What's in a Name?

In January, 1996, my part-time research on John took a sudden unexpected leap forward with a phone call from a stranger who identified himself as Bert Briscoe from Copmanthorp, Yorkshire. Bert had seen my classified ad in the January issue of Air Mail. He told me he had been in SAAF Squadron 24, on loan from the RAF, as John was, and he knew the pilot of John's plane, though he couldn't remember if he'd known John himself, who was in SAAF Squadron 25. On the phone, Bert read me a brief account of the raid on which John died from a book called Eagles Victorious, and he said he would get in touch with a man called Alex Kinch in Southamp ton, who had been in Squadron 25.

A few minutes later the phone rang again. It was Alex Kinch. He told me he had known John; in fact, he had flown the same op on which John died and had seen John's plane go down. Despite my letter to Air Mail, I had not seriously thought of talking to someone who had known John in the RAF, and I hardly knew what to say, but Alex was friendly, helpful, and full of information. He told me he was billeted only two or three tents away from John at the SAAF 25 Squadron base, near a small olive grove outside Termoli, Italy. They had played soccer together. Alex wasn't due to fly on John's last operation, he said, but he was assigned to it after all, because his pilot wanted an experienced gunner. New intake had arrived from South Africa, so there were more airmen than spaces for them on the airplanes, and the newcomers were desperate to record at least one op in their logbooks, knowing that the war was drawing to a close. Places were hard to get, however. "Never take a spare bod," was the prevailing maxim. In the terrifying, fast-paced, and high-stress world of the bomber crews, a spare bod was unlucky.

After the raid on which John's plane went down, Alex told me, one of the SA intake was looking for a friend who was missing, Warrant Officer J. N. Thirion, SAAF, and no one could find him. They searched Termoli, where the airmen went for a hot shower and a good time, such as it was in a small Italian town, but he was not there. The last they could remember was that someone had seen him suited up for flight on the day of the raid, making the rounds of all the crews, asking to be taken on board. After hostilities ceased, local villagers showed allied officials where they had buried John's crew. They found seven graves, not six, and were eventually able to identify the remains of Warrant Officer Thirion. Lt. Van Rooyen, the pilot of John's plane, had taken on a spare bod. As I listened to Alex, I realized that he had worked out another way to understand John's story.

But he was also offering the kind of detail I had hoped I might discover, hardly daring to believe it could really happen, and he promised more. He had written an account of his experience as an air gunner in a book called Tales from the Marauder, edited by Jack Stovall, and he asked if I would like a computer printout of what he had given Stovall. In a few days these reminiscences arrived, five pages of vivid detail, period slang, humor, and insight into how these young men thought about what they were doing. I was astonished to discover that Alex had also been a carpenter's apprentice, that he too had broken his indentures, and that he had also added months to his age in order to enlist. No two individuals are the same, but this was about as close to John as I could get.

In rapid succession, three more RAF veterans of SAAF 25 Squadron wrote to me or phoned, in response to the Air Mail ad. Bill Thomas in Wales also remembered John and sent me a photograph of him that I had never seen before. Bernard Davies of Potters Bar, near London, was a crewmate of Alex Kinch and promised reminiscences and photographs; when they came, they offered still more detail about flying experiences with 25 Squadron. Frank White of Awsworth, near Nottingham, did not remember John, but he sent a cassette tape on which he reminisced about his military flying experience, from beginning to end. In some cases, these men had never recounted their experiences before, and I was moved by their interest in my project and their eagerness to help. One of them told me that John's logbook would be a valuable resource, so I wrote to a Canadian cousin, who someone in the family thought might have it; she did, and sent me a photocopy. The veterans who had contacted me also gave me their photocopied logbooks, so I could compare their notes on various operations with John's.