LIFE AT BAWDSEY RADAR STATION AS RECALLED SOME SIXTY ODD YEARS LATER - John B. Dobson

I was 18 years old when I was posted to Bawdsey in 1941 as a Radar Mechanic from the Radar Training School at Yatesbury. Having been brought up in the somewhat sterile atmosphere of Church of England Vicarages, joining the R.A.F. direct from a boys' school and with no previous work experience, I was green, naïve, and apprehensive of being posted to an operational Radar Station during wartime. As I stood on the banks of the Deben River waiting for the ferry to take me across to the station, I looked at the towers rising high in the sky and couldn't help asking myself, "What on earth have I got myself into?" However, this feeling was tempered by the fact I was certain I would only be there a few weeks as I had remustered to Radar Observer on Night Fighters while at Yatesbury. Things did not move as quickly as expected and those few weeks turned into months but I did not realize at the time just how lucky I was.

On arrival I was soon quartered in a small building at the north end of the station. At one end of the building was a huge diesel generator for auxiliary power, in the center was a small recreation room and a few rooms at the other end that housed some of the radar mechanics. While the rooms were small and fitted with bunk beds, we were quite comfortable.

The next morning I reported to the Transmitter (Tx) Block for duty and within an hour the corporal in charge said a maintenance check was due on the CHL aerials that swung below the 200-foot platform on the Tx tower. (I had never been on anything more than a six-foot ladder and we had no "Tower Training" at Yatesbury.) On hands and knees I watched in awe as he did the appropriate checks and tests. On completion, he suggested we climb up to the narrow catwalk at the top of the 360-foot tower and take in the view. While the view was great, as one could see for miles around, the tower swayed a bit from the wind coming across the North Sea and then it was time to descend. I must have turned a few shades paler as I can still hear him say, "Look up John, don't look down. Look up." At last we reached solid ground and walked back on wobbly knees to the Tx Block. I shall never know for certain whether the CHL aerials actually needed servicing, or if it was just an excuse to test a green rookie on his first day at work.

In any event, I was transferred within a week to the CH Receiver Block. This compound was encircled by a fence comprised of 12 - 15 foot vertical steel posts with a guard stationed at the gate to ensure only authorized personnel were allowed in. Roughly speaking, we worked three shifts, ie work the day shift, have the evening off, work the night shift, have the day off and then work the evening shift. The next day would be free. There were two receivers in the block and a standby just across the road. It was partially underground for greater protection. It did not take me long before I had the routine down pat. Usually, the day shift was taken up with maintenance checks on the receivers to ensure they were fully serviceable. This left the other two shifts mainly for standby duty in case of a breakdown. We would spend the hours watching developments closely as the operators tracked both friendly and hostile aircraft in our area. With one exception, I thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere of the operations room, the work, and the camaraderie that prevailed there. In winter, the operator would sometimes get interference on the screen she was watching, caused by ice forming on the resistors that separated the aerials at the top of the 240 - foot towers, shorting the circuit. We would have to climb up the tower, reach out the side at the top and chip the ice off. Looking down, there was nothing but the curvature of the tower at its base, between you and Mother Earth. Thank goodness for the safety belt we had. While the climb up the tower never bothered me, I was never particularly fond of the task in the cold winter months.

The Commanding Officer (C.O.), who, I believe, had been a Professor of Electrical Engineering at Aberdeen University before the war, was a well-respected individual who took a personal interest in our work. He would often show up unannounced in the operations room to see what was happening. He always wanted to be informed if a receiver broke down. This happened late one night when I was on shift. After quickly starting up the second receiver and switching the operators to it I had no sooner started looking for the problem when the C.O. shows up, takes his jacket off and comes behind the receiver to help. This was not a case of a Leading Aircraft Man standing to attention for a Squadron Leader but of two technicians looking for the problem, solving it and getting the receiver operational as soon as possible.

The technical W.A.A.F. personnel were a great bunch of ladies who came from various countries and walks of life. S.O. Sonya Freeborn, an actress in civilian life, headed them. She was a very attractive and friendly individual who was well regarded by her co - workers. The Operators were a hard working, knowledgeable group who were all business when the need arose but knew how to relax when activity was quiet. The operations room was always humming when the Germans were launching an attack. Their planes would be picked up as they gained altitude over the continent and followed as they approached the English Coast. It was also very busy when allied bombers left on a raid and were followed on the screen during their outward journey as far as possible and then picked up again on their return. Particular attention was of course given to any plane flying slower or losing altitude as it was probably in trouble. The girls took the safety of the crews personally and would pray the damaged ones would reach the Coast.

In the early days, the station would be informed in advance of a proposed raid, the number of aircraft, and the anticipated time the planes would cross the Coast. This enabled the radar operators to watch out for them and follow their progress. Unfortunately, at about the time our bombers would be leaving the coast, the operators began picking up German fighters gaining altitude over France and then waiting to intercept the bombers. Obviously a leak had developed in the system and the Germans were aware of raids in advance. We were never advised where the leak was but this practice was discontinued immediately.

On one occasion an unidentified plane flying off the coast was picked up on the screen and a fighter sent up to investigate. He obtained a visual and reported it as friendly although Control had no record of one in that area. Consequently, it was destroyed. We would never know for certain whether it was a British pilot who was lost or a German pilot flying a captured allied plane, but in those days no one could take that chance. The girls took the shock well knowing it was all a part of the war.

When activity was quiet on the day or evening shifts the girls would gather around the plotting table and chat. On the night shift, those not working would stretch out on a blanket on the floor of an adjoining room waiting for their turn to watch the screen or man the telephones. The mechanic on duty would also find a spot to rest but the mixed company took a little getting used to. Later on, bunks were provided and things were a little more comfortable.

It would be virtually impossible to recall all the W.A.A.F. operators after all these years but a few are still fresh in my mind. One young lady, Eva Mawson, escaped from Singapore with her Mother but her Father was a prisoner of war out there. She kept a photo of him beside her bed, which she guarded with her life, feeling that if it fell and broke it would be a signal that her Dad had not survived.

Then there was a girl from South Africa, Bobbie Hazzard I believe, who helped me out when we had an evening at the pub across the Deben River. I did not have a great capacity or liking for beer and on many occasions we would swap glasses, her empty one for my full one. I never saw her any the worse for wear and it helped keep my male ego intact.

I remember Betty Clarke, who later married a member of the R.C.A.F. and who now lives in Sherwood Park, Alberta. It was her 21st birthday and she was at the pub that evening before going on night duty at 2300 hours. A little party had been arranged for her as the two shifts changed. Unfortunately a strong wind came up and the ferry ceased operating. They had to send a truck the long way round inland to pick up personnel stranded on the other side of the river. Consequently Betty was not only late for her shift but she missed her party as well. I can't remember whether she was placed on charge or not.

Pat Lamb was a Corporal in charge of one of the watches. She had a great talent for sketching people and when things were quiet would do so of the personnel at their posts. One evening, the C.O. came in unexpectedly and Pat tried to hide her sketchbook thinking she might get a reprimand. Her action did not miss the C.O.'s eye and he insisted on seeing what she was doing. After perusing her work he sat down in one of the chairs and asked her to sketch him.

We did not lack things to do on our off time. The Army, Navy, and Air Force Institute (N.A.A.F.I.) was a popular meeting place. I believe the W.A.A.F. had one as well in the Manor but I was never in it. There was a lawn tennis court beside the manor where one could work off excess energy. I had played tennis at school and thoroughly enjoyed the sport. On occasion a tournament was held and many of the personnel, regardless of rank, would participate.

A small beach existed on the shore of the North Sea and in warm weather we would clamber through the anti - tank barriers and sun bathe there with an occasional dip in the sea. The latter was always refreshing.

Sunday night dances in the manor ballroom were always very popular and well attended. As I did not feel I was a good enough dancer to strut myself on the floor, I operated the amplifier and turntable in a small side room. There was a fair selection of records to choose from, but as I did not know a waltz from a quick step the dancers probably did not get the variety of music they would have liked. However, no one complained and everyone seemed to have a good time. I understand in later years things were much better as they had a live band of R.A.F. personnel to provide the music.

If things were quiet on the station or one wanted a change, he could always take the ferry across the Deben and the bus into Felixstowe or even Ipswich for an afternoon to shop, see a film, or have lunch and a beer in a pub.

However, our off - duty time was not all fun and games. There was a large field below our quarters where the station grew potatoes. We all did our share of gardening and harvesting the crop in the autumn.

There was also an occasional parade and the penalty for missing it was usually seven days of extra duty. I learned the hard way that having been on duty all night and wanting to rest up before going on duty that evening was not an acceptable excuse to skip one. Such extra duties included the scrubbing of the floors in the sick bay. When I arrived to complete this task I found the place spotless so the girls on duty brought me a mug of hot chocolate and we chatted for an hour or so. This wasn't so hard to take.

They held a Church Parade one Sunday when we were taken by truck to the outskirts of the village of Bawdsey, dropped off and then marched to the church to the tune of bagpipes.

The security of the station seemed to be in the hands of the R.A.F. Regiment although there were army units nearby. There was a guardroom at both the North and South ends of the station to check people coming and going. We were instructed in the correct way to dismantle and assemble a "Tommy" gun as well as a Sten gun. We were shown how to fire them and keep our fingers out of the way of ejecting shells from the latter as they could take a finger off. We were even allowed to fire one shot from an anti - tank gun at a target out in the North Sea. There was the occasional scare of an enemy raid and we would be confined to camp until the all clear was given.

There were also drills in what to do in the event of an enemy raid. I seem to recall these were called "stand - to" exercises and we were confined to camp to take part. The army would attack the station and we had to defend our positions. My spot was a foxhole inside the Rx compound near the gate. Armed with a .303 rifle I would be of little help. As mentioned earlier, the compound was surrounded by a fence comprised of 12 - 15 foot right angled steel bars about 2 inches apart. One would have to be pretty good shot to hit a stationary object on the other side of the fence and it would be virtually impossible to hit a moving target should the need arise. Having in mind the isolation of the station, these exercises did little to enhance our ability to successfully repulse a determined and lightning attack by the Germans. Moreover, it was hardly reassuring to know that the big guns further inland would ensure that none of the top-secret radar equipment would leave the country. Consequently, we were very fortunate that they did not make a surface attack on Bawdsey.

However, one bright sunny Sunday morning the throb of a low flying aircraft caught our attention and we went outside to see what it was. Sure enough, it was a German twin-engine plane circling the station at about 1,000 feet. After a few circuits he headed out across the North Sea. We were glad he was probably taking pictures rather than dropping bombs, as he would have had a field day. There was no anti aircraft fire to distract him and no allied fighter showed up to protect us. I understand that in later raids, bombs were dropped and damage and casualties suffered.

There was a sick bay on the station but I am not sure whether or not it was equipped to handle such a situation. In all likelihood, casualties would be taken to hospitals in nearby Felixstowe or Ipswich. If a person had dental problems, arrangements were made for him to see a dentist at the Naval station just south of Felixstowe. I did the trip a couple of times and was always treated with the utmost consideration.

After the United States entered the conflict a small contingent of American Army Officers arrived to familiarize themselves with the operation of a British radar station. They were a fine, intelligent group of young men who appreciated everything we did to assist them. They really were a credit to their country.

At last, my "remustering" came through and it was with considerable regret that I had to pack my kit bag and move on. Notwithstanding my training and experience with radar, I did not achieve my earlier objective of becoming a Radar Observer. The R.A.F. had introduced a Grading School system whereby one would take 10 hours flying training and then they would decide whether you would train as a pilot, navigator, or bombardier (P.N.B.). I was selected for pilot training and after a few courses in England was posted to Western Canada where I obtained my Pilot's Wings and was granted a Commission. My return to Britain was then somewhat delayed as the powers that be decided they wanted more R.A.F. Flying Instructors in the British Commonwealth Air Training Plan. After a stint at Flying Instructors' School we did a tour attached to R.C.A.F. Flying Training Stations. Thus we were able to enjoy the living conditions in Canada that were no doubt a lot better than in wartime England. While I got a lot of satisfaction from the fact I never had a student fail or crash (and there were a number of those) and took pride in their graduation, I missed the work and friendship that prevailed at Bawdsey and I still consider my stay there the highlight of my service career.

Footnote:-

Stories of W.W.11 radar and Bawdsey Radar Station in particular must have had a trickle down effect on our son Craig, an electrical engineer. His thesis in his postgraduate studies was sponsored by the Department of National Defence and related to the modernization of the Dew Line. The latter was a series of radar stations in the high Arctic stretching from Alaska to Greenland to provide surveillance over the area and early warning of attacks from across North America's polar regions. It seems that an interest in radar must run in the family.

John B. Dobson
R.A.F.F/Lt (Rtd)