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Walthamstow Wanderer 4

By

Albert Augustus Crisp
November 1911 — June 2001

The next day we hired a horse each. You walked inside a roped off square of ground. The horses were outside with there heads facing the rope. So you walked round, patted their heads and chose your mount. Having the idea of being seen, all flash with my horse, in a photo, I chose the biggest of these. He was a lovely white fellow but I thought a big brute later, as he bolted down the road with me. I was told, afterwards, that they can sense who is the governor, and I wasn't. Not having been on a horse before I didn't hold the reins tight enough at the start. Two of the chaps were experienced, and we were holding them up. One of them kicked my horse in the ribs, to get him going. That was really the start of it all. You should have seen the locals scatter, they could see what was happening. The horse stopped about 2 miles down the road, having ran off the road onto a field and snapped a sapling in two. I slid off and walked him all the way back. On the way back I could see the other lad, stuck up on a hill, still mounted, but he had hardly moved. We threw in our hand, and left it to the others.

We weren't sure what to do one afternoon and so we went to see "The rogue and vagabond" at the 3rd Bridge, he had a load of aquamarines, which he showed, after giving us a cup of cold weak tea. One of the chaps said they had flaws in them, so he showed us small furniture. I bought a nest of tables, self assembly of course. He took my address and started to see me out, but I let him know that I wanted to see them packed. He packed them in straw and stitched jute round them and labelled them. I still got done! When I got home I found they were individual tables, he had unpacked mine when I left the premises.

We were warned directly we set foot in India, not to accept the first price asked for goods. You were to haggle and get them as low as possible. It was still difficult at first, as you could buy something at a knockdown price and find another trader starting at that price and then being knocked down lower! But there was no talk of changing parcels after leaving the shop. Whilst in India we were allowed to send home two duty free parcels a year. Each could weigh up to 7lbs, I think it was. Things weren't priced too bad, until the Yanks came, they had better clothes, better facilities and more money. Once they started throwing their money around - the price of things doubled. Shoe blacks that stood in the streets, got more in tips than they charged us and so up went the price to us. I sent home sheets that cost me 16 rupees (a rupee was worth 1 shilling and six pence) a pair, when the Yanks came they went up to 30 rupees.

One refused to sell me a pair of nail scissors and when I asked why, he said that he had to wait a long time for supplies and so, in the meantime he might as well cop what he could off the Yanks.

Anyway to get back to the leave. We rowed around what at a distance looked like lawns on the surface of the river, with breaks between each. But it was plants, but all just greenery, we were told it was the wrong time of the year and looked beautiful when in bloom.

There were also the "Gardens of Shalamar" which words were in an old song of years ago. A lot of houseboats lined the river and they wanted cleaning up a bit. Anyway we thoroughly enjoyed our leave and were sorry when we had to go.

On getting back to Agartala, the first thing of note was a pep talk from General Slim, who had flown back to explain the importance of getting Dakotas on their way as quickly as possible as they were a plane used more than any other and used for so many purposes. They dropped supplies, parachutists and carried six mules at a time, etc. Two bamboos, one above the other, were fixed each side lengthwise, from back to front. Then two mules, one each side, were driven into place and a short bamboo fixed across, behind their backsides. Then two more were treated likewise and finally, the third pair. When the plane came back the seats were damaged and the corrugated floor panels each side were knocked about and dented. Naturally the mules were frightened and lashed out and wet and crapped when the planes took off. One of my first jobs was to lie on my back, down near the tail plane, and drill a small hole on the underside of the fuselage. I had to roll away as quick as possible or get a face full of stinking urine. The floor "boards" were distorted and you had to put the edge down first (the edge near the seats) and then put a lump of timber under the middle and then force the outside edge down and line the holes up with an ice pick and screw them down. Then with some difficulty, and sweat, you could line up the middle one similarly.

One of the struggles was getting the pilot’s seat out. It was hard to get behind the seat and up in the corner. The planes had been out in the blazing sun and it was like an incubator inside. Most blokes had a sweat rag around their head and just a pair of shorts or P.T. gear and some had managed to get hold of soft top shoes with string soles, but they didn't last five minutes.

If a cable was damaged and had to be replaced, the end had to be fixed round a thimble and plaited back on itself (the last six inches of cable would be separated into strands, the ends of which would be bound with thread to stop them fraying). The main middle one was called the heart strand. There was a formula, the order of which I forget, sort of one under the heart strand and three under two etc. Then the rough end was bound with adhesive tape and made smooth. An ice pick was used to open up the cable.

In the case of a hole in the fuselage each side of the hole was cut a little further than the damage and the corners rounded. A backing piece of metal was rivetted on and a piece that matched the hole was rivetted to that. This work was carried out with snap head aluminium rivets a half inch in diameter, after inserting a rivet one and a half times the diameter had to be allowed to protrude through the metal in order to make a good head like the manufacturers. This was done with the use of a dolly holder, a tool like a cold chisel with an indent in the end shaped like the rivet head.
If seats could not be replaced a couple of pieces of fabric doped on would stop splinters embarrassing one’s bottom, and hinges straightened. The seats were in sections of four (I think), on the back of which were lugs to form half a hinge. Then there were lugs fixed to the fuselage. These married up to form the complete hinge. A spring steel wire with a hooked end was pushed through the lugs to complete the job. These lugs were split and could be opened up.

In Bangal we were in bashas and one night I heard very heavy padded sounds outside and added to that very heavy breathing. I slept in the bed behind the door, which had been left open by one going outside for a pee. I froze and was even afraid to breathe too heavily, in case it attracted his attention. It is tiger country and that was what worried me, but needlessly, as whatever it was just ran off. We thought we saw one, but were not sure, in the light of a lorry we were on, as it speeded across the road and disappeared.

Another incident that concerned an animal of some size, also happened there. On several mornings a couple of goats were found ripped apart, so I had understood. Two anglo-indians volunteered to sit in the trees and wait for whatever it was to show up and then shoot it. The animal, our thoughts turned to a tiger, played around, or so it seemed, with the two watching for it, as when they were "on duty" nothing happened and when they weren't, the goats got mauled or disappeared altogether. It must have smelt them.

Another incident, I think at Agartala, caused me a lot of bother. There was a well from which we drew our water. A very very thick rope ran from the top and was tied around a lump of paving stone, which was level with the surface of the water below. Half of a dehydrated potato can floated on the water and was attached to string, which was wedged between the crumbling pointing in a dwarf wall around the top of the well. I went to draw water and let go of the string and so couldn't retrieve the can. Tempers seemed to be short fused among some of the men and so I wanted to get this can back. Sitting on the wall, I gripped the thick rope to let myself down. I didn't realise that the rope was slimy and wondered that I hadn't broken my ankles for I had hit the stone on the bottom in a jiff. Being as stated the rope was slimy I couldn't make much headway trying to climb it. Then my thoughts turned to the Sikhs who were always round the well and combing their long hair and if I kept cool and remained patient and shouted to them I would get help. To my amazement, and alarm, time went by and no one came within proximity of the well. After what seemed like hours I got worried and started to try to climb the rope. After a long time of climbing a couple of feet and slipping back one I managed to get out, taking the string with me and fixing it back where it come from.

All this time I had been on maintenance units but now I had a change, as I was put on a detachment to fly to Ramree Island as one of a repair and salvage unit; - 101. It was at Kyauk Pyu, on the tip of Ramree Island, off the Arakan coast of Burma.

Two Dakotas left Agartala with half of the lads in each, and their tool boxes tied to rings in the floor. There was one officer with us. We went via the coast and ran into bad weather and at one point dropped what seemed like about ten feet in an air pocket.

I don't know whether it was owing to this or whether they dropped in for some other reason, but we put down at Chittagong, Cox's Bazaar and the Akyab. At Chittagong there were a few hut-come-shops and being as we were given a couple of hours off and it was early morning we knocked up one of these to try to get a cup of tea. On putting our face close to the glass in the door we could see a native in his charpoy (bed of just crude posts and string). His bed was close up to the door. He peered at us, rubbed his eyes, got out and carried his bed behind the counter and opened up and served us.

I don't know quite what we expected, but on arriving at Ramree, about April 1945, other than the runway there seemed nothing. [It was at Ramree that about 900 Jap solders were killed by crocodiles in February 1945 (reference to this appears in the Guinness Book of Records)].

We were told to look around and use our wits, as to rigging up some form of shelter. We thought we were in luck when we found a fairly big marquee, but it turned out to be rotten and fell into bits. In the end four of us found a tiddler of a tent with very small sides, but with the aid of two big drums and some thick branches, managed to increase the height and fill the sides in with some old corrugated metal sheeting that was lying around. Much later on we found out that Yanks were on the island and could not understand why we had to scrounge around and find dilapidated tents in the first place. Surely they would have helped us, as they were friendly enough. I found out that each individual did not have to learn as much as us. They got pay and promotion for looking after small sections, such as wheels and tyres for instance, whereas, that was only one part of many for us.

Anyway, whilst searching we got a little further afield and came across a square of ground, fenced off and being used to grow pineapples. There was a mud and bamboo shack at the far end, and a Burmese couple and a cow. Of course we stood and looked and to our amazement, he took the cow into his shack first and then he got hold of his wife's (bibi's) hand and took her in. But come to think of it, the Japs hadn't long been gone and I don't suppose he felt very safe on seeing us.

There are a couple of things I want to mention that make me return to Agartala for a spell.

The first was when we first arrived, there were a lot of army bods and we saw a group of these pick on a couple of R.A.F. chaps. One of them took of his overcoat and was rigged up in P.T. gear underneath. He took a couple of swipes at our lads and knocked them stone cold. We were so outnumbered we couldn't do a lot about it.

It was only when more R.A.F. lads were posted here and there were lectures from various officers that it quietened down. True or false, I don't know but there were two yarns floating around, as to the cause of all this antagonism. One was, when they were at the front, they had got farther forward than our aircrew had anticipated and we had bombed them and caused them to fall back. The other was that with the Jap superiority, and frightening tactics, they had bolted. Probably, both rumours were wrong, I don't know. Anyway they were taking it out on us, until numbers evened up.

Another thing I wanted to mention was concerning one of our own aircrew. A cockney fitter, Sammy Pearsall, came round our bashas, which were, incidentally made of straw and bamboo, to say that he had been flown to Bang-Kok, with the idea of helping this aircrew. They had bought a lot of brown and black crepe-soled shoes and were going to tour the bashas to sell them. This was to be the next morning and he wanted to warn us, not only because the shoes were no good, the crepe spread and the soles looked like snow shoes - so he said. But the major reason he was so upset about, the 14th army were in need of the services of these planes and they had no permission to do this. Anyway no one bought the shoes and the aircrew came unstuck. They couldn't make out why these bargains they were offering didn't sell, but no one split on Sammy!

On Ramree, I ran into an old acquaintance - a Davies, from Brunner Road, I used to play football with him. He was in the army in "The Green Howards". I couldn't keep in contact with him though; he had been at Agartala he said.

At Agartala they managed to fix a wing under the fuselage, to replace a damaged one, to see if they could salvage it. At first it didn't work, one end broke away and the other end dangled for a few seconds before doing likewise. Funnily enough, if you can call it funny, it dropped straight onto the scrap heap. They got it working eventually. Naturally enough, any plane forced down in too thick a jungle, just had to lie there. But with the help of the metal strips that could be clipped together and laid on roughly levelled ground, a lot of aircraft were saved.

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