by Steve Holmes
William’s head was back in his hands as he raked his fingers through his hair. He looked up at his son, pulled him towards him and ruffled at his hair just like he had when he was a small boy. John leaned into him and his father’s arms wrapped around him tightly.
‘I hope so son…I hope so.’
John tried to look at the situation logically. Surely the Americans wouldn’t sit on the fence for ever. Another ship sunk perhaps? Maybe something bigger?
It was March 27th 1941 and John bid his father goodnight and climbed the stairs to bed. On the other side of the world, the Japanese spy Takeo Yoshikawa arrived in Honolulu, Hawaii and began to study the United States fleet at Pearl Harbor.
John had never expected to meet Dorothy’s parents on this their first real date but Dorothy had insisted he come in and meet the family. It was only when she took his hand and pulled him into the house that his resolve broke. Her soft tiny hand felt so good in his. He never wanted to let it go.
Dorothy’s father stood with his elbow resting on the mantelpiece of the black cast iron range, bedecked in a steel grey three-piece suit complete with waistcoat and a gold Albert chain hanging from the pocket. He wore a crisp, starched, brilliant white shirt and a bottle green tie and he smoked a pipe. It was the quintessential look of that particular time. He eyed John up and down purposely, as if to say watch your step my lad, be very careful with my daughter. If he’d wanted to frighten John Holmes then it worked a treat. John was petrified. The white smoke from the pipe drifted into the air before disappearing, as if by magic, into the recesses of the room. And then he spoke.
‘What does your father do, young man?’
‘Furniture maker for Waring and Gillow, Mr Shaw,’ he said nervously.
John Shaw took another pull on his pipe, peered at John through the smoke as he blew it out through the side of his mouth.
‘Hmmm… very good, fine job.’
There then ensued another uncomfortable silence. He could hear what he thought was Dorothy’s mother busying herself in the kitchen but the rest of the house was deathly silent. He squeezed on Dorothy’s hand; she squeezed back and he was glad of the reassurance. It was all rather bizarre meeting Dorothy’s father when they hadn’t even been out on a real date, and yet he knew – they both did – that it was something that needed to be done. It was as if they were both displaying how serious they were about the future. They knew they had a future; they wanted to be with each other forever, to marry and to have children. They hadn’t told each other at that point but they would, very soon. In fact they would declare their undying love for each other that very day in the most beautiful place on earth. John Shaw spoke.
‘And where are you taking my daughter today, young man?’
‘The Crook O’ Lune, Mr Shaw.’
John Shaw smiled and nodded with approval. ‘I know it well lad. I know it well.’
James Holmes was home on leave. There was a purpose; he was getting married to his long term sweetheart Marjorie Nelson. His brother Ernie had also been granted leave for the event. It was an unusual occurrence. Three brothers home together during the war. It was the perfect opportunity for John to introduce Dorothy to the family. The reception was held in the local church hall; it was a magnificent feast and for once no one mentioned the war. John had approached Ernie several times; he wanted to find out first-hand what it was really like over there. But Ernie had flatly refused to talk about it. It was a long day but an enjoyable one because he was never far away from Dorothy’s side. They sat together holding hands in the church, they dined together, danced together and shared an awful lot of drinks together. Afterwards he walked Dorothy home and he told her all about his desire to join the RAF, to be one of the Brylcreem Boys. Air crew, not ground crew; he wanted to be one of the best. Dorothy said she believed he was the type of man who could be anything he wanted to be. Prophetic words. Confident words. Trusting words. And as he kissed her goodnight he swore he’d make those words come true.
On 22nd June 1941, Hitler’s Third Reich Army invaded Russia in an operation called Barbarossa. To many military experts it was a fatal mistake in that Hitler opened up two war fronts. He sent over 4.5 million troops of the axis powers, nearly 600,000 motor vehicles and 750,000 horses. On 19th September the Nazis took Kiev. Nearly the entire south western front of the Red Army was encircled and the Germans took nearly 600,000 Russian POWs. They treated them dreadfully. Some of them were immediately executed in the field by the German forces, while many simply died of starvation in German prisoner of war camps and during the ruthless death marches from the front lines. The camps were often simply open areas, fenced off with barbed wire and the crowded prisoners dug holes with their bare hands in a vain attempt to protect themselves from the elements. Many died from exposure as the weather turned colder.
The Kiev disaster was an unprecedented defeat for the Red Army and Hitler’s confidence then knew no bounds. He decided to set his sights further afield and ordered his troops to advance onwards towards Moscow. His senior generals urged caution advising on the severity of the Russian Winter. Hitler ignored them.
Towards the end of November the German forces fighting for control of Moscow were worn out and frozen, with only a third of their motor vehicles still operable. Their infantry divisions were at one-third to one-half strength and serious logistics issues prevented the delivery of winter equipment to the front. Warm clothing and decent boots were in short supply. Even Hitler seemed to concede that the idea of a long struggle seemed futile. The daily casualties were extremely high, many German troops simply froze to death during the cold nights where temperatures regularly touched -35°C. German losses were estimated between 300,000 and 450,000 men. Operation Barbarossa was the largest military operation in human history in terms of both manpower and casualties.
On 7th December 1941, the Japanese Imperial Navy attacked the USA pacific fleet at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. The Japanese raid on Pearl Harbor has been described as one of the less noble moments in the history of World War Two, but one that could have led to victory for the Axis powers had it not been for the resolve and determination of the Allies afterwards. An American General likened it to a boxing match where one of the prize-fighters sat on his stool blinded, deafened and completely unaware that his opponent had started the fight. The Japanese were roundly condemned around the world for not declaring war on the US before the attack. However, what no one could deny was that it was a well-orchestrated, well-executed plan which all but removed the United States Navy’s force as a possible threat to the Japanese Empire’s southward expansion.
The Japanese Navy secretly sent one of its biggest aircraft carriers across the Pacific with a greater aerial striking power than had ever been seen on the World’s oceans before. Its planes hit just before 8am on 7th December 1941. The Americans were taken completely by surprise and within a short time, five of its eight battleships were seriously damaged, all of which would eventually settle into the dark murky silt deep at the bottom of Pearl Harbor. Three destroyers were wrecked, a minelayer and a target ship destroyed and two cruisers were also badly damaged. Many other smaller ships suffered major structural damage.
Such was the ferocity of the Japanese attack it also accounted for most of the Hawaii-based combat planes and as the Japanese turned tail for home satisfied with their day’s work over 2,400 Americans were dead. Soon after, Japanese planes eliminated much of the American air force in the Philippines.
The ‘sneak’ attacks shocked and enraged the previously divided American people and fuelled a determination to fight, and in Congress the following day, President Roosevelt asked for a declaration of war against Japan. He referred to the attacks as a ‘date that will live in infamy’. Vice Admiral Halsey brought his Enterprise task force into Pearl Harbor and when he witnessed the sheer destruction first hand said, ‘Before we’re through with ’em, the Japanese language will be spoken only in hell.’
At last, the United States of America had joined the war
.
In the spring of 1942 the Government introduced the rationing of electricity, coal and gas. It did not go down well in the houses of Great Britain. John’s father was practical as he read the Sunday papers announcing the date of introduction.
‘It’s a sensible precaution,’ he announced to his son and wife. ‘The more power we save the more we can use to produce armaments.’
He scanned the rest of the news and read the salient points out loud.
‘Those RAF lads are doing their bit, John. I see Hamburg has had a taste of Bomber Command medicine.’
The RAF had also sent out raids against Lübeck, almost destroying the medieval city centre. Adolf Hitler was outraged and ordered ‘Baedeker raids’ on historic British sites in revenge for the Lübeck bombing. Around the same time, with sinister undertones he ordered the Jewish population in Berlin to wear the yellow Star of David at all times.
A few months later, the first reports began to filter through to the west that gas was being used to kill the Jews sent to the east.
Autumn 1942 was an eventful month for Dorothy Shaw and John Holmes. John had sat the test for the RAF in Liverpool. It had seemed to take forever to get there on the bus and while most of his friends including Norman had joined the local infantry regiments where an examination wasn’t necessary, John had at least wanted to give it a go. He recalled the conversation with Norman the previous evening in the Greaves Hotel. Norman had said it wasn’t worth it.
‘Our sort don’t join the RAF John, the RAF is for toffs, public school boys and those with money,’ he’d said.
The bus approached the outskirts of the city and John began to get a few pangs of doubt. Perhaps Norman was right he thought to himself, a waste of a day, a waste of a bus fare and a day’s pay lost too. Then he recalled Dorothy’s words. I can do it, he told himself; I will do it, he mouthed as the bus pulled into the depot in Lime Street. It was a ten-minute walk to the recruiting office in Victoria Street and as he walked in the desk sergeant, a portly balding man in his mid-fifties, looked over the top of his bi-focal glasses.
‘Name.’ he bellowed.
‘Holmes, Sir.’
John found himself coming to attention, poking out his chest though he hadn’t a clue where it had come from.
‘I’m here to take a test, Sir.’
The sergeant scrolled down the sheet of paper in front of him and rested his pen halfway down the sheet.
‘John Holmes. Born 1923, 59 Ashton Drive, Skerton in Lancaster. Is that you, boy?’
‘Yes Sir.’ John smiled.
The sergeant pointed to a row of chairs.
‘Then take a seat and wait your turn, and stop fucking smiling boy. I didn’t ask you to smile.’
John could have done no more. The exam had been as expected, not easy but then again he didn’t think it had been too difficult. And he’d been glad of his knowledge of engineering and the mechanics that made the machines in the mill work as quite a few questions referring to that sort of thing had cropped up on the paper. Next was his interview. He sat another twenty minutes before the desk sergeant called his name.
‘Holmes. Room four.’
Wing Commander RG Wilson, the brass plaque read on the door. He seemed a friendly enough chap at first, totally different from the desk sergeant he’d first met. He warned John about how difficult it was to get into the RAF and how he mustn’t be disappointed if he wasn’t accepted.
John explained that both his brothers were fighting in the war and he was desperate to join them.
‘But why the RAF, Holmes? Why not join one of your brothers’ regiments? You’ll be with your pals, chaps from your own neighbourhood.’
‘I’m not interested Sir, I want to join the RAF, I want to be the best. I feel that’s where I belong, don’t ask me why or how, it’s just how I feel.’
John’s eyes oozed sincerity and determination, the look was not lost on Wing Commander Wilson.
John continued. ‘I’ve been fascinated by aircraft, especially bombers, since I was a small boy, I’ve always felt destined to fly and I…’
‘Whoa, just a minute here old chap,’ the Wing Commander interrupted. ‘You’re getting a little ahead of yourself now. Who said anything about flying?’
John opened his mouth but the words wouldn’t form.
‘There are seven crew members flying in one of those Stirling Bombers including the pilot. Those boys are the elite, sonny. You can forget that straight away. If you’re serious, and I mean really serious then you’ll set your sights on being one of the ground crew.’
John gulped. He felt his eyes moisten just a little and hoped the Wing Commander hadn’t noticed.
‘But I don’t want to be ground crew, Sir. I…’
The Wing Commander interrupted again
‘It takes at least sixty ground crew to keep those chaps in the air Holmes, are you insulting my ground crew?’
‘No Sir, but…’
‘You are; you’ve just told me you don’t want to join our ground crew.’
John felt physically sick. He’d blown it. How had the conversation tailed off so badly? He needed to somehow rescue the situation, he was thinking on his feet.
‘Yes Sir, I’d be truly honoured to be a member of the ground crew.’
The Wing Commander jotted a few notes on the writing pad in front of him. There was a deafening silence before he eventually spoke.
‘I’m glad to hear it. Coming in here insulting my boys. Ha!’ He mocked a fake laugh. ‘Delusions of grandeur no doubt.’
The Wing Commander closed his pad.
‘Okay, here’s what happens next. We mark your test and post you a letter within the next few days. If you’ve passed then we’ll send you to Blackpool on a two-week selection course. It won’t be any fun, I warn you, not a Stirling Bomber or a Spitfire to be seen. Just hours and hours of square bashing and dozens more competency tests, a lot of study in the classroom and a final examination.’
John was nodding his understanding.
‘Some won’t make it, we’ll send them home and they’ll go into their local regiments. The rest –’ he looked John Holmes in the face. ‘– the elite – will join the RAF.’
‘Yes Sir.’
The Wing Commander opened his note pad once again and began referring to his notes. Without looking up he told John Holmes to go.
As John reached the door he turned around and paused. He took a sharp intake of breath.
‘Sir…’
‘Yes, Holmes?’
‘I apologise, Sir, I really do.’
He looked up. ‘Glad to hear it boy, now be off with you.’
‘It’s just…’
‘Yes, Holmes?’
‘It’s just that I want to be in air crew so badly.’
‘Holmes,’ the Wing Commander announced in a voice that was a few decibels louder than his usual tone. ‘Have you ever flown in an aircraft before, even as a passenger?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘I thought as much. Now fuck off out of my office and close the door quietly as you do.’
For five days John Holmes was the first out of bed every morning waiting for the postman to bring a letter postmarked Liverpool. Jimmy French, the local postman, walked towards the door on a cold blustery morning. He waved a letter at the bay window as John Holmes peered out. John could just about make out his words.
‘Letter from Liverpool, John. RAF stamp on the back. It’s the one you’ve been waiting for I think.’
Jimmy French waited while John opened the letter. His face broke out into a broad grin.
‘Yes. Yes!’ he repeated over and over again.
‘What, what is it?’ Jimmy asked.
‘I’m off to Blackpool next week, on an RAF selection course.’
Jimmy’s face fell.
‘Is that it? Is that what all the fucking fuss is about, a bloody selection course? Jesus Christ John, I thought the letter was telling you you’d been made up to Flight Commander!’
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br /> There’s an expression in life that says, ‘it’s a perfect day, watch some bastard spoil it’. If John’s encounter with the postman hadn’t exactly spoiled what to him was a perfect day then his meeting with Dorothy certainly did. He was full of enthusiasm as he showed her the letter and although she did her best to share his exuberance John knew something wasn’t quite right. They were soul mates, lovers and best friends. It was as if he could almost read her mind.
‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong, Dot?’
The tears welled up in Dorothy’s eyes and she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve.
‘Is it not obvious, John?’
‘Tell me what it is darling, we’ll get through it together.’
‘I’m sure we will John, I’m sure we will.’ She sniffed, dabbed at the corner of her eyes with the handkerchief.
‘They’re sending me off to Coventry.’
Hearing the name of the West Midlands city hit John like a blow from a sledgehammer.
‘I’ll be working in a munitions factory in the city centre… living in digs.’
No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening. His father’s words came back to haunt him. Coventry…Coventry… God help the poor bastards living in Coventry.
CHAPTER FOUR
The bus to Blackpool for the Aircrew Candidates Selection Board (ACSB) had taken just over three hours, stopping in various towns en route picking up other young RAF hopefuls along the way. It was a long three hours and John’s head was in the clouds – or rather it was in Coventry. Why Coventry? he’d asked himself a hundred times. Dorothy would be lodging in the Bishopsgate Green part of the city and although she would be home every other weekend it didn’t make it any easier.
He’d had his first letter from her and she missed him, couldn’t wait to get back to Lancaster. When would they see each other again? It was anyone’s guess. Although Dorothy’s leave was precisely documented, his wasn’t. Whether he passed or failed the RAF’s stringent entrance procedures he didn’t have a clue where he’d end up. His life was in the lap of the Gods.
