Reluctant Hero. John Hickman
his Iron Cross for bravery but now a little too large in the bum to squeeze into a cockpit, he burned with speeches. Mainly about how he would throw more planes and bombs at England than anyone had ever done before him. And in that he would succeed.
Germans were a formidable foe. Their armaments were supreme, their discipline extreme. They were superior Teutonic beings who did everything better than everyone else.
The Luftwaffe had no such concept as a tour. German pilots didn’t retire after thirty missions or ops (short for operations as the RAF cal ed them.) They flew until they died or survived the war but German morale was higher than high. Their military intelligence ran circles around the British, as did their technology.
Hitler was on a roll. He promised to wring England’s neck like that of a chicken.
‘Some chicken; some neck,’ quoted Winston Churchill.
‘Churchil ’s up for the top job, and he does nothing for anyone except on cash terms,’ said Fred.
‘He’s good at speeches,’ retorted Lily. ‘I’ll give him that. But I’m not sure dying is preferable to kowtowing to those Germans.’
‘No! Nor drive their wretched Volkswagens, or own a Dachshund, Girl.’
* * * * *
. .We shall go to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight in the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender. .
Winston Churchil , 4 June 1940
(An excerpt from his speech in the House of Commons, after he became Prime Minister).
* * * * *
It was on for one and all as paranoia gathered momentum in triumphant procession.
‘Wherever Churchill goes people flock to cheer him,’ Lily said.
‘People,’ sneered Fred. ‘We’ll cheer anyone, if frightened enough. And don’t forget Churchill needs to break the old guard, Girl. New brooms replace the old.’
Rationing was in and the first items under the hammer were bacon, eggs, tinned ham, butter, sugar and precious icing sugar. To begin with the Germans had an underdeveloped air force but by late summer 1941 they’d seriously upgraded.
Nazi Germany dominated continental Europe. August 1941 saw over one hundred British aircraft lost. The following month was worse with losses of over one hundred and thirty. Many were shot down over English cities. One in four British planes perished but worse was to come. October saw more massive losses.
The Germans missed their East End docks target. Instead their bombs dropped on London. Hitler became angry that civilians had been attacked unnecessarily and issued an apology to the British Government.
Did Churchill see this as an opportunity to accelerate hostilities in his favour?
And was that why he ordered the RAF to attack Berlin as a reprisal?
An angry Hitler then ordered the Blitz on London.
Oh, well. Nobody’s perfect, thought Bill.
Often on smoggy days in London it was impossible to see a few yards ahead. Other times a heavy overcast sky appeared laden with snow, when it wasn’t. Even on those better days distance was relative as any horizon became lost in a sea of smog. Pilots reported visibility reduced to less than a few hundred yards. The days grew shorter as winter approached. Children went to school and came home in the dark. Any warming sun might appear sporadically about noon and disappear soon afterwards.
It was on a miserable day like that in January, with dismal thoughts about the weather in mind; Bill came to terms with reality. In the face of so much horror, he’d decided not to lie about his age as Eric had done.
One month before his eighteenth birthday at Lord’s Cricket Ground in London, Bill joined with hundreds of other would be hopefuls, for duty at the feet of a bunch of aeroplane enthusiasts. His Majesty’s King George VI’s Royal Air Force.
Bill filled out their masses of forms and stood in line for selection. He knew the next few hours might well be a turning point in his life. Aware time, once behind him, could never be retrieved or revisited his mood became mixed. He reasoned as a Leading Aircraftman he should be far removed from strapping eight-foot Hun troopers with pointy bits. If by some stroke of luck he made the elevated status of flight crew he would be even further removed. Bill had lifted his hands for emphasis. ‘Way, way up higher than high. And far, far above any rolling deep seas too.’
Bill completely forgot his fear of heights. At home he was incapable of standing on a chair to change a light bulb without assistance. But if his decision needed any reinforcement, there was an additional carrot. Payment for qualified pilots was a dizzy nineteen shillings and sixpence—per day! To Bill that was a worthy pinnacle.
Good money for the boy from the slums especially with more than a million people unemployed, thought Bill.
There were medicals to be conducted and then issue of an enormous pile of kit.
Like other local lads Bill was to be billeted at home as accommodations were reserved for those from out of town. Some luxurious north London flats were used, which belonged to exceedingly rich Jewish princesses. Bill looked on with envy. If only he’d been an out of town lad. Luxurious before they were stripped of everything flash, as in fancy fittings.
Even carpets were lifted before the rabble moved in. Colonial and country lads alike sat in bathroom sanctuaries second to none and used unlimited hot water from taps not blanked off —yet.
Bill’s anticipation and excitement continued to mount. Before him, he knew; would be an extreme test, both professionally and socially. The higher they raised the bar, the closer to the ground he felt. The boy from the slums was having troubles but he wasn’t the only one.
Many quietly suspected this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. Nor would it be an opportunity to sit around thinking about sex every day. But any such talk might smack of negativity, even treason.
In the First World War many good brave men were executed for far less by firing squad. They were made an example of to ensure the rank and file toed the line. A timely reminder of how any discussions about what might go wrong with the strategies of the powers-that-be, be kept to whispers and shared in private with only family and close friends who could be trusted.
Bill was barely eighteen years old, when full of beans but clueless, he looked about him in the examination room. He felt about as useless as a screw-in light bulb for a bayonet fixture. What to do? He might as well be attached to the sharp end of a Hun trooper’s bayonet. Most of those who competed against him for prospective aircrew positions were from better backgrounds. They could hardly have come from worse. Some had entire houses to themselves with lots of chimneys, even their own bathroom with hot and cold running water. The majority were from middle class families. Above them, aristocratic elite, who wore better uniforms with officer status and Oxbridge accents.
Back at home Bill said to his dad. ‘Makes them sound as if they’re talking with a plum stuck in their mouth. They’re so bloody wah, wah; their talk is so affected it’s hard to understand what they’re saying.’
‘Few of those upper classes will see much combat, Son. As with the world over you’ll find wealthy kids are rarely drafted. They’re easily identified as better educated when they speak.’
But everyone was better educated than Bill. Some were on leave from universities others had fancy double-barrelled names heralding aristocratic and privileged origins.
Bill felt leaden footed and totally inadequate. For him there was the measured collapse of one expectation after another. He wrestled with his doubts. Why on earth would the Air Force ever choose him over this lot? Bill’s ambition to become aircrew, perhaps