Showing posts with label RAF. Show all posts
Showing posts with label RAF. Show all posts

Thursday, August 24, 2017

As a Tea lover, I can believe this. . . .

THE YEAR BRITAIN BOUGHT UP ALL THE TEA IN THE WORLD


No one example captures how deeply tea drinking was embedded in the fabric of British everyday life than the decision of the government in 1942 to buy up every available pound of tea from every country in the world except Japan.
Britain faced defeat by the Axis powers of Germany and Japan. Its troops had been forced to make a complete withdrawal from Europe, leaving it open to an expected and narrowly avoided invasion. The “impregnable” fortress of Singapore had fallen, essentially ending Britain’s colonial dominance of Asia. Britain was close to broke, as its reserves were drained to keep imports flowing in as Atlantic convoys were hunted and often destroyed by U-boats. The US had not yet mobilized its massive manufacturing capabilities, post Pearl Harbor.
And Britain was buying tea!
In huge amounts. One estimate is that the largest government purchases in 1942 were, in order of weight, bullets, tea, artillery shells, bombs and explosives.
The German High Command fully understood the importance of disrupting the tea chain. One of the primary targets for the sustained bombing of London in 1941, known as the Blitz, was Mincing Lane, “The Street of Tea.” This had been the center for the disgraceful opium trade that pumped masses of the drug into China to obtain the silver that was the only currency the Chinese government would accept for purchase of tea: feeding an addiction to fund an addiction.

Mincing Lane did not store tea but was the repository for just about all the records of 30 million tonnes of stocks, trades and finances destroyed by the bombing. That is when the government moved into action. Almost all foods and clothing items were rationed; this lasted until 1952, seven years after the war had ended. The weekly allowance was two ounces of butter and cheese, eight of sugar, four of bacon. And two ounces of tea, enough to make three cups a day, a far less stringent ration than cheese, for instance.

BRITAIN’S SECRET WEAPON

One historian summarized tea as Britain’s secret weapon in the War. It was certainly one of its most visible symbols of national unity. Like such patriotic images, there were many strands of sentimentality and myth in the stories of how tea was a social binding force in the days of the London Blitz where, night after night, fires blazed from bombed buildings, women and children huddled in the underground railway tunnels and the air raid sirens were a daily threnody. The cheery Cockney and famous stiff upper lip were by no means as evident as folk memory and films suggest.
That said, tea was powerful symbolically and practically. Churchill is reputed to have called tea more important than ammunition. He ordered that all sailors on ships have unlimited tea.
Its perceived value in boosting morale not just in Britain is illustrated by the Royal Air Force dropping 75,000 tea bombs in a single night over the occupied Netherlands. Each contained one ounce bags of tea from the Dutch East Indies and was marked “The Netherlands will rise again. Chins up.” Every one of the 20 million Red Cross packages sent to prisoners of war contained a quarter pound package of Twinings.
Tea helped restore at least a semblance of calm and normality in turbulence and danger. Its essence is that it is warm and comforting. It also provided an egalitarian sharing space in a society of rigid class distinctions. In the air raids, local Air Raid Wardens and Auxiliaries, mostly women, served tea to anyone, forming huddles, bringing strangers together, and providing a center for medical help.

A Teakettle in a Tank

Tea was a key factor in weaponry, too. In WW I, the “Tommies” were known to fire off their machine guns in a nonstop stream of bullets to get the barrels hot enough to immerse in water to get that hot enough for tea. The Germans noticed this, of course, just as they did the easy target made by tank crews leaving the safety of their vehicles for a brew-up. (Typically, they made an improvised “Benghazi burner” from empty fuel cans.)
The solution was to incorporate a BV (Boiling Vessel) inside the turret. Yes, that is indeed a Teakettle in a Tank. It has been a required feature in all UK (and Indian) army AFVs (Armored Fighting Vehicles) for the past seventy years. The latest is designated as “FV706656.” It is still standard practice for a junior member of a vehicle crew to be unofficially appointed “BV Commander” with the duty to make hot drinks for the crew.
The decision to upgrade the Challenger in 2014 maintained the BV requirement. This is one of the most successful tanks in military history, the best protected and with lowest battle losses. It served in combat in the Balkan, Iraq and Afghanistan – with the BV in daily use.
This all sounds like the spirit of Monty Python and British fuddy-duddy, but it made strategic sense. Tea was a social necessity, especially for the working class. And it was important to the war effort. The Army at rest was groups of soldiers around a metal tea bucket of, typically, six gallons. That applied to all ranks in all units.

“Gunfire”

Tea played a critical role in the British Army, with many historians attributing at least part of its success in the almost never-ending military campaigns, many of them small colonial policing actions. One of the keys that distinguished it from every other European fighting force was that its embedding or tea in its routines greatly reduced the reliance on alcohol to calm troops as they prepared for battle, relax them at its end and keep them sober and alert while they sat around waiting. One of the slang terms soldiers used for their morning tea was “Gunfire.”
The tea itself was not quite gourmet. It was very strong, all from Assam, Ceylon and Africa. China and Japan were not sourcing options; by the end of the war, China’s exports that once comprised almost all the global market were close to zero. Japan had been the leading supplier to the US but obviously was no longer a preferred supplier.
Army tea came as part of the soldier’s composite rations kit. Compo tea was in a tin, with milk and sugar pre-added. The food components of compo are best summarized as somewhat strange, with no further comment. The tea was basic and bulk shipped. There were constant rumors that bromide had been added to it, to reduce young males’ erotic interests; that gives a sense of what it tasted like. Soldiers reported that when hot it was welcome and pleasant but the surface took on the appearance of an unskimmed pool when it was lukewarm.
Napoleon famously said that an army marches on its stomach. His own military needed to transport loads of heavy wine. They also had to forage for food, a euphemism for looting. Tea had the advantage of being light and portable. It contained important nutritional minerals. Sweetened by sugar, it was heartening and provided an energy boost. Caffeine combined both a pick me up and calm me down effect.
One of the central reasons for the explosive growth in tea consumption in the UK in the 1700s was that water was such a danger that it had to be avoided. Figures show a strong correlation among the general population between tea and reduction in dysentery and bacterial infections. It also reduced infant mortality, since the antiseptic properties of tea were passed on to breast milk.  

War in Assam: the Kohima turning point

There was a hidden price for the morale-boosting benefits of tea in World War II. It was mostly paid, somewhat ironically, by the workers of the tea gardens in Assam and ordinary Indians. Production in Assam and Ceylon was boosted to meet the needs of Britain, with heavy reliance on US merchant ships. India’s political organizations were split on the issue of supporting the military effort, with nationalist strongly opposed. However, the population of Assam was pulled into the conflict once Rangoon, the capital of Burma, surrendered to the Japanese. (Now Yangon, Myanmar). Throughout 1942, it was expected that Japanese troops would invade Northern India via the only two narrow passes through the Himalayas. Tea workers were conscripted to carve a supply path. Thousands died.
The Indian Army of 2.5 million was the largest volunteer force in history. Assam was also the base for the most dangerous air route in the world: the Hump that transported US supplies to China’s army fighting the Japanese. It was also central to the large Burma war theater and the site of the Battle of Kohima, which marked a crucial turning point.
The complex and protected Kohima-Imphal campaign led to the annihilation of the Japanese forces and reconquest of Burma; half its hundred thousand troops were casualties and it lost every single tank and artillery gun. The nature of the terrain is indicated by the deaths of 17,000 mules and ponies.
One regrettable aspect of writing on the history of “English tea in India is that it very much tends to showcase the English and overlook the Indian.                

”The simple act of being able to share a mug of tea”

Tea branding and marketing has always played up the peaceful side of its history and social context: medicine and health, spirituality and contemplation, and refinement and snobbery. These are real but a whole book or two can be written about its martial dynamics.
Tea and war have always gone together. The origins of its trade routes and its becoming a de facto currency for a thousand years comes from the urgent needs of the Chinese army to obtain horses from the tribes of Nepal and Tibet. In turn, they sought out tea for its immense value as a beverage that could help nourish them in their harsh climate, rather like Bolivian Indians chewing coca to suppress hunger pangs and give them extra energy in the high mountains.
A quote from an article in the UK Daily Tea in 2014 captures this dual nature of tea. It’s from a soldier reminiscing about his service in the early 2000s: “When you’re wet, cold and miserable, and feel that you need to curl up and die from tiredness,… you may be covered in mud, stinking from not being able to shower for days or weeks, cold and tired, but a brew seems to take all that away. The jokes will start and morale gets better. The simple act of being able to share a mug of tea with your mates, who look and feel just as bad as you do, is awesome.”
1942 was a pivotal year in history. Britain survived. Tea helped.

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Family, history, airplanes and RAF

My dad, while in the RAF, was stationed on a field where the American Eagle Squadron was stationed.
While he was not assigned to the Eagle Squadron he did state that at times they would be sent over to help on the Spitfires.

Here I have found some art work done by Disney artists for the Eagle Squadron.



Over the course of the war, Disney artists designed more than 1,200 combat insignia for all branches of the US military and for its allies. Besides the famed Flying Tigers insignia, one of the most celebrated designs was made for England’s (UK's)Royal Air Force. Prior to Pearl Harbor, many American pilots joined England’s Royal Air Force as members of Eagle Squadrons 71, 121, and 133. An entry in a Hearst newspaper insignia stamp album stated, "Walt Disney artists were quick to chronicle the significance of this combat union with an American Eagle ‘on guard.’ Fiercely he advances to contest the fouling tactics of a barbarous and un-sportsmanlike adversary, as he moves in to the attack with his English ‘comrade-at-arms.’”


























Wednesday, June 22, 2016

Our slim connection to 'The Great Escape'

If you have followed this blog for any length of time, both of you, you are well aware of my love for our family history, especially how WW2 effected it.
My dad served in the RAF during the war, spending part of his time with the 350 Squadron of mostly Belgian pilots.
He worked on Spitfires while serving with them.

This first image is of dad.

I don't know if love is the right word but he really made the most of his time in service and his time with the RAF.

While doing some more research today (reading wikipedia) I came across a pilot who served in his squadron at the same time as he did, and the same airfield.

We will never know if they knew each other or even met. Most ground crew were assigned to a specific plane and pilot.
But I still find it interesting.

Henri Picard was born 1916 in Etterbeek, Belguim. When Germany invade Belguim the pilot school he was attending was closed.
He left Belguim in June finally in a round-about way making England in July. He soon became a pilot officer and in Nov. of 1941 tranferred to the 350 squadron, the same month as my dad.
In April of 1942 the 350 transferred airfields and my dad went to bomber command.
In August of 42 Picard was shot down and after recovery from injuries was sent to Stalag Luft III.
In March of 1944 on the night of the 24-25 Picard was one of 76 who escaped Stalag Luft III.
On the 26th he and three others were recaptured and on the 29th they were executed by the Gestapo.

Pilot-officer Henri Picard 1916-1944

















It seems Henri had some talent as an artist also. You can find a link to a story about his art here.






Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Since my mom and dad met much the same way. . . I love these stories!

The teddy bear that went to war and then went viral

Five-inch teddy bear and his 89-year-old owner becomes internet sensation after his RAF exploits during the Second War came to light.

He is barely five inches high, with a stern little mouth and rather worn ears and paws – a scruffy little teddy bear that you would not give a second glance in a charity shop. He doesn’t even have a name.
But he has become quite an internet sensation, thanks to his owner, Jean Mellows, writing a letter to The Telegraph. (Go to the source for more photos.)

In full, the letter said:
“I was interested to read about the teddy bear that accompanied a Battle of Britainpilot as I too have a little bear, with my maiden name tape sewn on it, which I gave to my fiancé to take with him on his operations over Germany during the Second World War.
“He was a Mosquito nightfighter pilot and flew 50 ops accompanied by my bear, and together they won the DFC [Distinguished Flying Cross].
“We were married for 50 years but now, sadly, I just have the bear.”

With three sentences of perfect prose, Mrs Mellows had ensured readers of The Telegraph letters page were wiping their eyes over breakfast, clearing their throats and asking for the marmalade to be passed. Within 48 hours of its publication at the end of last week, her letter had been shared hundreds of times on social media, with many wanting to know more about the bear, the DFC – and Mrs Mellows.
Which is why I ended up in her lovely house in Dorking – bursting at the seams with treasures, pictures and memories – turning over bear and inspecting the small “Jean Wells” name tape.
“I had him when I was away at boarding school,” she explains, adding: “He’s never had a name. I’m sorry, I can’t produce one.”
“Bear” looks rather unimpressed by the fuss and the Telegraph photographer snapping away, but Mrs Mellows is rather enjoying herself.
“Yes, I don’t really do Twitter,” she says, “but I am told that he has become quite popular.”
I explain that he’s gone viral. “I think it’s marvellous,” she says, adding that she shrieked with delight when her letter appeared in the paper. She has written in in the past, but without luck.
She is in her 90th year. “I’m 89-and-a-half,” she giggles (she giggles a lot). “I’m so psychological about being 90, I’m doing it in halves. You wouldn’t think I am 90, would you?”
“No!”, I say in mock gallantry. But, I mean it. She is tall (six-foot in her prime), elegant, strides up a flight of stairs with barely a puff and keen to share her wonderful love story.
She met Pilot Officer Paul Mellows at church tea party in Redhill, Surrey, the Saturday before Christmas 1943. He was 21, on leave, and, despite his RAF tunic, looked like a schoolboy – with a walnut whip of thick curls on his head. Jean was 18 and had just left school. “He came up to me, smiling and asked if he could carry my tray for me,” she says.
Was he dashing? “Oh, yes. My knees knocked, and I think they knocked for the next 50 years. I adored him.” A few days later they went carol singing together and when Jean’s torch broke, he again came to the rescue. “We shared a hymn book. I was fluttering from then.”
On Boxing Day, he invited her around to tea at his large family home, which was home to countless fearsome maiden aunts, who had been bombed out of their own homes. “I walked into the drawing room with 16 pairs of astonished eyes looking at me. You have to remember, sons and daughters were younger for far longer back then. Paul had never had a girlfriend. He was the youngest of four. And, to them, he was just little Paul.”
She survived her ordeal, and when the next day he had to return to base, they started a correspondence.
Danger was never far away. Jean’s own father was missing in action after being torpedoed in the Atlantic. Only later was it confirmed he had died. Paul, meanwhile, was flying Mosquitoes, two-man fighter planes that accompanied night bombing raids over Germany.
The one upside was they could not fly during full moons, which meant Flight Lieutenant Mellows (as he was by then) got frequent leaves.
The young couple would go walking up Colley Hill in the moonlight. From an upstairs window of her Dorking home, Mrs Mellows can almost still see the spot where he proposed in the summer of 1944, with a peck – the first time they had ever kissed.
“We were totally innocent. We did not give ourselves to each other until we were married – even though every leave could have been the last time we met. It’s a big point I want to make.”
She stresses it later: “It was the discipline many of us had at the time. I want my children and grandchildren to know that.”
She obviously suspects that I have her down as a hussy – and, looking at her engagement photos, you can tell she would have turned plenty of heads.
At this stage, Jean, then training as a nurse, gave her fiancé her teddy bear as a lucky mascot – one of many such tokens given to young pilots by their sweethearts. It was the news that Bonhams was auctioning a similar bear (with an estimate of £5,000), owned by Wing Commander Stephen Beaumont during the Battle of Britain, that prompted Jean’s letter to the Telegraph. And Falla, a teddy bear tucked into Sir Robert Clark's tunic, ended up being parachuted behind enemy lines in Italy before finishing the war in a POW camp in Germany.
Paul and bear got into quite a few scrapes, including having his tail (the plane, not the bear’s) shot to pieces above Stuttgart. He was briefly missing in action, but skilful flying meant Fl Lt Mellows was able to limp the Mosquito back to base, being awarded the DFC in the process. Paul’s miniature mess medal, along with his France and Germany star, is currently pinned to bear’s chest.
The couple married in 1946, after Paul was demobbed. It was the last time he wore his uniform.
What is remarkable is that Jean has kept everything: not just the medals and badges, but his uniform, including his flying boots, complete with penknife secreted in a specially-designed pouch in the lining; the silk escape scarf on which is printed a map of Germany; and every single letter he wrote to her during the war. There is a whole cabinet of curiosities, a mini-museum full of medals, coins, shrapnel.
As a young married couple, they went to Cambridge so Paul could finish the law degree he started before the war, while Jean brought up their young family. He rowed in the record-winning 1948 boat race crew and went on to compete in that year’s austerity Olympic Games, winning a silver medal (Great Britain was beaten in the final by the United States).
But all of these medals are nothing compared with the burnished trophy of their marriage. The secret? “Total love.”
She adds: “I think possibly in our generation, you married with an absolute lifetime dedication. We had some awful times when we were first married, we had no money, we were living on a government grant which he was given as an ex-serviceman, we had far too many children too quickly – I had three before I was 25.” She would go on to have five, and now has 13 grandchildren and 10 great-grandchildren.
But, as she says, “I’ve never had any 'what ifs’.”
She says Paul, who died 18 years ago, would be slightly appalled by the bear’s celebrity.
As I get up to leave, she adds: “I still miss him terribly. Almost more because I am on my own so much. But I know we shall meet again. I am sure I will join him. Isn’t that wonderful?”
It is. It really is. The bear might be an old scruff, but he represents something invaluable: enduring love.

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Now that's what a pilot should look like!

Last of the Few: One of the final surviving Battle of Britain pilots dies aged 98 – leaving incredible archive of aerial photographs


His story here.

And some more of his story here.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Wow!

Back on the bombing run: One of the last two flying Lancasters pays tribute to the 55,000 Bomber Boys who never returned with flight on the route thousands of sorties took to target the Nazis





























Story here;