211768 PO Duncan Graham Royal Air Force 77 Squadron from:44 Brisbane Street, Greenock, Scotland My father, Duncan Graham, was a pilot officer in 77 Squadron, Halifax bombers, which flew out of Full Sutton in Yorkshire. His last operation was on 25th April, 1945, as part of a group of bombers who took part in a raid on German naval guns on the Island of Wangerooge off the Dutch coast.
He joined the air force at the start of the war, learning to fly in South Africa.
Like many men who went through the war he was reticent to talk about the bad times. But he did tell me many rather amusing stories. On one occasion the squadron was assembled for the visit of some bigwig from the War Office. Adherence to uniform was often quite casual in the air force, but on this occasion everyone was informed to dress correctly. My dad said that everyone thought something important must be coming up. The man from the War Office arrived and proceeded to say that something very disturbing had been happening. He had discovered that some aircrew, upon being shot down over enemy territory, had battle dress over their pyjamas. This must, he said, stop forthwith. It wouldn't so, he continued, for RAF men to be arrested in their pyjamas. Needless to say assurances were given. Needless to say they were soon ignored.
On another occasion my father told me that the men from his squadron were taken in lorries and dropped off in the countryside with rudimentary compasses and maps and told to make their way back to the base; a training exercise should they happen to be shot down. One of the men in my father's lorry cut a hole in the canvas covering of the truck and happened to recognise the area near where the lorry stopped. Instead of tracking their way across country, the men went to a nearby village and spent a couple of hours in the local pub, sampling their ale. They then flagged down an army lorry and were dropped off a couple of miles away from their RAF base. They returned to base as the second party to return and were commended for their efforts!
Duncan learned to fly out in South Africa after joining up. Upon returning to Britain on a troop ship, on which there were many Italian prisoners of war, my dad was asked to take guard duty as there was a shortage of army personnel on board. An army sergeant accompanied him and, upon coming along a companionway, they saw an armed soldier at the end of the corridor quickly rush into a cabin. Upon entering the cabin they discovered that the British Army guard had given his gun to an Italian and told him to stand outside while he had a cigarette. The Italian had seen my father and the army sergeant coming along the corridor and had gone back into the cabin to alert the Tommy.
Strictly speaking it was a shooting offence, handing your weapon to an enemy in a time of war. My father counselled the army sergeant who wished to pursue the matter, advising him that both of their leaves would be cancelled if they reported the matter and had to attend a court martial as witnesses. In the event the unfortunate soldier had to peel potatoes for the rest of the voyage. As my father said, however, he never saw a happier bunch of prisoners than the Italians who were just pleased to be out of a war they had little enthusiasm for.
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