[Photo opposite of the author.]
The end of 1941 and beginning
of 1942 saw the formation of the Royal Air Force Servicing Commando units
numbered 3201, 3202, 3203, etc. Each unit consisted of some 140 men and
NCOs under a Flt Lt Engineering officer and an Armament Pilot Officer (PO). The
men were mainly experienced fitters, riggers, armourers, electricians and
wireless mechanics with essential ancillary services provided by a cook and a medical orderly.
The first units were built
up from the six self contained refuelling and re-arming (R&R) parties deployed
along the cliffs of south east England. Their purpose was to give our fighter
aircraft maximum possible range across the channel into France. The R&R experience stood these men in good
stead for their work with the Air Servicing Commando on active service in Africa, Italy and France.
My story is chiefly
concerned with the 3201 unit under Flt Lt E Webster, OBE and Pilot Officer Pilcher-Clayton. The nucleus of this unit came from our No 6 R&R party.
setting out from Shoreham for an unknown destination with only a
vague idea of what was in store. The word Commando was certainly not in the RAF
vocabulary at that time!
When it came to the new
training regime, Senior Non-Commissioned Officers (NCOs), who had been
closeted in the comfort of administrative work for years, found the changes more
strenuous than the lower ranks.
Flight Sergeants, like the
one depicted opposite, initially found the going very hard and usually ended
route marches following their men instead
of leading them!
weeks of intensive training hardened up the weakest of them and even they became tough enough to stand the rigours of the ensuing campaign.
During this hectic period,
we arrived at Fairlop, near Romford in north east London, where Squadron
Leader Taylor opined, 'I expect you all wonder why you are here. Well you are
going to have three weeks of being toughened up!'
He was true to his word. We
were highly skilled technicians in all the known trades of the RAF but, for
three weeks (and more after), we neither saw nor heard our familiar old kites
such as spitfires, hurries, defies, not even a walrus!
became familiar with bayonets and grenades, ran miles and undertook more PT
(physical training) in those three weeks than the rest of the Air Force had ever
done since its birthday – at least that’s what it felt like to us!
We practised many close
combat techniques, including the silent disposal of sentries. A rumour circulated that
we were bound for even more intensive Commando training in Scotland. All
was revealed when we arrived at the No 1 Combined Training Centre (CTC) near Inveraray on Loch Fyne.
It was remote, mountainous country, where only the fit survived.
Passage to Africa
On completion of our
training, we prepared for our first encounter with the enemy abroad. We embarked
on the USS Leedstown in the Clyde and settled in for the journey to North Africa. The large number
aboard simply overwhelmed the facilities and queuing became a way of life. The
extent of the queues, or lines as the Americans called them, had to be experienced to be believed.
There were the 'Chow Lines'
for meals; 'PX Lines' for the equivalent of our NAAFI canteen
and 'Ice Cream Lines'. These lines appeared to snake along from the bowels of the ship to the uppermost decks, past the
boat deck, then up the main staircase past the officers deck, then up the next flight of stairs to what had been the
state room, now converted into an “other ranks” mess. It was an amazing sight!
My drawing shows part
of one of the 'Ice Cream Lines'. You could easily wait for three hours,
moving along a few places every now and then, sometimes to get within sight of the canteen
doors just as supplies ran out for the day.
A friend of the lucky fellow round the
corner at the bottom of the stairs delivered an ice cream to him, while
he waits in the queue for his own turn to come. Others are leaning over the banisters of
the upper stairs, cracking jokes with those below or falling asleep as they
wait. The one at the very top is just going into the canteen door, perhaps the
last to be served. While the fellow on the extreme bottom left, with his magazine,
feels lucky to be next to turn the corner because there are lots more behind him right down the corridor.
for our imminent landing were ongoing right up to the last few days before the
invasion, including the fitting of gun mountings to assault craft. Good
preparations would ensure the smoothest possible disembarkation into the LCAs
(Landing Craft Assault), which would be
lowered into the water on davits much like lifeboats today.
The sailor shown opposite
is plaiting a huge rope fender designed to keep the LCAs safe from damage as
they manoeuvred alongside their larger mother craft, particularly during rough
The roll of the tall-sided
ships caused problems for the men descending the scramble nets to the LCAs
below. At one moment the net would swing clear of the ship’s side by some six to
eight feet only to swing back again to the ship's hull, with considerable force,
a moment later as the mother ship rolled in the swell.
Not much more than an hour
or so after the Army Commandos and Royal Navy had landed, achieving complete
surprise, it was our turn to scramble down the nets to reach the LCAs below. We
accompanied the first wave of
American infantry. Our particular beach was at Ain Taya, just east of Algiers, the starting
point of a 10 mile route to the Vichey French airfield at
No 1 Army Commando had
done a perfect job but not without the loss of some officers and men. The enemy guns at Cape Mattafou
were silent as our craft raced in towards the shore. To our right the Navy were
subduing resistance in the harbour of Algiers, which was fast falling to our
TORCH: airmen of No 3201 Servicing Commando loading ammunition drums for the
Supermarine Spitfire Mark Vs of No. 322 Wing RAF at Maison Blanche, Algeria.
Operation TORCH was the first occasion on which RAF Servicing Commandos were
used. Their duties were to undertake the servicing and replenishment of aircraft
during the assault stage of an operation, until the arrival of the squadrons'
ground personnel. © IWM (CNA 33).]
We glanced back at the old
Leedstown, shrouded in the greyness of the early dawn, a few miles off
shore. She looked like a mother hen with her brood of LCAs
tucked in under her quarters, only to pop out again when loaded for their five mile
journey to the landing beaches.
There would be many such trips before all the
men, supplies and equipment were safely ashore. Little did we know that we'd
never see the Leedstown again. She had been our home and security for three weeks, nursing us
when we were sick, feeding us when hungry and rocking us to sleep when tired. I remember an American soldier, who
was less appreciative, remark, 'Say, I’m sure glad to get off that God damn
ship'. Neither he, nor any of us, knew that she would be hit by an aerial torpedo, bombed and finally sunk by submarine U 331 before the day was
out. Sadly, of the 163 on board 59 were killed.
We drew into the airfield
at Souk-el-Arba on Saturday evening and settled down to make provision for the
night. Some wiser members of our party dug silt trenches to drop into in case of
enemy attack. Two squadrons of spitfires had landed and a third was expected
the following day. Supplies of high octane fuel had been delivered by road or rail and was dumped under a screen of trees and
along ditches not far from where the aircraft were parked. The night passed
quietly except for the noise of lorries bringing in additional supplies of fuel.
Dawn came with feverish
activity as we prepared the technical gear for the fuelling, servicing, repair
and maintenance of the aircraft. We were to
maintain a 24 hour fighter patrol over the front line every odd hour, with the
even hour provided by No. 3202 unit under Flt Lt Weedon from Bone. They had moved up from Maison Blanche via Dijelli by road and then by
assault craft. By this time the Germans were well aware of the operation and
3202 were attacked by enemy
aircraft before their assault craft landed.
Back at Maison
Blanche the cooks were preparing our Sunday dinner of tinned meat and
vegetables. Our attention was taken by approaching aircraft, which we assumed was
our third squadron of spitfires. They were approaching at a fair height when the leading aircraft
turned and dived towards our position. We sustained considerable damage from the cannons,
machine guns and bombs from 13 German fighter bombers.
Incendiary bullets set the
petrol dumps on fire, which immediately erupted into an inferno belching out
thick black smoke. An avenue of Eucalyptus trees burst into flames, while cartridges
popped and cannon shells
exploded in the intense heat. Our tranquil setting was instantly transformed
into a cacophony of sound, chaos and destruction. One of our lorries was riddled
through with bullets, yet the driver escaped with a small skin wound on his
forehead. Lucky fellow. Several of our spitfires,
parked on the airfield, were rendered unserviceable and one was completely gutted.
It lay, rather forlornly, as a charred mass with a twisted propeller drooping in front.
If the Almighty ever looked
after a body of men He certainly looked after us that day. Of our unit, only two
were killed, half a dozen wounded and one or two suffered severe shock. The
small signals unit under Flying Officer Brown, who was later killed with paratroops at Arnheim,
had a higher percentage of men killed and I believe a Frenchman and some Arabs
also lost their lives in the attack. But, considering
the element of surprise the enemy enjoyed and the intensity of the action, casualties were very light.
The place we had chosen on
the airfield for dispersal was, by now, an unusable area of destruction, which the
boys named 'Dead Man’s Gulch.' We abandoned it for another on the opposite side of the airfield, digging in once more
in readiness to service our fighter patrols.
Whether in the front line or in the rear, the lads made the best of
things. There was a natural tendency to replicate the trappings of the
civilised existence we enjoyed back home and the old adage that 'necessity is
the mother of invention' was true in our case. The more ingenious amongst us
assessed our needs and the availability of materials.
The shower facility opposite was
contrived by one of the tent crews under Cpl Cooper. A large tarpaulin was
fixed to vertical poles, leaving the front section to open and close like a
door. The fellow you see entered the cubicle dressed only in shorts. The
door was closed behind him, his shorts discarded and two or three buckets of water, some soap
and an old towel were made ready. At the end of the procedure the man dried
himself, donned his shorts and, reinvigorated, stepped out as fresh as a daisy!
More elaborate contraptions
were made by various units, including piped water to the shower heads. Whilst
these later developments were a big improvement, the Heath Robinson effort
depicted here was humorous
but very effective, as the lads, who normally washed using small mess tins full
of water, testified.
Rest & Recuperation
Commando units are usually
amongst the first in and the first out. However, in the chaos of war this
does not always happen and we spent longer in the front line than expected. When
came for a period of rest and recuperation, we left Souk-el-Arba to spend Christmas of 1942 in our tents under the olive
trees in the hills behind Ghardimou. Meantime normal RAF service crews took over
our jobs, complete with bowsers,
instead of four gallon petrol cans and workshops instead of pits in the ground,
etc. With the enemy cleared from the area, they carried on the job we had broken in.
We had a very pleasant
Christmas in relative safety, although we could hear bombs falling in the distance. We could also see Messerschmitts
firing on targets closer to the front line. We fully appreciated the plight of
those on the receiving end of this
unwelcome attention and we prayed for their safety; but we had had our share of
hardships and casualties under even worse conditions so we settled down to a
welcome period of rest.
To add a bit of festive
cheer, several of the tents had
'Christmas trees' made up around the tent poles. Chickens were procured by
fair means or foul and were supplemented by a wild boar brought into camp by
some Arabs. After the customary period of haggling, it was purchased and prepared
for cooking. The rest of our Christmas fare came out of tins, including an
excellent fruit cake which was a good substitute for the traditional Christmas
After two weeks, our convoy
set out on a 400 mile journey through the Atlas Mountains back to Blida, not far from
where we landed on D Day
The Boat Home
One of our Flight Sergeants, from the time of setting foot on overseas
soil, obsessed about the boat home. He was otherwise very effective at his job
but he undoubtedly possessed some sort of boat gremlin. Each morning at
breakfast he wagged the first finger of his left hand, while revealing what his
crystal had shown him during the hours of darkness. On one occasion he had seen
a twin funnelled boat and predicted dates when we'd all be happily sailing
homewards. Sadly, but not surprisingly, each date was crossed off
the slate as it passed by.
At first we judged our seer
harshly on the strength of his predictions but later could see some
justification for his psychology. It reminded us that our blood, sweat and tears
in this hostile, foreign environment was but a passing phase that would
come to an end. Beyond that we could see that the elusive boat home would one
day be a reality."
Bill Tee, son of the author, will be happy
to hear from anyone with connections to No 3201 Unit in
particular or the Royal Air Servicing Commando in general. Please use the link
There are around 300 books listed on our 'Combined Operations Books' page which can be
purchased on-line from the Advanced Book Exchange (ABE) whose search banner
checks the shelves of thousands of book shops world-wide. Type in or copy and
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'Books' for more information.
RAF Servicing Commando a
page on this website which will put Bill's story into a wider context.
Operation Torch a page on this website about the wider
conflict in North Africa.
The RAF Servicing Commando and The
Tactical Wing Association In 2006 the RAFSC Association joined forces with
today's Tactical Supply Wing to form a new association representing a common
heritage. New members are welcome.
RAF Beach Units
A History of the RAF Servicing Commandos, by J P Kellett
and J Davies, published by Airlife in 1989.
Spectacles, Testicles, Fags and Matches - the untold story of the RAF
Servicing Commandos in World War Two. Written by Tom Atkinson. Published by
Luath Press Ltd, Edinburgh in 2004. The author was a member of RAFSC Unit
We gratefully acknowledge that the material
on which this account is based was provided by William
'Bill' Tee, son of the author.