Library Reference Number: 084
Combatting Stress - Then and Now
It would appear that any person during more recent years, who is involved in an accident or emergency situation, has immediate access to counselling with the aim of alleviating the effects of post-traumatic stress. Sadly, this was not always so. Had counselling and after-care been available following World War 2, the quality of life could have been dramatically improved for a countless number of survivors. For them during post-war years, sympathy was certainly not expected - merely a degree of understanding from those around them.
My own experience of stressful situations commenced even before I volunteered for RAF aircrew, as I had joined Greenock Police in 1938, and was at the receiving end of bombing raids as a serving police officer on duty during the blitz on Greenock. The major reason for the German interest in Greenock at that time, was the presence of the mighty battleships of the British Fleet, - including 'HMS Hood' 'HMS Nelson' and over 40 merchant ships, all anchored off Greenock. The 'Hood' was so distinctive with all its big guns pointing forward, and with intense activity surrounding it, with endless streams of wagons at the Albert Harbour all bearing loads of ammunition, shells, explosives and other supplies ready to be poured into the 'Hood' preparing for battle. A short time later, it set off to fight the Graf Spee - and was never seen again!
All during this period we were on police duties 13 hours per day. We were informed what was required as far as demolishing property following bomb damage, climbing on top of Municipal Buildings during raids to throw off incendiaries, guarding against looters after raids, in short to attend to any eventuality which arose during or after an air-raid. On one occasion in May 1941, I was assigned to go on top of a building with Constables Couty and Smith when the raids started, to throw off incendiaries. Bombs landed in Cathcart Square and Dalrymple Street and we decided to come down to ground level where I lost contact with the other police officers. Buildings were on fire all around me, including property opposite the police station, the chapel, Mannies Pub, and raw whisky was pouring down the street from the demolished distillery at the top of Baker Street.
I walked along helping in any way I could, pulling two sailors from the gutter on to the pavement I discovered they were both dead. When the fire brigade arrived, I immediately got stuck in to help, we took 13 bodies from one building, I also stood guard to prevent looting. After losing all track of time, I decided to make for home to get some rest to prepare for same again next day. On arriving at my lodgings 23,South Street, people were astounded to see me, as they had been searching for me in the demolished rubble. All my personal belongings with much-loved items had gone. With only what I was wearing left and with nowhere to live, I walked to Inverkip to stay with my good lady for that night, then walked back next morning to commence another 13-hour shift. Next day I was put on duty at Clydeview Road where gas pipes were still aflame. Our job was to look out for looters.
Looting came down to a personal level, when one Sunday morning 1 boarded a Dunlop's bus only to find a well-known 'character' sitting in front of me with four of his associates on their way to Largs for a day out. It was a lovely sunlit morning, and as he lifted his hand while reading a newspaper, the sun glinted on his ring - I looked again in disbelief - it was my father's ring which I had thought lost in the bomb damage. Unwilling to tackle all five on the spot, I reported to the Police Station and was given the help of Constable McKay and instructed to meet all buses returning from Largs that evening. We challenged the group on arrival, witnessed the offender was still wearing my father's ring, and as soon as I got a grip he gave in without a struggle. On gaining a search warrant to examine his house at East Shaw Street, we found ample evidence of looting and he was given a 4-year sentence.
Having been on duty throughout the Greenock Blitz, losing my accommodation and all my personal belongings when bombed out, I think the sinking of the 'Hood' on 24th May 1941 was a decisive factor in volunteering for RAF aircrew. I felt I wanted to do something other than being on the receiving end all the time. Apart from the fact that aircrew duty was one of the few ways a serving police officer could move away from his police role, it was generally accepted that Bomber Command was the only part of Britain's Armed Forces which could hit Germany in the West, and bring support to the Russians fighting so fiercely on the Eastern Front.
Initially I undertook pilot training at RAF Ansty (near Coventry) but then remustered to Navigator/Bomb Aimer and completed this training and qualification in Canada. On returning to Britain, I was assigned to No.550 Squadron based at North Killingholm flying Lancasters. I went on to complete 33 operations over Germany on railways, oil wells, munition factories etc. When operating over Russian lines we wore a placard around our neck with Union Jack/Hammer & Sickle emblems to identify ourselves in event of being shot down. Over Berlin caught in hundreds of searchlights, I sent all and everything down - and saw everything coming up. Although surviving to tell the tale, several times our aircraft was so badly damaged by flak that it was a write-off on returning to base.
In July 1941 the Chiefs of Staff had declared "We must destroy the foundations upon which the German war machine runs - the economy which feeds it, the morale which sustains it, the supplies which nourish it and the hopes of victory which inspire it."
As time went on, I dropped bombs on Nuremberg, Leipzig, railway sidings etc. with no qualms at all. I never even thought about it. I had personal memories of what they had done to Greenock, had seen Coventry and our other places bombed to bits. In one raid on Nuremberg we lost 94 planes with 7 crew members in each. I found the only way to survive emotionally, was to only become close to members of your own crew. So many crews were being lost each night, that to get too friendly with other crews before they disappeared would have been demoralising.
We usually climbed to 10,000ft before we set course over Netherlands and they started shooting at us. We once bombed Stetten an oil refinery. That flight took 5 hours. The next raid was Schemnitz, we dived from 20,000ft to 12,000ft to get away from two ME110s. We got into the cloud, I worked the Gee to try and get a fix. We were lost because of the dive, but eventually I got a fix on Lake Lucerne. We ran out of fuel and had to land on an American base in the south of England.
In my squadron we lost 300 men - some of the raids I was on I'd come back and there would be three empty tables, 21 neighbouring mess mates in one night. I never knew them personally because that's how we coped. To lose personal friends on that scale daily would have been too much to cope with. On one occasion I did get to know one little fellow - he was so immaculately dressed, shoes always shiny, wore his RAF scarf and spoke often in passing. One day I knew I was the last person he spoke to because he never came back. That's how it was.
With the increasing number of bombers taking part, your eyes were sometimes popping out of your head we were flying so close together - 500 bombers all heading for one target. Some fellows got knocked out of the sky with someone else's bombs, that did happen. I've also seen collisions over the Wash on the way down - one flash and they were away 5 tonnes of bombs and 1200 of spirit. We went to attack Plaun once but it was cancelled, we had to turn around to come back, and with such large numbers of aircraft involved, that was quite dangerous. On one other occasion we had to fly over the Battle of the Bulge, and believe it or not, the Americans had a go at us too. Was the flak heavy? Heavy? I could have pushed a wheelbarrow over it, it was that heavy.
When you got your foot on the ground after a raid you were a very quietly satisfied person, and felt extremely lucky to be alive. On returning it was debriefing with Intelligence group, a meal then off to bed in the Nissen hut. Then about 11 am you got up to inspect the roll for the next night - hoping to hell you weren't on it. About every third night you were. You just had to do what you were told, as no-one wanted to be branded a coward.
On one occasion, attacked by two ME210s over Chemnitz and badly damaged over Nuremberg, our crippled Lancaster crash-landed at Carnaby. My pilot held me in high regard as a crew member, and we shared a great deal of mutual respect. He was from Queensland, was awarded the DFC, but has been in and out of military hospitals to this very day. The life-style we shared at that time had certainly been a sure recipe for creating stress.
One of the fellows I went up on the roofs with to Fire-Watch at Greenock before joining the RAF turned up as a fellow aircrew member. He wasn't in my squadron, but we used to meet in Grimsby sometimes for a drink. On one occasion when I had already done 21 operations and Alex Smith had done a similar number, he cried on my shoulder and said "Willie, I can't take any more of this!" Anyhow, I never saw Alex again, but after the war decided to see what happened to him. He had come back to the Police Force, but had never settled and resigned.
To cheer him up, a few weeks later I managed to get two tickets for a Scotland v England match at Hampden. On phoning Alex to arrange to meet him at Hampden, he agreed to come. Alex Smith failed to meet me for the match - instead he was found later drowned in the River Spey - stress!
I myself was so stressed that I also left the police force and hitch-hiked across Canada. Wandering aimlessly across Canada would appear to be therapeutic, but stress having gained a hold, is very difficult to shake off. Lack of understanding of what conditions were like for prolonged operational flying during WW2, didn't lead to any positive post-war remedies or consideration. Sixty years later amidst the commemorative period, it is to be hoped that younger generations will even begin to realise that ' our past was given for their future.' We that are left can only hope, that young people will guard their freedom with vigilance - for it was not gained lightly.
To this day, I feel proud of my service - and being a survivor!