A Raid Over Berlin

Chapter 10 Wedding Day

September 29, 1945, started out looking like anything but a promising day weather-wise; it was quite cold for early autumn. There was a thick fog slowing down the London traffic as my Best Man, also my best friend, and I made our way to St Pancras railway station to catch the train to Market Harborough. It was my wedding day.

Fortunately, because of the timing of the buses we had no option other than leave in good time to catch the train. Hailing a taxi to take us to the station was not even considered in those days, that was still only something the rich did, even on such an important journey. Not long after the start of the rail journey we knew we were going to be late in reaching our destination, the train was barely maintaining thirty miles an hour because of the fog, but, with the unfounded optimism of youth, we did not panic.

At Adelaide’s house her mother, on seeing the fog, had already expressed her doubts that Ron and I would arrive on time. However, later on in the morning, the fog rapidly disappeared. Our train was able to safely make up some of the lost time and we arrived in the village with enough spare time to have a quick drink in the Red Lion, before taking up our places, as rehearsed previously, inside the Parish Church in Sibbertoft.

As the pews filled up behind me I began to feel quite nervous and was glad when the organ struck up and I could get up and look back down the aisle and see Adelaide, looking absolutely lovely, on the arm of her father, coming slowly towards me. As we joined up, completely forgetting the onlookers, I gave her a saucy wink and a smile. Then all was well.

The reception was held in the close-by village school where Adelaide had attended as a pupil until the age of eleven. An excellent wedding breakfast was made possible by the generosity of friends and relatives who for some weeks had managed to save small amounts from their meagre weekly food ration; it was in all ways a truly village wedding.

After a honeymoon in Wales it was, for both of us, a return to RAF life and duty, but we could continue to see each other at weekends, and then with the help of a colleague, who was long established at Cranwell and very well connected there, we were introduced to a family in a nearby village who had a two-room accommodation to let. It was a rare opportunity indeed. According to the rules of release from wartime service after the war came to an end, Adelaide, now a married woman, could claim immediate release, so in a short time we moved in.

Now the war was over in Europe and the Far East, life in the RAF was quite different. The terrific pressures that had been imposed upon all the military leaders to bring victory were now over, but our civil leaders had to face the problem of getting the millions of people who had either been conscripted into service or had volunteered to join the armed forces, back to what they had been fighting for◦– a normal peaceful civilian life. For many reasons this had to be a slow and carefully controlled process, known as demobilisation, and everyone other than the regulars were given a demobilisation group number. Age and length of service was considered to determine this. The lower the number the sooner release was granted. I was twenty-three and had joined up in September 1941, so I was allocated group 44. The slow pace of demobilisation caused discontent for those wanting to get back to civilian life, and this must have created a bad atmosphere for the regulars, who formed only a slim minority, wanting to get on with their chosen career.

I was content to stay at Cranwell for the time being. The living accommodation that we were lucky enough to acquire proved to be very satisfactory. Adelaide got on very well with our landlady and found plenty to do while I was on duty. Weekends were always duty free, so we could visit her parents if we wished or could visit Lincoln, Newark or Sleaford. Not on a spending spree as there was nothing to buy.

There did come a temptation to give up this comfortable life when it appeared on Daily Routine Orders that experienced aircrew were required as volunteers to take part in what came to be known as the Berlin Airlift. Some of the now redundant heavy bombers were having to be used to take vital supplies to the British Sector of Berlin, all land access being denied by the Russians. There was a good bounty payable, but it also entailed a three-year engagement. This and the appreciation of how comfortable my life was at Cranwell◦– I certainly would not be able to come home to my wife every evening◦– easily outweighed my desire to get back to flying duties.

The full wisdom of my decision was not revealed until years later, when the number of aircrew who lost their lives while carrying out that long operation was revealed; it was considerable but seemed to get little official recognition. It appeared I had, once again, made the right decision.