hyams). No idea when it was taken - but by the looks of the fashion, I'd say 1940s. She always had a pair of black and white shoes in her wardrobe.

Christmas 1944

Pity I didn’t know about this menu a few weeks ago when it was actually Christmas time. I told you in my last post about how I found another photo album with a few of Dad’s WWII photos in it. As I was leafing through it, out fell this Christmas Day menu from the RAF Station in Brighton, England.

According to Dad’s Record of Service, he was in the 12 P.D.R.C from December 4, 1944 until January 18, 1945 when he wrote In Transit to New Zealand! Dad was a fiercely proud New Zealander, so guess he was ecstatic to be going home. Although I’m not sure why he was returning in January 1945 when WWII didn’t end (in Europe anyway) until May 1945 and in Asia it ended in August 1945. Perhaps it had something to do with how long he’d served in the RNZAF.

A quick Google search reveals that P.D.R.C. stands for Personnel Despatch and Reception Centre and there was indeed one at Brighton. So guess Dad was stationed there waiting for a troop ship back to New Zealand.

I had a quiet laugh when I saw the menu. Dad would have been in heaven – all his favourite foods. Good, old basic English stuff like roast beef (sure hope they served up Yorkshire Pudding as Dad never liked roast beef without a bit of pud); cauliflower with white sauce; and Christmas pudding with brandy sauce.

Later in life, when Dad was in his 40s, he took up cooking. He was actually a very good cook and I well-remember his roast pork and crackling; Vienna schnitzel with hot potato salad; and, of course, roast beef with Yorkshire pudding (which he’d obsess over to make sure it was perfect). As a teenager, I used to cook a lot with Dad but I did the desserts. His favourite from my repertoire was a recipe that I called Orange Almond Heaven. I’ve posted the recipe on another blog I have.

And then we have cheese biscuits and cheese straws. Dad loved good cheeses (I do too) and my Mum used to make him cheese straws. I’m assuming they might be the same thing. I’m not sure of the recipe but it had something to do with chucking together flour, cayenne pepper, mustard, cheese, flour and butter. All of this was mixed together and shaped into strips, then baked until golden.

Cheese straws are a huge memory from my childhood. My mother’s brother, Uncle Bobby, used to come over to our house for afternoon tea and always requested the cheese straws.

I’m not sure what Minerals were served up to the troops or whether this refers to mineral water. But I am sure Christmas 1944 for Dad was a very happy one with the knowledge he was returning to New Zealand whilst enjoying some festive foods. I don’t think though he actually made it home because, on his way through Sydney, he met my mother and they were married in October 1945. You can read the story of how they met here.

The balcony

I’ll be getting back to posting pages from my father’s logbook pretty soon. But I’m being sidetracked by some really interesting photos in his WWII album, plus a few photos I discovered yesterday in another album. We are STILL unpacking from our move to New Zealand nearly 2 years ago.

You know how it is. You unpack the essentials and stash the rest away in a storage room or container. Close the door and forget about it. But we’re nearing the end of renovations and are able to unpack some boxes. In one of the boxes, I discovered a photo album with some photos of Dad in WWII. So I think I’ll post these soon, then get back to the logbook.

Unlike the last photo I posted, here’s one with no caption. We have four chaps standing on a balcony that looks to me like it’s overlooking the tarmac of an airfield. Dad is the one with the cross above his head. I didn’t mark the photo, so suspect Dad did that before sending the photo back to my grandfather in NZ. Can’t quite tell but Dad has either a drink or cigarette in his hand (I recently discovered that Dad, who I never saw smoke, lit up a few cigarettes during WWII!).

I’m not sure if the chap in the foreground, with the moustache, is the same chap that appeared in the Magnificent Seven photo (far left – D.H. Rishworth). There is some resemblance but the hair looks different. Pierre, who is a great contributor to this blog and is helping me with my research, emailed a merged photo of this chap – I think they are the same person.

Also (and I’m no expert on uniforms, believe me) but looks like they are wearing winter uniforms, so presumably they’re in a colder climate or it’s Winter time. There is no indication from Dad’s album when this might have been taken. It’s so intriguing wondering what has captured their attention. Another mystery.

Click on the photo to enlarge.