Extracts from My Road To War
by Cyril 'Pongo' Effingem
Col. Ret. Queens Own Foot and Mouth
By April 27 (1940) I was ordered to take some long overdue leave. It was hard to relax with the war raging all around but I decided to head up to Norwich to see a former school chum of mine, Horace 'Scrappy' Brooks. Scrappy was now C.O. of a squdren of Swordfish torpedo bombers out of Numshead Coastal Command. He had invited me up to take a look at 'Old Splatter' a Lewis Gun we had used for Elephant hunting in the early thirties when we served in the Calcutta 'Queens Own Black Holes' Rifles. Scrappy had fully restored the LG and mounted it on the back of his aircraft.
It was great seeing Scrappy again, and a few hours in the OM going over happier times was just what the doctor orderd. Sadly though, all too soon the squadron was scrambled. A group of German heavy units had been sighted heading West about 90 miles North East of Numshead and he was ordered to intercept it. Scrappys tail gunner had come down with a bad case of the pox and i was asked to fill in. I soon found myself donning his flight jacket, goggles, cap and gloves and then being strapped in behind 'The Splatsta'. I gave Horace the thumbs up. CONTACT!... We were off!... faster than a Brides nightgown.
About an hour out from Numshead Scrappy was getting worried. The Sun was getting low behind us and the time to attack was running out. But where the Hell was Jerry? Then we spotted them. At first we could only see the flashes of the guns as they warned off a group of shadowing RN destroyers. Very soon the shapes of what looked like two Hipper Class heavy cruisers came into view. Scrappy made some hand signels to the rest of his squadron, then brought our tightly strung bird quickly around. The setting Sun would follow us all the way in.
We came in very low, the waves breaking over the nose of our 'Stringbag' (Fish was back on the menu that night). There was no sign of ack-ack as we approached untill about half a mile out then they opened up with tracer fire. At first just from one point then many more joining in. Im sure Scrappy saw none of it. His steely eyes were fixed on the massive shape ahead of us. His teeth tightly gritted. His hands vice-like on his stick.
The monster was now before us. Deep-dark-angry-red in the dying sunlight, spitting fire and death at our intrepid band. (I gritted my teeth too). Swinging Old Splatter as far forward as she would go, I fired back at the beast.
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by Cyril 'Pongo' Effingem
Col. Ret. Queens Own Foot and Mouth
By April 27 (1940) I was ordered to take some long overdue leave. It was hard to relax with the war raging all around but I decided to head up to Norwich to see a former school chum of mine, Horace 'Scrappy' Brooks. Scrappy was now C.O. of a squdren of Swordfish torpedo bombers out of Numshead Coastal Command. He had invited me up to take a look at 'Old Splatter' a Lewis Gun we had used for Elephant hunting in the early thirties when we served in the Calcutta 'Queens Own Black Holes' Rifles. Scrappy had fully restored the LG and mounted it on the back of his aircraft.
It was great seeing Scrappy again, and a few hours in the OM going over happier times was just what the doctor orderd. Sadly though, all too soon the squadron was scrambled. A group of German heavy units had been sighted heading West about 90 miles North East of Numshead and he was ordered to intercept it. Scrappys tail gunner had come down with a bad case of the pox and i was asked to fill in. I soon found myself donning his flight jacket, goggles, cap and gloves and then being strapped in behind 'The Splatsta'. I gave Horace the thumbs up. CONTACT!... We were off!... faster than a Brides nightgown.
About an hour out from Numshead Scrappy was getting worried. The Sun was getting low behind us and the time to attack was running out. But where the Hell was Jerry? Then we spotted them. At first we could only see the flashes of the guns as they warned off a group of shadowing RN destroyers. Very soon the shapes of what looked like two Hipper Class heavy cruisers came into view. Scrappy made some hand signels to the rest of his squadron, then brought our tightly strung bird quickly around. The setting Sun would follow us all the way in.
We came in very low, the waves breaking over the nose of our 'Stringbag' (Fish was back on the menu that night). There was no sign of ack-ack as we approached untill about half a mile out then they opened up with tracer fire. At first just from one point then many more joining in. Im sure Scrappy saw none of it. His steely eyes were fixed on the massive shape ahead of us. His teeth tightly gritted. His hands vice-like on his stick.
The monster was now before us. Deep-dark-angry-red in the dying sunlight, spitting fire and death at our intrepid band. (I gritted my teeth too). Swinging Old Splatter as far forward as she would go, I fired back at the beast.
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