ANTONI DADACZ

Antoni Dadacz was born on 8th October 1915, son of Walenty and Agnieszka (nee Chmiel) Dadacz at Antonin, near Posnan, Poland,  He grew up as a farm labourer in that area and almost certainly did his National Service there from about 1933.

With war looming, he was recalled to the military on 7th November 1938 as part of the Lodz Army supported by 161 and 162 Fighter Eskadra and 63 and 66 Observation Eskadra to which he would have been attached if he was designated Air Force at that time.  Ironically this force was commanded by General Juliusz Rommel at that time.  His policy was to fight a village by village campaign to delay the Germans long enough for his forces to complete their mobilisation and so he advanced towards the Germans.

The battle was fought viciously over the three days from 6th-8th September 1939 and General Rommel and three Divisions of troops were cut off from the rest of the army.  The remains of the Lodz Army headed to the Romanian border and crossed to safety.  They were then disarmed and interned in camps in neutral Romania.  With help from sympathetic Romanian officials they were supplied with large numbers of blank ID cards with the correct signatures and rubber stamps which could later be filled in with false details and used to leave the country posing as foreign workers.

The camps were not closely guarded and the men just quietly slipped away when they had their new IDs, travel documents and money from the Polish Embassy in Bucarest.  The ultimate destination was France and there were many routes to get there including overland routes via Jugoslavia and Northern Italy and sea routes from Romania, notably the port of Balcic (now in Bulgaria) across the Black Sea, through the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles on to the Aegean Sea and the Mediterranean to Marseilles.  From there it was on to the Polish area around Septfonds or Lyon Bron for those destined for the Air Force.  In Antoni's case it was Septfonds which is just over 300 miles from Marseilles in the direction of Bordeaux, arriving there on 4th February 1940.  The area around Balcic was swarming with Gestapo agents who were powerless to stop this evacuation but whose presence led to the Germans threatening to invade if these mass escape routes  were not stopped.

The camp at Septfonds was fairly new because it had been built for refugees from the Spanish Civil War but it was uncomfortable and insanitary and was intended only as a transit camp and he should have been transferred to Lyon-Bron within two weeks but there is no evidence to suggest this happened and he seems to have stayed there for about three months.

The French had no appetite for war and the men who made it there were dramatically under used leading to boredom and constant complaints about inadequate food, poor living conditions and an almost total absence of hot water.  It was almost a relief for them when it became obvious that France would capitulate and they could get away to Britain - which they called The Islands of Last Hope - so they could finally fight the Germans. 

Once in Britain, each man was given the King's Gift of ten shillings so that he would have money to spend when he got to his base in Britain.  It will barely buy a bar of chocolate today but it was a substantial amount in 1940.

On 1st May 1940, Antoni arrived at RAF Eastchurch in Kent, meaning that he was one of the earliest arrivals.  However RAF Eastchurch was soon to become a front line airfield for fighters during the Battle of Britain.  Inevitably he would be posted to Blackpool Depot which was a cluster of Army and Air Force training centres at the very extreme range of German Bombers and further protected because Hitler wanted it for his playground after he had conquered Britain!

I believe that Antoni Dadacz was initially posted to 301 Squadron and after his initial training that would have been to RAF Swinderby  in Lincolnshire, moving to RAF Hemswell on 18th July when some of the aircrews were moved to 138 Squadron and the remainder with ground crews were transferred to 300 Squadron.  The supernumaries and others such as cooks and clerks who could not be absorbed would be posted to the Blackpool Depot or an aircrew holding centre such as RAF Snaith at Humberside.  This is backed up by a photograph in the family album which shows a Wellington "bombing up" and the Squadron Code is GR which was allocated to 301 Squadron.

            Bombing up possibly at RAF Swinderby in June 1941

In fact, he was posted to 18 Operational Training Unit and so remained at RAF Bramcote on general duties.  The records show only that he was received at RAF Eastchurch, probably on 1st May 1940 and was transferred to the Blackpool Depot sometime thereafter but effective from the same date and so the move was clearly planned by the time of his arrival.   

On 7th May 1943 he was posted to 304 Squadron at RAF Docking in Norfolk and subsequently moved to RAF Davidstow Moor in Cornwall on 10th June 1943.  But his stay with 304 Squadron was short lived and on 10th September 1943 he was transferred to the School of Training at RAF Halton near Wendover, Buckinghamshire where he trained as a cook.  He had obviously found his forte as his reports quickly rose from satisfactory to superior.  Surprisingly, he did not return to 304 Squadron but was posted on 28th July 1944 to No 25 (Polish) Elementary Flying Training School at RAF Hucknall near Nottingham where he stayed for the rest of the War and until 13th November 1946.

 Antoni's arrival at 304 Squadron - taken from the Squadron's own hand written record

Antoni (left) with one of his colleagues at RAF Halton or 25 EFTS

At this time he ended his Polish Air Force service and briefly joined the Polish Resettlement Corps which meant he was temporarily a member of the Royal Air Force.  The dates quoted are nominal as the moves usually took 7-10 days to complete.  The squadron disbanded altogether only a few weeks later on 10th December 1946.

He joined the Polish Resettlement Corps for a maximum period of two years which gave him security of employment, a place to live and a wage until he was able to find permanent employment.  He stayed with them for six months and was released on 9th June 1947 to undertake training as a coal miner at Birley near Sheffield.During his military career he was awarded the Polish Air Force Medal and three bars and the British Defence Medal, 1939-1945 Star and War Medal.

At this time he became a registered alien and was permitted to stay in Britain but with restrictions on his movements and employment until he became a British citizen.

Antoni's Registered Alien card which was cancelled when he became a naturalised British subject

He bought a house, No 14 Montague Street, Mansfield, Nottinghamshire and as a single man he was looking for a housekeeper when he found a lady named Ethel Millard who was the widow of another miner who had been killed in an accident at the pit, leaving her with a son to support.  They married and together they had two further surviving children and were happy until his early death in March 1980 from coronary disease.  He is buried in Mansfield Cemetery, Derby Road, Mansfield.

He did make contact with surviving family in Poland but unfortunately never met them again as, sadly, he died just before Poland was totally free of the Communist yoke.

What follows is a selection of his wartime photographs which are not fully identified but reflect his life at the time.  Any information on these items would be most welcome.

                                             Antoni on the right

His friend Jozef Fusniak, rear gunner on a Wellington bomber that crashed in Yorkshire - famed for following the footsteps of a fox in the snow, downhill to the nearest farm.  He used a piece of the wreckage as a crutch because he suffered a broke leg in the crash.  Antoni is thought to have been a member of Jozef's ground crew - before he became a cook.

                   A parade in England - judging by the uniforms

Post-war photograph with a colleague - he became a sergeant in 1946

Another post-war photograph with unknown companions

 

OSWALD WALDEMAR KRYDNER - Part 3

I am sitting in a little grove by the Mediterranean Sea. Michał is making breakfast. Our guns are sitting on racks, the troops are resting. An hour ago... We arrived at a tiny station. There the train was unloaded. Our things went to the port by cars. And we are walking. We are very close to the Spanish border. The Pyrenees rise beautifully over our heads, and the sea hums below. Two Italian planes flew overhead.  A string of cars moves along the road. I think the French will be loading. We are 8 km from the harbour, waiting for further orders. I think it’ll get hot when we get there.

 

I made a tent out of my straw mattress and we were to sleep in the woods. All of a sudden, “Get up! We’re off!” We packed up and were at the station by 10 in the evening. We loaded onto cattle cars and at 1 am left again for the unknown. 30 men to a car and loads of luggage.I sat all night, my legs went numb and I couldn’t move. A new day dawned. A great long train, about 1000 men, was tearing west. We are headed for the Atlantic coast. The transport is very slow, the tracks are jammed. One question – can we get there in time?

 

Wine barrels are lined up, the French have allowed our boys a drink. Imagine, a mob of men with canteens, shoving each other by a wine barrel. Food is our worst problem. All we’ve had since yesterday is some spam – one can for two men – and bread. Chrzanowski is a decent fellow. He’s been feeding his platoon with his own money: today he put in 100 francs for food, and he cares for his men.

 

I had a slice of bread with left over spam for breakfast, and that’s to last me for the rest of the day. The fat reserves I collected in Toussieu have run out and hunger is tormenting me. We are 50 km from the sea. We’ve passed the town of Lourdes.  I saw a chapel by the river near the church. Oh, this France is a lovely place, only the French people are a degenerate nation and worthless. They, unlike the Poles, don’t treasure their country.

 

Today I will tell you much. So where am I? On a large English vessel, I lie on a mattress on the floor. It’s a miracle I got this spot. Just a moment ago I was getting soaked on the upper deck. A terrible storm is raging. I tried to go up to the upper deck and was nearly blown off by the gale. We have sailed out of the harbour at Saint-Jean-de-Luz. Where to? We do not know. Two large carriers have lifted anchor. We are escorted by 4 English destroyers. Our vessel is overloaded, more than 6000 passengers. Air force and infantry, all ours, many women, English and French.

 

Oh God, how awful the boarding was, not from a pier but from boats, and the waves were dreadful. 20 at a time approached and up the ladder, without our things, as there was no way. We pulled up the stuff by ropes. Our Arandora Star is a true colossus. One can wander about for hours. Thankfully, there is a storm. Had the weather been any better, we’d be boarding under German bombs. Oh! I write and the ship rocks so. The vessel is like a little nutshell tossed by waves.

 

And now let me go back a little.  At 4 in the morning we got off the train. And we waited to board the ship until 12. Truly London-like traffic. I felt sorry for the Polish women who had come to France. Here, the poor souls, rove about with their children, exhausted, emaciated. A heart-breaking sight. I must note that many Poles would not leave and decided to stay. French people joined us in their place. True Frenchmen want to fight, but they are few. I learned much about the front today, about how the French fought, or rather how they fled. They are the worst cowards, ugh, repulsive spawn. Now all I ask of God is to lead us safely, without accidents, as it does not take much to bomb a colossus like this.

 

Good morning, Ha! You would not recognize me now. I am on the upper deck, our company is on duty. With guns. We have an HMG and hand rifles. Two are at the stern. Destroyers on either side.  A carrier and a destroyer in front of us. Though a submarine or aircraft could approach us and do their job.  But I say: it is God’s will, not Hitler’s. France signed peace yesterday and surrendered her fleet to Germany. Oh, she will pay dearly for this.  Ah! I am ashamed to say, I couldn’t take yesterday’s waves and tossed my cookies. I wasn’t alone – there was a queue at the shipside. But the ship did sway – water was up to the third deck, it’s no joke. Today it’s died down a bit. We have loads of food, though they do not cook.  Only we cannot eat.  Cans, coffee, chocolate, fruit. Oh. The English are not like the French. I had a dream that I was in Africa, and where we are going – no-one knows.  We are headed north-west.

 

The convoy is going in a zigzag. The weather has improved. Binoculars are scanning the sky. A magnificent convoy.

 

Everyone sleeps with a life vest for a pillow. It’s good to have friends. I’m in cabin no. 212. It’s crowded, but warm and merry. Plenty of marmalade and jam. One of the chaps nicked 16 one-kilo cans from the French. We have enough to eat. The preserves made me sick.  France had much to offer, but not to us. Many of our boys went hungry on the French soil. It will not be forgotten.

 

 

Good morning, It’s a lovely day, though the ship sways a little. We can see land on the starboard side and three sail boats, it must be Ireland or England – who knows, it’s still a far off. I’ve been sitting on the upper deck all day, to stay out of my cabin.

 

At 4 in the afternoon we had a concert on the upper deck. It was lovely. Sweet violin music drifted through the hum of the wind, the creak of ropes and the rush of waves. “Aircraft overhead!” – and yes, a sea-plane appeared on the horizon. Guns clicked. A moment of anticipation. It’s ours, British. The plane flew low over the chimney, banked and disappeared in the distance.

 

I had a pleasant encounter. I was standing in the crowd, when I heard someone call, “Wal!” – that’s what they called me in Słonim. I turn around, and there they are, two officers. Włodek Jakimowicz and another one, whose name I can’t remember. My classmates and childhood friends. We had a great few hours. So many memories... and of all places – we meet on the ocean. All the time, wherever I go, I run into people. Tadek Hagenbart – he’s shot down a Heinkel.

 

Oh, many, but many more France has buried forever. God, so much Polish blood has been shed – for whom? From the armoured brigade, 200 men came back. Of the tank company of 180 men, only four. I am just writing these numbers to give you an idea. Where the Poles were, there was the hardest fight, there Germans were getting beat, and where the English were. But where the French manned a section, there the Fritzes pushed forward without trouble. They threw down their arms and fled. They have thousands of planes, but they did nothing and would not let our boys fly, either.

 

We are reaching the English coast. We disembark tomorrow, and then?

 

I was up early to see land ahead. England. A great many ships going to and fro. We’ve been told sensational news. We are all dead, for our vessel, the Arandora Star has been sunk on the Atlantic. Only two Poles survived. The announcement from the German staff was greeted with cascades of laughter.

 

The Arandora Star reached the port of Liverpool at 8:00 in the morning on 27th June. It’s a beautiful harbour. We are berthed in England. The ship is unloaded. Our company was the last to disembark, at 1600 hours. We marched out of the port in threes, to the train station, which wasn’t far, 1 km. As we went through the city, we were greeted by cheering crowds. And our troops moved through rows of people who had gathered to see us. The soldiers’ tired faces were beaming with joy. We were so kindly received. Oh, this is not France. When we reached the station, a train was already waiting for our group. After going south-west for an hour, we got off to form ranks of three and march for 10 km. Cheerfully and with song on our lips, we started down a pleasant road.

 

Here I can see the famous English order, here I can see culture, but not in France.  It’s heaven and earth. Clean and pleasant homes, lovely little gardens, flowers.  Kind, smiling faces. We pass by a school for girls. Oh, what enthusiasm!  The song stopped, the company did an “eyes left”. I thought the girls would fall out of the windows.  We have gone on quite a distance, but we can still hear their squeals.  Private buses have come to fetch us.  A little moment more and we get off and enter an old mansion. This place feels like camp, hundreds of tents are lined up, smells from the mess tease the palate. Evening is falling. We will spend this night on English soil, literally – on a blanket under an oak tree.

 

Oh, what a marvellous night, I slept next to Michał. It was warm. I had a good breakfast, and will now look around for a lake or river.  But wait, first we must set up our tent. Oh, and a few words about our vessel.  It has been attacked from the air 36 times, once damaged, and it has sunk two German submarines.

 

I am in the tent now.  We’ve put up a pretty little tent and I’ve gathered some grass for a bed, eaten some preserves and have nothing to do now. I must wash my things and myself, and I will go to bed early tonight. It’s a lovely place, but I am unhappy.  We won’t stay here long. We, Polish “exiled soldiers”.

 

I have guard commander duty today. The weather is lovely. Everyone’s sunbathing, the place looks like a beach. There’s been a concert, such beautiful music and singing. The professor, “the Legend”, played marvellously. Today our officer cadets rebelled. I thought we were in for a bit of fun. Our company was resting in front of the tents, armed, when General Ujejski clashed with them by the woods. It’s over now. Oh, those cadets made trouble in France and now they’re starting the same here. They’ll get what they’re asking for. I made friends with a few English boys today, fine chaps, I could go to the front with them. They are not like the French, gutless cowards and scoundrels.

 

I am in a new place now, 120 km north of the other camp. We are by the sea. I am sitting on my lovely bed and it’s after lunch. It’s a beautiful and clean place. This is a whole other world. Beds, mattresses.  Oh, it’s been a long time since I’ve slept like this.  What next? I don’t know.  I am soon going for a bath and a medical...

 

The day is filled with administrative affairs.  Checking, records, etc. I am sad today, Not many of us have arrived here in England. I am one of a handful of exiles.  Men who have not lost hope and decided to fight until the end.  Here, work awaits us, but not the kind we had in France. Hitler will strike here any day now. We will go from crater to crater, but we will endure. There will be no cowardice, no flight.

 

The main announcement of the day, dated 2nd July: Our vessel which brought us here, the Arandora Star, sank on July 2 off of the west coast of Ireland. She carried German and Italian POWs, 1700 men, besides the crew. Of those, 700 were rescued – the others rest at the bottom of the ocean, including the captain. That torpedo was aimed at us. Hitler wanted to sink the Poles – but he sank his own. The ship was headed for Canada. What happened aboard, only he can imagine who has been there and knew that 26,000-ton colossus.  And what would have happened to us, had a torpedo hit us? There were almost 6000 of us. And all would have gone down.

Important news.The French fleet has been disbanded. Part of the French fleet did not yield to the government in France and came to England, submitting to her command. The rest rejected the conditions offered by Britain to the French fleet – and they were as follows: either the fleet joins that of the Royal Navy or her vessels will be held in Britain and returned to France after the war, or the French will destroy or sink them immediately. France has rejected those conditions. So it’s done. The English have attacked the French fleet from air and sea, sinking almost all of their vessels. One battleship escaped. The French fleet moored in Alexandria and England has been disarmed and taken over by British crews. Beautifully done, England, bravo.

 

We are proud of the English, and the English – of us. There aren’t any here that will betray and flee; those who remain are ready to fight, and fight until the end. Our town is called Kirkham.  I have been appointed a squad leader. Yesterday we were given 10 shillings each from the King. We are being photographed, listed, etc. So for now we haven’t got much to do. We are resting, eating well, fruit preserves, eggs and other delicious titbits. This isn’t France – each room has a bathroom and lavatories – this is real culture and order.  We here on this little island, God with us, will hold fast and win.

 

We are slowly turning into Englishmen. Oh, those beautiful things we’ve been given. We had a bit of a drill today. We showed the English what we’ve got. They were thrilled. I like those English awfully. So kind, polite, oh, in a word, this is anything but France. We’ve forgotten all about the war. We don’t hear the scream of bombs or see enemy planes. But this will not be much longer. This silence is foreboding.

 

A lot of our English chaps came yesterday, who have been here for a long time. Many have already been deployed, other live 18 km away, in a seaside resort, in guest houses. They say they’ve never lived so well. We are in barracks, but even our huts are like palaces. England – here is culture, wealth. In France we were always questioned about why we weren’t fighting, but here no one mocks us for having crossed the Romanian border. With these men I would walk through fire.

 

A great celebration took place in Bergen today. Germans decorated their soldiers for valour in battle. The English took advantage of it. And the RAF very efficiently decorated them with wooden crosses. More than 100 were killed on the spot. The British offensive in Libya. On the first day they advanced 60 km. The Italian fleet on the Red Sea has been destroyed, and on the Mediterranean they’ve hid on the Adriatic. Roosevelt has agreed to run for president. This is the news of the day. Oh, but the most important: every night German cities and factories are set on fire by RAF bombs.

 

I think I will go to Blackpool today, there’s a camp of ours, our English friends. A whole gang of us are going. I am worried about Piotrek. I haven’t had any news of him. I do hope he gets here safely. I must have caught a cold, but where? When? A bit of a headache and pain in the chest.  Just like I had after the journey from Romania.

 

I went with Michał in a double-decker bus to Blackpool. We spent no more than 3 ½ hoursthere. 3 ½ hours, but filled with excitement, thrill and wonder. First of all, I met Heniek Niemiro and a whole group of friends. French and English soldiers came together. They live by the seaside, in beautiful guest houses, like civilians, only wearing uniforms. The King takes care of their bills. They live beautifully, as if on holiday. I did not speak with them long.

 

The whole town is packed with airmen, and almost everyone with a girl. Officers lay on beach chairs in front of villas, the sea murmurs and laps at the shore. We went to the funfair. Woo-hoo, all that is there! I tell you, one of the world’s wonders. This is a great big chest that gobbles up pounds. I did not take part in any of the diversions, but I bought 4 postcards. I ordered an English textbook – I will study, I like this language.  I have seen many things, but something like this – never. Blackpool is one of the largest sea resorts in Europe and in England. What gardens, flowers, simply a fairy tale. My camera is in Blackpool, at a repair shop. I will go there on Thursday, I think. We had 2 plates each of fish and chips and I was back by 10:00. Today I’m studying English. It’s a busy day, with lectures, briefings, etc.

 

The weather here is disgusting. England is beautiful, but the weather beastly.  Mutual bombardment goes on incessantly. Germany is preparing an offensive against us. We are waiting, day after day, hour after hour. Here is where they will strike the hardest. Churchill said, London will sooner be turned to rubble and the people lost than Britain will surrender to Germany.  Here they will have a hard job to do – England is not France.

 

And here, we cannot get through the street without being swarmed by children with their autograph books and notebooks, begging us to write something for them. It makes me sad. They treat us like heroes. No orders, no badges, just a French air force uniform, the uniform of a disgraced army – no more.

 

It looks like I might leave here soon. The 4th Air Regiment is organising units. Oh, to get into a unit. Halinka, how terrible this waiting is. But we will have our turn. Hundreds of planes fight in the air every day. Today Hitler was to hold a parade in London. It’s not happening somehow.  Well, yesterday was fun enough. 1000 German planes made a sortie over Great Britain. They accomplished nothing, lost 147 machines. We wait, the war dance will begin any day now. I’m on duty today.

 

I leave for Blackpool in half an hour. I have been detailed. I will be deployed in the first wave. Where and how I am still to find out. I am the only one from photo to go, from this camp. I will be doing something at last. What it will be – is of no consequence to me. Whether I fly in photo missions or work in the lab.

 

I am in Blackpool now. I am staying on St. Helen St., in a beautiful guest house. Piotruś lives 50 m away. I am so glad. I am with the first bomb squadron. I am glad to be the first to go and to be deployed with the first unit. We leave on Wednesday. Maj Wojda, my chief from Flight 41, is the squadron’s deputy commander, under L/Cpl Biały. Many of our officers are there. Daab, who came with us in a sailboat.  Kuszczyński, Cap tStenczuk, Lewandowski. I am in the technical group, under Lt Pianowski, also from Toruń. And most importantly, Piotruś is with me. We were sent out from Kirkham in a ceremony, by the bishop. The bishop said a personal farewell to each one. Then we had a parade and went to the train station.

 

I have 15 minutes. I’ve had a delicious breakfast, eggs and ham and tea, and we are soon off to be transformed from Frenchmen to Englishmen. We are going to pick up our uniforms. And the day after tomorrow – we go on... Soon our planes will begin carrying pills for the Fritz.  We have plenty to talk to them about. Our time is coming. Our fighters have long since joined the British. We are about to start pounding. The English bomb Germany day and night, without stopping.

 

Well, well, I hardly recognise myself, 100% an Englishman. I wonder if you’d recognize me. We’ve been given first-class equipment. Undergarments, boots, oh, what have we not been given. A whole bagful, I could hardly carry it all. Tomorrow we go for a medical and that’s it.

 

We leave today. We’ve had roll call, now I wait for 12:00. We are to be at the train station at 2. I had an awful night, kept dreaming of raids and bombings. Well, that is something we will not be short of at the airfield. For that I am ready.

Well, we might be leaving at last. We are to report to roll call at 9:30 to find out. I wish I could run away from people, forget the way they live here. You never see a worried or sad face on an Englishman. The war, the air raids, the bombings are in full swing, but none of it frightens the English. They believe in their ultimate victory and pay no mind to the cost. Yes, this nation can win more than one war. By their common sense, healthy government and lumps of gold. We, on the other hand, came short of all those things.

 

I am now at the Bramcote airfield near the town of Nuneaton. Last night after dinner we got comfortable and ready to sleep. 11 pm – alarm... Sirens scream – awfully. I ask Piotr, ‘Piotr, do you hear it?’ Some English chaps popped in and told us to go down into the shelter. I dressed slowly and we went down to the cellar, where there is a special shelter. I snuggled up in a corner and dozed off. I don’t know how long I was asleep. The alarm was called off. Cursing Hitler for interrupting our sleep, I got back into bed. Maybe an hour, maybe two hours passed. Same story. But this time we didn’t go to the shelter. I wrapped myself up tightly in blankets so as not to hear the howling of the sirens, and tried to sleep. A German machine began roaring overhead. Searchlights were groping about in the sky. Some of the men ran down to the shelter. I could not sleep. I strained my ears for the familiar scream of bomb. I heard artillery fire twice and that was all. But our night was not over. The same story happened before the break of dawn. Those beasts would not let us sleep.

 

Last night provided some excitement. The fun started at about 10. Fantastic – with a thrill... Somewhere high overhead, German planes passed over the clear background of the sky. Hundreds of searchlights groped about with their tentacles, painting a lovely web of lights. The artillery roared, and the hollow burst of shells came from somewhere above. It was a beautiful show, Piotr and I stood and admired it. There were quite a few planes. It was late when I went to bed. But the fun was not over. I had just dropped off when a volley hit someplace nearby. One of the bombs burst with a hollow bang, must have been a stray.

 

Last night brought us new shows. There were a few small clouds. We waited for the alarm, as usual. But it didn’t come. We went to bed. Suddenly, it’s light outside. Hop to the windows. Rockets (tracer bombs).The bastards came over at high altitude, trying to illuminate us. It looked lovely and it was quite bright. Then we waited for explosions. But they didn’t come. Even artillery was silent. We heard a few volleys at 1 am – bombs. You could see the afterglow.

 

Today I spent the day on preparing the equipment. It is difficult work. I don’t know the equipment, there is an Englishman who teaches me, but he speaks English and I still have a hard time. I must read and write in English and that is very difficult.

 

Last night was, I believe, the worst so far.  It was impossible to sleep and few managed it, I fell asleep after midnight.  Once the fun started with nightfall, it went on until morning.  A lot of planes played a part. They came at high altitude. They illuminated the area and scattered bombs. Not on us, for now.  We waited all night for the bombs to plough our airfield.  But they spared us. They only passed over us on their way to pound some industrial towns. They are menacing to look at. This war is terrible.  We – I understand, but what have those women and children done to deserve it?  ? But this is nothing compared to what happened in Poland. Though night raids are very unpleasant. It seems that we won’t have one quiet night here. We’ll just have to get used to the noise and racket and sleep calmly.

 

I have guard duty this afternoon. I’ll spend the whole night with the planes in the airfield. I like this sort of thing, as long as it doesn’t rain, but tonight the sky is strewn with clouds.

 

Oh, but it is the first of September. I forgot... The first anniversary of this dreadful war. Today is a year since we began without arms, without preparation, an uneven fight. Knowing we would lose... The September campaign speaks for itself. Romania – camp, escape. Then vast seas, scorching sands – France.  Our time in France, full of hope in a swift victory – desire to fight, dreams of Poland.  The fall of France. That was a terrible blow for us. The journey to the sea. That was interesting, too. Boarding the ship – 64 hours on the sea – Britain, Kirkham – Blackpool – Bramcote. This is our vagrant life. Often hungry – cold, barefoot, ah, we have been up and down. But all that can be described, can be told.

Many thanks to Barbara Poulter for access to her father's documents and photos
Special thanks also to Kresy-Siberia who originally translated the documents

LUDWIK SWIERZB

He was born on 26th February 1900, the son of Jan and Wiktoria (nee Pula) at Dabrowa Tarnowska near Krakow and was listed as a fitter in civilian life.  He joined the Polish Army in 1918 and fought as a soldier in the Russo-Polish War of 1918-1920; he was in the 16th Infantry Regiment of the 9th Company.  He saw action in the Ukraine and in the battles at Cieszyn and Vilnius, during which time he was awarded the Cross of Valour and promoted to corporal. 

After the war, he stayed in the army serving as a mechanic with the 2nd Air Regiment at Krakow until he was placed on the reserve list and returned to civilian life in 1923.  He is known to have attended training courses at 1st Air Regiment based at the Warsaw garrison but the duration is unknown  He met and married Maria Wodka and they had five children during the peacetime years that followed.

Ludwik's wife, Maria Wodka

Still being on the reserve list, he was called up for service as the crisis with Germany continued and he was back in uniform when the War broke out on 1st September 1939.  He was involved in the September Campaign but was evacuated to Romania on 18th September 1939 - the day after the Russians attacked Poland from the rear.

Once in Romania, the Polish forces were disarmed and interned but the Romanian authorities were sympathetic and escape from the internment camps was easy once the Polish Embassy had provided false ID, money and travel documents.  There is no detail on the route he took - either overland through Jugoslavia and Italy or by sea from one of the Black Sea ports but the latter is most likely as he arrived at Marseilles on 3rd February 1940 and was transferred to Lyon-Bron two days later.  He was lucky and was employed there because of his trade skills.

After the Capitulation of France, it is most likely that he was one of those who arrived at St Juan de Luz, on the Spanish border, and was taken off as one of the last evacuees before the German and Vichy authorities took over.  At any rate, he arrived in England on 2nd July 1940 and remained at the Blackpool Depot until he was transferred to 304 Squadron on 23rd August 1940.

He was a mechanic who later specialised as a rusznikarz (armourer) and did a specialist training course on Fraser-Nash gun turrets  at No 10 School of Technical Training at RAF Kirkham near Blackpool.   This was particularly important to his work with Wellington Bombers.  On 1st march 1946 he was given the permanent war rank of Sergeant.

During his time with 304 Squadron he was posted to RAF Bramcote (Warwickshire), RAF Syerston (Nottinghamshire), RAF Lindholme (Yorkshire), RAF Isle of Tiree (Inner Hebrides), RAF Dale -twice - and RAF Talbenny (both in Pembrokeshire), RAF Docking (Norfolk), RAF Davidstow Moor and RAF Predannack (both in Cornwall), RAF Chivenor (Devon), RAF Benbecula (Outer Hebrides), RAF St Eval (Devon) and RAF North Weald (Essex).

He was to remain with 304 Squadron throughout the War before transferring to RAF Faldingworth then moving to RAF Skipton-on-Swale in Yorkshire with the rank of Corporal on 28th October 1946. It is not clear what he was doing there but he remained there after joining the Polish Resettlement Corps on 2nd May 1947.  He later moved to the PRC Camp at RAF Framlingham, Suffolk.  During his war service, he was awarded the British Defence Medal, the War Medal and the Polish Air Force Medal, which was for courage not in the face of the enemy and was probably for risking his life fighting a fire on board a Wellington Bomber and saving two others.  After the war he received a second, third and fourth award of this medal for unspecified actions during the war.  He also received a Bronze Cross of Merit for his actions prior to May 1942 - this was most likely for outstanding work rather than courage.  Few ground crew received so many awards.

On 17th December 1948 he was discharged from the PRC to take up a 3 year contract as a mechanic with the emergent Pakistan Air Force.  He continued to send money home to his family but then it suddenly stopped and I have been unable to trace his whereabouts in Pakistan or elsewhere, since that time in the very early 1950's. 

If anyone, particularly my readers in Pakistan, can help with further information please contact me on nevillebougourd@gmail.com

Photographs courtesy of Alicja Morawiec

 

IS THERE ANY POINT?

Following the Brexit campaign and the subsequent victory, I have received a lot of abuse and insults.  The whole point of this blog is that it was non-political and in support of the Polish Airmen.  I wanted to keep their memories alive and to honour their bravery.

 

I am now being subjected to insults and abuse - even from people of Polish descent whom I have helped in the past.  It seems pointless to go on with this project if the people I had hoped to help are my biggest critics and want nothing more than to heap abuse on me.

 

I have not yet made a final decision but I cannot see any sensible reason to keep on committing my time and resources to help people who will then turn on me because my country has chosen to go it alone and come out of Europe.

JOHN HERBERT COMPER

John Herbert Comper was born on 30th May 1916 in Brixton, London; he was the younger son of Frederick Comper and his wife Minnie Gomersall.  Frederick worked in a munitions factory but, prior to WW1 he had been a commercial traveller selling porcelain, fine china and glassware from Continental Europe. 

John was a bright boy and, from 1928 to 1934, attended Sir Walter St.Johns School, Battersea after winning a county scholarship. He received a small bursary, which would become invaluable in the financial slump of the early 1930s.  This was a hard time for the Comper family - in John's own words: “My father’s health was failing and my brother was out of work, or gone to Ireland.”

John helped the family income by earning money, collecting payment of the weekly bills for a local newsagent and his mother found shop work when she could - but it wasn’t always enough:

“There were times when the weekend approached and the whole family would be at home and there was no sign of being able to find a meal for us all. Sometimes there were arrears in the rent.”  Fortunately they were helped on several occasions by a girlhood friend of John’s mother, and then later by her cousin and his bosses staying intermittently as paying guests.

In 1934, as John approached the end of his schooling, it became clear he would be unable to afford to take up the place he had been offered at University. Out of simple necessity, he sat the entrance exam for four different professions and was offered a position in the Civil Service, working for the Board of Education in the Staff Records Section of the Science Museum.

In 1935 his father died, aged 68, and times became harder. In 1937 John and his mother moved to Wembley to live with her recently widowed brother above his clothier's shop. John’s brother, George, was by now living and working in Malaya.

When war broke out in 1939, he stayed in the Civil Service until joining the RAF in 1940 when his age group was reached in the call-up process: “I had no impulse, patriotic or otherwise, to involve myself in the fighting any sooner than that,” he confided.

He enlisted on 17^th June 1940 at RAF Cardington, Bedfordshire and was assigned as a Clerk in the General Duties branch. On 22^nd August of that year he was posted to RAF Bramcote, Warwickshire for the formation of 304 Polish Bomber Squadron.

Just a week later, on the 29^th August, his Service Record shows that he was admitted to RAF Hospital Cosford, about 50 miles away. He was discharged after 20 days and no explanation is given, leaving something of a mystery.  Squadron records show no enemy activity over the base at this time, but there were several bombs dropped on Nuneaton on the night of 28^th August 1940, including one high explosive that killed three people and injured nine others, two of them seriously.

Nuneaton is only 4 miles from RAF Bramcote so it is possible that he was in the town that evening and was somehow caught up in this incident, or perhaps he was sent by the base commander as part of an aid party. Whatever the reason, it may relate to a story passed down the family that ‘something bad happened to him, resulting in some injury, and that what he had seen had given him a sort of breakdown and he had lost his faith’.  It could possibly have something to do with the fact that a nine year old girl was killed in that incident

Back at RAF Bramcote, he was one of 25 or so British advisory/liaison staff tasked with assimilating some 350 Polish Officers and airmen into the RAF way of doing things and it’s procedures and King's Regulations, simultaneously developing them into a viable fighting unit.

On the whole he found it “enjoyable for the variety and unpredictability of what came my way. On the other hand there were times of frustration and exasperation arising in the main from the inability to communicate details because of language difficulties”. The squadron achieved combat readiness on 25 April 1941, and by the end of that year John had been promoted to the rank of Corporal.

The nature of his work being administration means that there is a paucity of recorded information about his day-to-day activities and, in common with so many others, he never spoke about the war in later life. However, when asked many years later about any frightening experiences he had had, he recalled the following:

“Another man and I were working in a hut on the edge of Cardiff aerodrome when we saw an aircraft approaching quite low and we suddenly realised it was German. We shot out of the hut in the direction of a nearby underground air-raid shelter (as our standing instructions said we should, not that we needed any encouragement). Before I got there a bomb exploded about 50 yards away. The blast bowled me over on the ground, but I suffered no injury beyond a short nose-bleed. It was only afterwards I realised how frightened I had been.”

“Another, more frightening, but actually less dangerous, occasion was when a Stuka dive-bombed a small group of us outside a hangar on a Midlands airfield. He came out of the sky, seemingly straight for us, with a siren shrieking – designed, of course, to scare us (and succeeding). It dropped no bomb and was gone again in moments, but we all scattered fast. The noise of the siren was awful – worse almost than the thought that he was going to bomb or machine-gun us. (A Corporal among us shot through the hangar door at great speed and knocked a small light aircraft off it’s stands where it was being serviced. He couldn’t really be blamed, but was ever after known as Corporal Panic).

Throughout the war John’s character is recorded as very good and his proficiency as excellent.   In 1942 he was promoted to the rank of Sergeant and, in 1943, awarded a Good Conduct badge. He was also honoured by the Polish Air Force who awarded him  the Squadron Badge - very rarely given to British Officers and almost unheard of as an award to enlisted men and NCOs. In 1944 he was awarded a Mention In Despatches for his prolonged good service.

His cherished award of the Squadron Badge

 

Mentioned in Despatches

 

By the end of the War, he had served with 304 Squadron at 14 RAF Stations, these being: Bramcote (Warwickshire), Syerston (Nottinghamshire), Lindholme (Yorkshire), Tiree (Inner Hebrides), Dale (Pembrokeshire), Talbenny (Pembrokeshire), Docking (Norfolk), Davidstow Moor (Cornwall), Predannack (Cornwall), Chivenor (Devon), Benbecula (Outer Hebrides), St Eval (Cornwall), North Weald (Essex) and Chedburgh (Suffolk).

He was a kind and even-tempered man, with impeccable manners, quiet but not shy, and loved telling silly jokes and riddles. His genial and straight-forward  approach to his work, coupled with his skill at untangling problems, seems to have been appreciated by the squadron. Eventually he became the assistant Adjutant, “working with a Polish officer who spoke quite good English (better, anyway, than my Polish!).”

In November 1945 he received news that his brother, George, had died in a Japanese POW camp in Borneo, a few days after it was liberated but before he could be moved out. George was a Lance Corporal in the 3^rd Battalion of the Straits Settlements Volunteer Force, which had been over-run by the Japanese during their invasion of Singapore. The news of his death was all the worse because a telegram in September had said that George was alive and on his way home. He had in fact died on 14^th June, their mother’s birthday.

John was demobbed on 25 February 1946 and returned to London and his job at the Science Museum. His RAF release book states ‘He possesses initiative, confidence and ability of exceptional standard and has capably performed superior duties.’

Highly thought of by his Polish Commanding Officer

 

Five months after returning to civilian life he received a parcel from 304 Squadron – a monogrammed cigarette case, hand - made by one of the Polish craftsmen. Inside was a list of everywhere they had been stationed, and also engraved was a personal message :- “To Johny Comper From the flying personnel with warm appreciation for your most valuable work with 304 Polish Squadron since its beginning 1940 to 1946”. Accompanying this gift was a letter from Wing Commander Witold Piotrowski thanking John for his long and devoted service and helping them over so many difficulties, not all of which were quite “in the line of duty”.
 

 

 

 

Presentation of engraved cigarette case

in appreciation of his service

 

in July 1946 John met Joyce Hobbs, an employee at the Science Museum,   and by the end of the year they were engaged. On 9^th July 1947 they were married, the ceremony took place at All Saints Church, Fulham. They moved to a flat in West Kensington.  In 1950 they moved to a house in Barnes, SW London and had their first child, a daughter. John’s mother moved in to live with them and two years later a second daughter was born.

 

 

Wedding Photos of John and Joyce

 

Over the following years John developed an interest in horticulture and became an accomplished gardener, as well as developing a talent for being able to fix almost anything. If he couldn’t mend something he would soon find out how to do so. In the evenings he enjoyed reading, usually having several books on the go, especially spy stories.

Soon after returning to the Science Museum, John had been moved to the Ministry Of Education, where he served variously in Establishments Branch, Legal Branch and Further Education Branch until he was appointed Superintendent of the Science Museum in 1950. He returned to the main office of the Ministry of Education in 1953 as Chief Establishment Officer and Departmental Security Officer. He stayed in this post until appointed as the Establishment Officer of the Natural Environment Research Council on the formation of that body in 1965.  A year later he was recalled to the Department of Education and Science to become Assistant Accountant General, which post he held until his retirement in 1975.  In recognition of his services to education he was appointed a Companion of the Imperial Service Order (ISO) in the New Year Honours List for 1972 - a fact that was recorded in the Supplement to the London Gazette on 1st January 1972.

The Imperial Service Order

 

Notification of his Imperial Service Order

 

 



Report from The Richmond and Twickenham Times

 

For several years John had been renovating a Norfolk farmhouse at weekends and by 1977 he and Joyce had moved there and begun a happy and active retirement. The large garden was made attractive, and on land to the side they grew masses of fruit and vegetables. They often visited their daughters and grandchildren locally, as well as friends and family in London.

When not absorbed in the gardening John could frequently be found in his workshop making something useful from wood, metal or clay. Later he took up silversmithing, making rings and brooches for his family.

John and Joyce shared a passion for genealogy and often spent a considerable part of each year travelling up and down the country to further their research. On 21 October 1993 they were consulting the archives at Colchester Register Office when John suffered a heart attack and died. He was 77. His funeral was held at St.Faith's Crematorium near Norwich. He is survived today by his two daughters, four grandchildren and five great grandchildren.

With thanks to his Grandson, Ben Haslam for access to the family archives and permission to use the photographs