Ted trained at Falcon Field on Course 25 starting on 29 January 1945 and graduating on 25 August 1945.



This is his story in his own words:



I was born in North London in 1925. My interest in aircraft started early and as a 9-year old boy I saved my pennies to buy a flying model airplane kit constructed from balsa wood.



In September 1939, I was evacuated from London to Bedford with a tearful farewell from my mother and clutching a small suitcase containing my clothes, a satchel with school notebooks and a gas-mask in its rectangular cardboard box. Against the rules, I managed to cycle the 55 miles home to see my parents on occasional weekends after renovating an old bicycle. In 1940, I witnessed the massive air raids and dog fights that became known as the Battle of Britain.



At Christmas 1940 I returned home, ready to start work, aged 15. I was offered a job as an Audit Clerk with a firm of accountants. As the country was still at war with the future very uncertain, I wanted to go into the Services as soon as I was old enough, and the RAF in particular.



I joined the Air Training Corps where I was kitted out with a uniform, drilled and attended evening classes on stripping guns and servicing motor engines. I was the first and only cadet in my branch of the ATC to pass the proficiency examinations in 8 subjects including Morse Code, Aircraft Recognition, Theory of Flight, and Meteorology and was promoted to Flight-Sergeant straight away. In the ATC I had my first flight in a powered plane, a four engine De Havilland biplane with about 24 passenger seats. Just before I left the ATC, I started glider training on Blackheath.



Eventually, aged 17½ I could wait no longer and volunteered for RAF Aircrew. I passed all the tests and proudly wore my RAFVR badge thereafter. I was finally called up at the age of 18½ and in September 1943, I had to report to ACRC (aircrew receiving centre) at St John's Wood near Regents Park. Here I was kitted out with a complete uniform including underclothes, boots, kitbag and shoe and button cleaning equipment and was billeted in what were once luxury flats overlooking Regents Park which had been commandeered by the Royal Air Force.



Here we were forced out of civilian life into service life with a regime of being drilled mercilessly, make our beds, fold blankets in the regulation way, lay out our kit in perfect order and clean the premises so that everything was always spotless. Recruits wore the coveted "white flash" in the peak of our forage caps which indicated we were trainees for aircrew.



The next stage in aircrew training was to ITW (initial Training Wing) for a 13-week preparatory course for those with a P/N/B (pilot/navigator/bomb-aimer) classification. Here I parted with everyone I had met in the RAF, as I only had to do a four-week course due to my Proficiency Part II qualification. I went to Stratford-on-Avon, and here I met a best friend in my life, Bob Wiseman, and we stayed together for nearly two years of Service life. He had arrived by another route, the University Air Squadron.



We concentrated on aircraft recognition, sending and receiving audio and visual Morse code, theory of flight, meteorology, armaments, not forgetting plenty more parade ground drill, cleaning and other chores. At the end of the month there were exams to be passed.



The next move was to Grading School at an airfield at Pershore near Worcester. Here we had 12 hours dual instruction in Tiger Moth biplanes. It was marvellous to be learning to fly at last, but very stressful as we knew that a good percentage of us would be rejected as "pilot material" and be sent for training as Navigators or Bomb Aimers. This was regarded as failure by we cadets, who all wanted to be pilots, and there was heartbreak and despondency for many at the end of the 2/3 weeks we were there. Apart from the joy of learning to fly, a strong memory here is being alone with a loaded rifle on guard duty on the perimeter of the airfield for several hours in the middle of the night in winter. I was 18.



We successful trainee pilots moved on to Heaton Park in Manchester (an actual city park still in use today which was taken over by the RAF as a holding unit, and dozens of army huts erected for us to live in). We found that we were due for a long delay in our training, the training programme having been reduced as many fewer pilots had been killed in action than expected. So we were due to return here several times.



During 1944 a number of us kept together all year, based at Heaton Park and being sent out to airfields for three months at a time around the country to assist and experience all kinds of work. I went to North Coates near Grimsby, where a squadron of Beaufighters was based. It was varied odd jobs for 3/4 weeks at a time here, but constantly we were becoming absorbed into the Air Works, learning the jargon, becoming experienced and no longer falling for the practical jokes and false errands which the regulars tested on us. We also managed to get flying trips on training flights in both Lancs and Beau's.



Back to Heaton Park for a while, and then out again. This time I went to a Lancaster Bomber airfield at East Kirkby in Lincolnshire, where I was fortunate to spend most of my time working in the photography section where we collected the films from the bombers returning from raids, developed and printed them and took them to the de-briefing rooms.



On returning to Heaton Park again, we found that they were looking for volunteers to help repair bomb damage in London, so naturally all the Londoners volunteered. This was a hoot. We were based at Hornchurch airfield in East London and went out every day in "Queen Mary's" - large canvas topped wagons with wooden seats in the back. We were in overalls, with only our forage caps with "white flashes" to identify us as RAF, and it was often filthy work, pulling down damaged lath and plaster ceilings in old houses with a hundred years of soot above, or plaster from damaged walls, and re-plastering. We had a few tradesmen to guide us, but in the main we learnt DIY repairs on somebody else's property and left a few crooked ceilings and walls behind us. As I had a good head for heights I soon escaped the worst of the filth by concentrating on roofing. At this time the Germans were sending over hundreds of V1 "doodlebugs" - rocket propelled flying bombs which fell to earth and exploded when the engines cut out. I never found them a problem as the unique engine sound announced their arrival and one could immediately judge if they were a personal danger because they could only travel in a straight line. They had also just started sending V2 rockets which travelled faster than sound and so the huge explosion occurred without any warning. There was no way of avoiding these, or taking shelter, but being young I never found them a problem either and saw a number of these explosions from my vantage points on the roofs.



This was the most extraordinary phase of my RAF service. We were scruffy, completely undisciplined, paraded each morning unshaven, often with newspapers, some with soft hats, and went to and from work in our wagons singing, and whistling at girls. In other words we turned into typical labouring workmen. But I suppose we improved people's lives by giving a lot of needed help to people whose houses had been spoiled by bomb damage. Most evenings we turned back into clean smart RAF cadets and went out to enjoy ourselves "on the town".



In 1945 we had leave over Christmas and then went back to Heaton Park to be told that we were going to North America for training. We went by train to Southampton, where we boarded the Mauretania, and set off for North America unescorted. Most ships sailed in convoy as a protection against German submarines, but the big liners motored much faster than any submarine, so only bad luck would find a U-boat in a position to fire a torpedo at one. All mail was censored, so we were unable to tell our families where we were going. My mother kept all my letters from this sailing onwards, and I still have these. The ship was very comfortable and the food MARVELLOUS. We had unlimited bacon and eggs for breakfast on the first morning and we were able to buy all the chocolate and sweets that we wanted (remember everything in Britain was severely rationed). We made pigs of ourselves and consequently half of us (including me) were seasick for a while. We docked at Halifax, Nova Scotia in Canada. I still remember vividly my first sight of the low-lying Canadian coastline.



We travelled on by train to an RCAF camp in Moncton, New Brunswick. It was freezing - we had never experienced cold like it outside, or heat like it inside. I remember leaving the building where we ate, and walking 100 yards to our dormitory building, to find that my half cup of coffee had frozen solid! At Moncton we were divided into five groups of 100, to be allocated to one of the British Flying Training Schools in the U.S.A. I wanted badly to go to the western-most school, in Arizona, so was delighted to find that this was where our group was heading. All the friends whom I had made during our year's wait had kept together so we were all "over the moon".



We then travelled by train, first from Halifax to Chicago. We slept on the train and the only thing I remember about it, and this vividly, was waking up when the train stopped, and looking out of the window from my sleeping bunk. Everywhere was brightly lit and I found we were in Quebec and I was looking up a towering cliff with a "castle" at the top - obviously the "Heights of Abraham", where the French were defeated by General Wolfe in an important battle in 1759, which led to Canada being British rather than French. We changed trains (and stations I think) in Chicago and had a few hours spare to go up the highest building in Chicago.



We then boarded a train which took us to Kansas City, where we changed again on to another train on which we lived for two or three days. It was a corridor train with compartments, and the overhead racks pulled down to make upper bunks, the seats being lower bunks. There were stewards on the train, mostly coloured men, who made the beds, erected tables, served meals - in other words we had a restful trip with nothing to do except look at the passing scenery. However, the longest part of the journey was when we travelled across the Great Plains from Texas westward where it was completely flat for hundreds of miles with nothing of interest to see. We spent much of our time playing cards during this segment of the journey. As it changed from farmland to semi-desert there was real interest when we crossed the Rio Grande river (famous in songs) to reach El Paso, New Mexico (famous in Cowboy Films). Eventually we pulled into Mesa railway station in Arizona at the end of our rail journey, arriving at 6 a.m.



At Mesa we were met by a cadet named Geoff Whitehouse and I still remember him sitting nonchalantly on a packing case on the station and telling us what we would do next. He was from the previous course (24) and due to illness, he had been put back to our course and made Cadet Flight Commander. We bussed to Falcon Field, through the town of Mesa and on to the airfield on its outskirts, with orange groves adjoining. Our excitement was intense and life continued to be a tremendous thrill until I graduated with my pilot's "wings" in August 1945. We had come from a country at war, subject to air raids, rationed food and clothing, cold and wet, to a land of peace and plenty, perpetual sunshine and warmth, wonderful clear visibility, desert and mountains, with tropical fruit growing in abundance. To add to this we were learning to fly, together with other skills, in a very competitive environment where friends were being "washed out" and sent home every week. It must be the most exciting seven months ever of my life.



Every week we had examinations on our Ground School subjects and were only allowed a weekend pass out of the station if we got good grades - I never failed to get a pass out, sometimes for the weekend, sometimes for a day. There was something organised most week-ends and I particularly remember going on a “hay-ride” in the back of a horse and hay cart. I had my 20th birthday halfway through the course.



Our training was split into three sessions of about eight weeks, Primary, Basic and Advanced with a week's leave between each section. I sailed through basic, flying Stearman bi-planes with my American civilian instructor Jack Gladney. I was ready to solo well before the regulation eight hours dual training, and shouted with joy the first time I took off alone without Jack in the front cockpit. We learnt to make the aircraft do anything, with violent aerobatics, recovery from uncontrolled spins and stalls (virtually falling out of the sky). We flew cross-country's by map-reading, then the same things at night.



At the end of Primary we had a week's leave and Bob Wiseman, Sid Marlow and I from our course, and George and Jerry from Course 24 went in Sergeant Holmes' large American car (he was our armaments instructor) touring the spectacular sights of Arizona.



At the end of our leave we were thrilled to be starting to learn to fly Harvard low wing monoplanes, all metal, much heavier and more powerful than the primary bi-planes. The student takes the front seat in these, and they were noted for being easy to go out of control in a circle while taxying, called Ground-looping. My new instructor was Fred Merha and a completely different type of character than Jack Gladney who was always so relaxed. Fred shouted a lot and exaggerated faults in flying, and I feared I was not going to be sent solo (i.e. I would then be "washed out" from the course). After seven hours dual instruction I was sent up with Don Prosser, the American Chief Instructor for an hour and he sent me off solo. Half-way through basic we started on formation flying.



For the second leave Sid Marlow and I again went in Sgt Holmes' car to Los Angeles (Hollywood). There were lots of things organised for us. I went out on a boat fishing and I met film stars at Mary Pickford's house (she was a BIG star pre-war).



Back we went to the hard work of the final Advanced section of the course. Towards the end of the course we made a 6 hour flight (in stages) to Carlsbad in New Mexico, and then the return. I was paired with Geoff Whitehouse and we were pilot and passenger in turn. We stayed overnight at the USAF base at Carlsbad and it was VJ day (Victory over Japan). In Carlsbad everyone was driving around hooting their car horns. I was interviewed on local radio and asked what I thought of the celebrations. I told them "not much, everyone in England would be having a party!" I remember the next morning, when the Mess had a tremendous choice of food available, and I enjoyed one of my best breakfasts ever.



My final flight in Arizona was the most exciting of them all - a low flying cross-country lasting 1 hour 20. We were supposed to be at 200 feet, but as soon as I got away from the airfield I was down to about 15 feet dodging the tall cactus, and I know all my friends were doing the same. Looking at my logbook for that final day I see I had 50 minutes instrument flying plus aerobatics with Fred Merha, then a solo cross-country for nearly 2 hours and then the low flying. What a fabulous day.



Graduation day came at last with us doing a march past before being presented with our coveted Pilot's brevet by, I think, an Air Commodore. Lots of friends came to see the show and we all found someone to sew it on our chests. In the evening we had a magnificent graduation party in a Phoenix Hotel. Almost immediately afterwards we had the long train journey across to New York. We got there before our boat had arrived and unexpectedly had a 48-hour pass in New York. We had all spent our spare money buying gifts to take home. I had just eleven dollars when I ventured forth into New York! All the Americans thought we were veterans returning from the Far East and it was almost impossible to spend money. I was up most of each night, had about 6 hours sleep in all and got back to camp with four dollars left. People were so generous - I was taken for meals, to shows, to houses with partying groups. It was an incredible weekend.



We sailed back to Britain on what was the first peacetime voyage of the then largest liner in the world, the Queen Elizabeth, which had been built just before the war. Arriving back in England we all went to Harrogate. I remember that we had to take part in a march through the town and we were very pleased that we put on "a good show", all Sergeant Pilots marching together. We soon found that there would be no more flying training, now that the war had ended, unless we agreed to sign on for regular service. All I wanted to do was fly, so I undertook to sign on for the minimum period of 3 years. Following this I was posted to Weston-Super-Mare for an assault course.



Of course, as an N.C.O life was generally better in every way. We lived in the Sergeants' Mess, generally with an individual room, a choice of food, lounge to relax in, together with a bar with a monthly "tab". Best of all of course, we had a sharp increase in pay which meant some real disposable income giving the ability to get out and about more, instead of staying in camp.



In November 1945 I was posted to RAF Fairoaks airfield, near Woking, Surrey, which was still called an E.F.T.S. (Elementary Flying Training School). There were no pilots under training, just about a dozen of us who were going to sign on. They had Tiger Moths there (very small single engine biplanes) and after a couple of check flights I was sent solo. I stayed there for 6 months. I made my last flight at Fairoaks on my 21st Birthday and the following month was posted to 1333 T.S.C.U. at Syerston. Here I learnt all about Dakota aircraft and was crewed up with W/O Brian Coulson (captain), W/O "Blackie Blackburn (navigator) and Sergeant Ken Waugh (Wireless Operator). I was 2nd Pilot and during July we flew 22 hours day and night as we "jelled" together as a crew and got to know each other.



We joined 62 Squadron of Transport Command at Palam airfield near New Delhi and were together for four months, flying all over Northern India. Here we all had our own private room with a "bearer" shared between 4 of us who each paid him 4 Rupees a week (30p in today's money). He made the bed, cleaned the room, fetched and carried water for washing, tea and any other refreshments required.



We were all posted to 10 Squadron at Mauripur, Karachi. There I met a remarkable man named John Pinkney, a Warrant Officer Navigator who had been a Pathfinder in Bomber Command, and we became close friends.



At the end of June 1947 my papers finally came for me to sign up for three years regular service, and to my surprise I found out that I was being sent back to England for a month's "Re-engagement Leave". There were six of us (including John Pinkney) and amazingly we were flown to Bombay to go home by SHIP. We were several days in Bombay enjoying the sights and the magnificent swimming pool at Breach Candy. There I again met my Falcon Field friend, Sid Marlow, a Pilot Officer who had finished up running the docks in Bombay, after everyone else had been sent home. At the end of our month we all decided to take our 4 weeks "End of war leave" entitlement. Then there were no boats due to leave, so we were sent off for another two weeks leave, ten weeks in all.



Another ship took us back through the Med and Suez and the six of us arrived in Bombay to find that all the RAF personnel had departed (the partition of India had been agreed and was soon to take place). We eventually got back to camp in early November! I was told by the Flight Commander, Flt Lt. "Lofty" Allen, that I was going to be converted to a First Pilot and had one period of dual flying with him in the 2nd Pilot's seat.



After my second training flight all flying was stopped because the station was closing down, and we were going to fly the aircraft back to England. While I was on leave my old crew members had all left to be de-mobilised, and I found myself detailed to be flying a Dakota back with Lofty Allen in charge, with John as Navigator and a Flying Officer Denning as Wireless Operator. We were also to take a couple of ground staff in case anything went wrong with the aircraft during the journey.



I was told that I was recommended for a commission and I was feeling on top of the world when we took off for U.K on 18 December 1947. We stopped overnight in Persia (now Iran), and then overnight again in Israel (then Palestine). Here I found Jaffa oranges on sale and as there were none in England I bought 24. (When I had lugged them all the way home I was to find that extensive supplies had arrived in the shops in time for Christmas!)



We had engine trouble and had to land in Sardinia for an unscheduled overnight stop. Leaving there we got caught up with the “Mistral", a strong wind which occasionally blows down from the Alps in winter. This 60 mph headwind wrecked our progress and we had to divert to Bordeaux for yet another overnight stop, so it was 23rd December before we got back to Lyneham in Wiltshire. JUST got home for Christmas!



After Christmas I had to go back to Lyneham and saw the last of the crew when we flew the Dakota to Silloth in Cumbria, which turned out to be my final flight in the RAF. I was posted to an RAF station near Cheltenham, where I was shattered to be told that I was redundant as there were no available flying duties for the large number of aircrew who had come back from the Indian sub-continent. "What about my recommendation for a commission?" I asked. I was told that even if approved there was no guarantee of any more flying duties. I could either opt to be discharged or serve my time on ground duties. I decided to be discharged, as my sole purpose in signing on had been to build my flying experience. From there I was posted to Burtonwood near Warrington, issued with a poor fitting suit, shirt and shoes and became a civilian again.



In due course I came to the conclusion that my best bet was to become a "commercial traveller", which was the term used for a travelling salesman in those days. At that time there was no shortage of opportunities, and I took on a position with a firm called "Youngers", who sold advertising films shown in the small cinemas which operated in almost every town.



I married Mavis in 1948 and had two children, Martin and Lorraine. I studied for the Chartered Institute of Marketing exams in my spare time and worked for Parker Knoll for 20 years and ultimately became their National Sales Manager. I am now happily retired and live in Staffordshire.