Drop Zone Burma: Adventures in Allied Air-Supply 1943-45 by Roger Annett

Author:Roger Annett [Annett, Roger]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Bisac Code 1: HIS027100, HISTORY / Military / World War II
ISBN: 9781844685752
Publisher: Pen and Sword
Published: 2008-10-29T16:00:00+00:00

Nicknames in the forces were handed out as freely as mugs of char and Arthur Watts, Ken Brown’s near neighbour and another Brighton Burma Star, was introduced as ‘Benny’. He had been in Burma as RAF ground crew:

‘When I was at RAF Sealand in Shropshire, I was given the nickname Benny by a Polish corporal who couldn’t say Arthur. He was Jewish, and I suppose he thought I was a useful sort of bloke, so he said, “You, Benjamin, are the son of my right hand” – and it just stuck.

‘When I got to Bombay in 1943, I went by train to Number 152 Operational Training Unit. The 7th Indian Air Force was converting to the American Vultee Vengeance dive-bomber. We also had Tiger Moths, Dragon Rapides, Proctors, Electras and an Anson – and I flew in all of them. Then there were the Vickers Valencias of 31 Squadron – they were supplying the Frontier Forts. We ground crew often had to fly on the missions, in case of mechanical trouble. It was a long day. We’d do Daily Inspections – DIs – at dawn, fly all the way up there, and then, more often than not, get invited to a dining-in night. At those, it took a strong will and stomach not to succumb – there was a lot of spicy food, not to mention the drink.

‘When it was too hot indoors we’d take our charpoys up onto the roof to sleep on, behind the parapets. Now, on the floor in the bedrooms they’d painted a big white arrow, pointing to Mecca, so you could make sure you didn’t sleep with your feet pointing that way, which would offend the Muslims. They told us that a young newly-arrived officer had done just that and been shot dead by a Pathan guard for it. That was at Fort Wana, and in about 1880 – but we were careful, all the same, up on that roof, where there wasn’t a helpful white arrow.

‘At the end of the year, I put my name down for Burma. We had to go through Calcutta, in the aftermath of a dreadful famine. Whenever I started to feel sorry for myself after that, I thought of those poor wretches, lying in the streets – moaning, and starving to death.

‘At Agartala, other Dakota squadrons – such as 194 – had the Royal and the Indian Army Service Corps blokes flying as dispatchers. Our squadron used us ground crew, and one time, the West Africans offered to help – they were lovely guys and our CO said OK. There was a real ceremony when this big black guy joined the crew. Off he went and flew the mission – no problems. Then, when they landed, his mates were all lined up again, to meet him. He leapt off the Dakota, all smiles – and walked straight into the spinning prop. We took no more African volunteers after that.

‘I was flying all the time in those planes, chucking stuff out.

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