I was born in 1924 in Pontefract, home of Pontefract Cakes and Liquorice Allsorts, as the third son of a pawnbroker. On leaving the local Kings School at the age of fourteen at my insistence to work with my father, I experienced almost a year of pre-war business, which included selling items such as pocket watches at 1/9d (now 9p) and alarm clocks at 2s/5d (now 12p).

I then in 1942, went to Leeds recruiting office hoping to be one of the ‘Brylcreem Boys’ and on to Padgate for three days of medical examinations and various tests. I always remember the first meal served there was meat pie in a dish, then two slices of bread on top with a wedge of butter (or was it margarine?) The next server poured on a scoop of gravy over the lot, leaving a soggy mess with a greasy liquid round. I certainly learned the hard way to watch the system of serving!

Accepted for PNB (Pilot/Navigator/Bomb Aimer) training and reporting at Lords Cricket Ground in May 1943, I and others were told that being short of educational qualifications as fourteen-year-old school leavers, we were to go to a Pre Air Crew Training College at Barking. But first we had the usual six weeks of square-bashing, air raids and the usual jabs and tortures. Wartime London was certainly eye-opening to this boy from the North.

Six months in civilian billets at Barking (one chap was at the home of Vera Lynn) we had one Officer and a Corporal to keep us up to RAF standards of drill and orders. Civilian instructors taught us extra history, science, English and maths. The time passed easily with no guard duties, fire pickets etc. but some of us could see the war ending before we had chance to become another Douglas Bader or Guy Gibson.

Back at St. Johns Wood, we heard that air gunners were needed and after applying one morning, we were rushed off to Eastchurch by that afternoon. On parade next morning I saw flights of aircrew with all badges of rank missing from their sleeves. These chaps had sadly been classed LMF (Lack of Moral Fibre) owing to operational stress, extreme nerves etc., and with hindsight, I think we were at Eastchurch to witness and possibly be intimidated by the treatment, with endless fatigues, drill and duties to these unfortunates.

Leaving Eastchurch after a traumatic seven days, it was back to Yorkshire for ITW at Bridlington during the bracing months of December and January. Billeted in hotels without heat and hot water, we were jollied along by the usual Corporals and our gigantic Scottish Flight Sergeant who could shout orders in a foreign tongue from 06.00 hours through to midnight. We had lots of clay pigeon shooting, Morse, drill and jolly country runs and so the time passed, to go on leave, but the usual FFI (Free From Infection) medical showed that I had measles (German no less). My time at Bridlington ended with seven days in the RAF Hospital near Sewerby Hall, as the only patient, and attended by eight pretty nurses, two sisters and a doctor. My bed was placed in a large bay window overlooking the gardens and sea, with requests of what would you like for dinner and other meals? A good time but not a word to my wife please.

After a few days home (the pawnshop was still alive) my train ticket read Bridgnorth for more gunnery and training but not so much drill. This was followed by Air Gunnery School at Morpeth and at last flying in the mighty Anson.

Our flight was out over the North Sea to shoot at a drogue being towed by another plane and I recall seeing tracers coming up from some fishing boats out from Alnwick. Our rounds were dropping near the boats and in Corporal Jones of Dad’s Army’s words "They don’t like it up ‘em." Here at Morpeth we RAF boys did more than our fair share of guard duties, as our fellow students were mainly Polish and Free French who did not have sufficient English for guarding: they were pretty fluent at all other times. Nevertheless the Air Gunner brevet and three stripes were sewn on and it was home for fourteen days to show them off. What a struggle the extra bag of flying kit was!

Detailed to Blackpool and in civilian billets once again, we awaited posting overseas. It was another round of jabs including yellow fever which we heard was rife in West Africa, but never mind lad!

A packed train now to Glasgow on May 5th 1944 to see in the Clyde a convoy including the Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth, but not for me. It was an old P&O line the Malaga. Sailing on D-Day, we took a long detour out into the Atlantic and then to Gibraltar, the Med, Red Sea and to Bombay in 37 days. A Cooks Tour with not the best conditions and not West Africa, but never mind lad.

India was another world and RAF life was easier, smellier and hotter. Shortly it was to Poona and to the hills and jungles for fourteen days at the Jungle Preservation School, with the other ten members of the Liberator crew whom I had joined in Bombay. Amongst other things I learned that saying "I am English airman" in Burmese was "Choke Go Ingalake Pyat Tha Pyitday" or something similar. As if they wouldn’t know!

It rained every day (this was monsoon time) and most of us had dysentery with Heinz variety (57) visits to the primitive loo. The Doc cured us with an enormous spoon of castor oil, followed six hours later by the same spoon of a chalky cement.

Leaving the hills, the gunners arrived in Bhopal for more shooting and handling .5 Browning guns in addition to the .303. A highlight here was a weekend at the palace of Maharajah of Bhopal who was an Air Vice Marshal in the Indian Airforce. This was the life – good food, servants, cinema and hot showers etc.

To join our crew and begin flying together we travelled by train across India to Kolar near Bangalore. Naturally as a pawnbroker’s son I was the ball gunner and settled in with the crew as the only English type. The others were Australian, Canadian, South African, New Zealander and a Swiss Flight Engineer. The flying was hairy at times, as the monsoon was still on, and the Liberators were past their sell-by-date and some crews didn’t make it.

Our time at Kolar was enlightened one morning by being given the afternoon off, but being told to report to the medical room. Here we had a bubonic plague jab, as the nearby village was infected. I had an arm like a balloon and throbbing – but never mind lad.

After the course some of us had fourteen days in Octacamund, a hill station in Southern India which was the first home of snooker in about 1880 – very much like the Lake District but warmer!. There were bikes to hire, strawberries and cream to eat and hot baths. Leaving Kolar, we took a ten day train trip North to Jessore in Bengal (now Bangalore). On arrival the ball gunners were told to attend the office of Wing Commander (later Air Chief Marshal Sir Lewis) Hodges, the CO of 357 (Special Duty) Squadron. Here we learned that the ball turrets of the Liberators had been amputated (ouch) as an exit for agents etc. Consequently ball gunners were not required but a new flight of C47 Dakotas were being formed and each required a despatcher, but no guns. So a despatcher it was to be and this involved a short course at Jessore, ending with a parachute jump which looks good in my log book in red ink as a personal descent and signed by Major Thornton who was the main officer-in-charge of Forces 136 agents and accompanied us to make his 200th plus jump.

This course nicely covered Christmas 1944 in the heat of India and my joining PO Wally Kindred’s crew newly arrived from Canada as the fourth member. After various training trips around India and Ceylon, we started operations on the 24th January 1945 with 300 hours to achieve for a tour. These involved mainly night-time trips, often with one agent being dropped into Burma and French Indo-China, about which our flight Commander, Squadron Leader T.P. O’Brien has written three books including ‘The Moonlight War’.

I think our most eventful flight of the war was on the 5th March with the codename ‘Heavy’. Take off was 08.10 hours and briefing was to land on an airstrip in China to deliver an agent and to pick up the one who had been in the area for some time. Fortunately the monsoon season had not yet started and being daylight it was a fairly smooth flight.

The Japanese held strip had been taken for our landing by a Chinese guerilla force who were now holding the Japanese back at each side of the strip. We landed with the usual Dakota flair, after dodging a few rounds from one side or the other, and Wally taxied to the end of the runway and turned round ready for a quick take-off, without cutting the engines, and then it would be back home for a cup of char lads. My duty was to remove the rear door, put the steps down and help our passenger out with his packages, arms and radio etc.

Our new passenger climbed in gladly and we later learned that he had been in receipt of Japanese 'hospitality' and lost both hands. I believe that our Chinese friends had been involved in his rescue.

We brought him forward with our crew and were ready for take off. I was forward with skipper Wally and looked out of the starboard window to see one of the guerilla’s looking more like a gorilla and pointing his rifle and bayonet at me. As Wally had another guy at his side and several others around, our passenger suggested calling his replacement back to check the problem. This he did and found that the Chinese gang had been told to take the strip for a plane to land – but had no instructions for allowing it to depart! After thirty minutes or so they backed off and away we went.

It was a long trip back to the airbase and we landed at the USAAF base Myitkyina in Northern Burma to refuel. This reminded me of a previous landing there, also to refuel, with a group of 22 Gurkha paratroopers and their British Major on their way out of a mission. Our crew and the Major and skipper Wally had asked the Major to tell the gurkha’s to look after the plane. Midway through our meal, an American Top Sergeant came along to ask for the Brit crew. He wanted to tank us up but our gurkha’s were sitting in a circle around the Dak with their hands on their kukri knives with no intention of letting the Yanks touch anything. Their boss soon gave the word or I might still have been out there. Another example of obeying orders.

When my tour of ops (300 hours) was completed the crew split up and I took the first of two 28 days leave at hill stations in the Himalayas. Terrific!

Another posting to Air Headquarters China/India/Burma in Barrackpore near Calcutta: and here I took a driving course with a test finishing on the runway driving a Chevrolet car and touching 90mph at the suggestion of the WO examiner. He then gave me the necessary note to avoid another civilian test when demobbed.

As Rangoon had just been liberated we sailed down the Bay of Bengal (more monsoon) and on arrival I was asked what job did I want to do? What else but the Intelligence Section! They must have though I was a backroom boy of 357 Squadron.

Christmas 1945 should have been spent at home as I had drawn a place for 28 days leave. Leaving Rangoon on December 1st and flying all the way in various kites including Dakotas and Liberators (no boats or trains) we arrived at the end of January 1946. The 28 days leave stretched until May for return by boat (the Empress of Australia) from Liverpool with 5,000 Italian POW’s to Naples and then a proper cruise to Bombay. By trains and boat we headed towards Rangoon and shortly after a return to the UK and Blackpool for demob as a Sergeant, not as earlier Warrant Officer, the RAF having decided this in their wisdom but without a reduction in pay. I ask WHY?

Personal transport was essential on return home and so my demob cash was spent on an almost new motor bike but quickly exchanged for a 1934 MG car. This surely created a better image with the girls when "Johnny came Marching Home".

I rejoined my father in the pawnbroking business, but by 1952 the demand for this had slowly declined and the business was discontinued. The decision enabled us to concentrate on the jewellery side of the business with the addition of a photographic section, which kept me very active until semi-retirement in 1986. The time since then has been taken up with odd days of work, walking, taking holidays not possible as self employed, joining various groups such as the Air Crew Association, Air Gunners and PROBUS and one day, hopefully, making a catalogue of a wide collection of records and tapes.

Moving onto 1989 my wife and I joined the celebrations of the 50th anniversary of the first flight of the Liberator in San Diego, California, where the highlights were to see a Liberator fly in, and dancing to the Bob Crosby band playing music from the 1940’s.

Finally in 1992 we joined Ralph Dalglish and Ken Williams, the Wireless Operator and Navigator on my Dakota crew, along with their wives for the Aircrew reunion, and then on to Toronto to be met by Wally Kindred and his wife. Wally had placed a huge placard outside his house to show that we were having our first crew reunion for 47 years. What a time we had recalling young days.

J.A. Green