Since arriving
at 46 Squadron, John Crossman had been living in almost squalid (in his eyes at
least) conditions and he hadn’t been impressed:
‘This is an
awful place here and if it weren’t that the fellows in the squadron are so
decent life would be very lousy. Five of us live in the one room with nothing
on the floors, nothing to put our clothes in or hang them from, no bathroom and
no hot water laid on. Every five days I drive six miles into Epping of Epping
Forest fame to have a bath at a hotel there. As you can guess this place isn’t
exactly a bed of roses and you should hear the chaps moaning.’
Happily, the
boys had now been billeted at Thrift Hall in much more pleasant conditions.
John was sharing with Billy Pattullo in a ‘very comfortable room. Quite a
change from the aerodrome’.
(Blast from the past One: John Crossman in uniform before he received his wings.)
After a good
night’s sleep in his comfortable new accommodation, John awoke to find that
there was no flying on the 26th. With 24 hour leave pass in hand, he borrowed a
Maggie, flew to North Weald, filled her up and headed off to Leamington Spa to
visit friends he had met via the Lady Frances Ryder and Miss Macdonald of the
Isles Hospitality Scheme.
Perhaps it was just as well John had a day off. As a perfectionist he
had high standards for both himself and others; he did not tolerate his own
weaknesses, nor those of others. Indeed, he could be overly critical of others’
faults, real or perceived. Flying wing patrols with 249 Squadron was a
frustrating business for him. Despite carrying out number of patrols over the
last few days, including one on the 25th where they had ‘chased
round the sky, saw no Jerries and came home’, he had had no further chance at combat. Rather than accept that that
was just the way it was, he uncharitably blamed his wing partners:
‘We
are generally led by 249 Squadron from North Weald and they always seem to lead
us away from any fights that there are. Our chaps think they must be yellow.’
This was clearly an unwarranted accusation as 249 Squadron was manned by
extremely skilled and courageous pilots. Coincidentally, John’s fellow
Australian, Bill Millington DFC, who had also participated in those abortive
wing patrols, was on this very day receiving some much warranted publicity,
though he would have been too modest to acknowledge it.
(Blast from the past Two: Bill Millington on his last day in civvies.)
Bill’s parents back in Adelaide had woken up to two articles about their
son in the local paper: one told the readers how he had been awarded his DFC
and the other was an interview with the Millingtons who, when informed of the
DFC, told the reporter that:
‘Their son had
always been interested in aviation and had insisted on learning flying as a
career. “After serving in the Naval Reserve here Will left South Australia in
May last year for England where he joined the RAF...He was always keen on
becoming a member of the Air Force and his letters to us after he enlisted as a
pilot officer of the RAF have arrived regularly until recently. He does not,
however, refer to his exploits to any great extent.”’
John Crossman and Bill Millington were both courageous young men. They
simply expressed their courage in different ways.
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