It is well known that in 1940 Winston Churchill, shortly after becoming Prime Minister, ordered that we should form a corps of not less than 5,000 parachute troops. For a start No. 2 Army Commando was sent off to Chesterfield and to the small airfield at Ringway which became the Parachute School, to form a nucleus of the corps. Army Commandos were formed from volunteers from all Arms and so there were a number of sappers in No. 2 Commando. It was going to take months to build up to the Prime Minister’s target, as they were starting from scratch and, in due course, the call went out for volunteers.
In the autumn of 1941 an officer in our unit HQ volunteered with several of the soldiers and went off to join Airborne Forces. He was Captain Stephen Dorman. Before the war he had been a preparatory school master and joined the army at the outbreak of war. He had fought with an Independent Company as they were called, the forerunners of the Army Commandos, in Norway. (Dorman had joined us in Gravesend in 1940.) He was tall, very tough and deeply religious and impressed everyone immediately by his sincerity and integrity. At this time the decision was taken to form a special Airborne Sapper unit in its own right. Dorman commanded the so called Air Troop Royal Engineers and when this was expanded he became the Commander of the 1st Parachute Squadron RE. Sadly this courageous man, whom his soldiers so liked and admired, was lost on a one man patrol at night in North Africa and was never heard of again.
The Holding Company consisted of a surplus collection of officers and men over and above the ordinary Field Companies, to supply a pool of men to provide parties for ‘jobs’. They trained in the arts and crafts of sapping and mining, with a special bias towards offensive demolitions; it was a peculiar mixture of unarmed combat, coupled with skill at arms. The company contained some of the Lord Wakefield rifle team of 1939, and a number of well-known county shots, who had gone to Bisley Common to earn a dividend in those elusive prize lists, in the far off days of peace. Physically they were a tough lot, lads who could find their way about by day or night and if needs be, could live off the country.
The formation had come upon another dull patch and for some weeks had been employed upon the construction of tank traps on a particularly exposed portion of the Irish coast. It was a wind swept place with driving rain and lacked all amenities. The men worked long hours and slept in tents, when they were not blown down. Temporary cookhouses and Soyer stoves shared the same fate. For all it was a case of hard work coupled with life in the raw. In their ranks were young men who had experienced something of a Cook’s Tour along the northern seaboard of Holland, Belgium and France; small wonder then, when, with the changing fortunes of war, the character of operations changed from withdrawal to attack, orders came through for conversion to a Parachute Squadron, RE. This was the end of the ‘Hot and Cold’ (Holding Company) but the beginning of a new chapter in their history.
In the spring, the CRE of the embryo 1st Airborne Division visited the company, inspected all ranks, looked into their record and offered a welcome to all who wished to volunteer for the winged badge of a parachutist. Some of the unit had already volunteered for Airborne Forces.
The CRE was Lieutenant Colonel Henniker, later Brigadier Sir Mark Henniker. In his autobiography An Image of War he states:
Early in 1942 2 Parachute Brigade was formed under Brigadier Down, who had formally been the CO of 1 Parachute Battalion. This Brigade needed a sapper Squadron and a new method of raising it was devised. A good Territorial Field Company in Northern Ireland was selected and ‘converted’ into 2 Parachute Squadron. Any officer or man who did not like the prospect could opt out and go to another unit. I therefore went over to Northern Ireland and had the Company assembled to tell them about it.
I took with me my driver, Driver Low, who had come from 253 Field Company. I thought, rightly as it turned out, that he would be a good recruiter. The men were assembled in a dining hall and I told them of the proposal. Following Gideon’s example I dwelt more on the hardships than the joys. I told them of the discipline required of a parachutist, and the spit and polish, the drill, the physical training, the route marches and all the things most calculated to discourage the faint hearted. The men listened in stony silence until I had finished. I then told them they could have a few days to discuss the prospects amongst themselves, but as a matter of interest I should like to see how they felt at the moment by a show of hands. Almost everyone in the room put his hand up signifying his willingness to become a parachutist. It was a wonderful spirit. In the event many men had to be rejected on medical grounds, but there remained a first class nucleus with an esprit de corps and a Territorial Army tradition second to none. The Sergeant Major was a particular character. A middle-aged man, a pre-war Territorial and far too old for the job, he asked to be allowed to stay as Company Sergeant Major when the unit was converted. With many misgivings I gave the necessary permission and the CSM came over with the others to 1st Airborne Division in Bulford. He remained with the unit until the end of the war, a most outstanding success and a tribute to his own stout heart. He was a GPO Engineer by trade. Their Officer Commanding was a tall, thin Major from the Territorial Army named Paul Baker. He overcame the teething troubles of conversion to the new role but had the misfortune to suffer a serious motor accident in North Africa before going into action.
The Sergeant Major referred to by Colonel Henniker was ‘Daddy’ Weeks. He was known as ‘Daddy’ on account of his age and he wore on his chest the Great War ribbons. He was not in fact a GPO employee as stated, but was the foreman of the Packing Plant at the Blue Circle Cement Works from which nearly all the other ranks were recruited.
As might be imagined, it caused some surprise when, as a prelude to their new training, all ranks were put on ‘toughening and hardening’ for several weeks. It was an orgy of PT, running, long marches and games; a most enjoyable interlude before the serious business began. This phase accomplished, the company said goodbye to Ireland and re-crossed to their native land.
Then came the days of ground training in which the embryo parachutists had to learn how to make a good exit from aircraft, how to control the descent once the parachute opened and lastly to make a good landing-drill second nature. In the training school were many types of equipment especially designed to familiarize the learner with all the physical and psychological reactions to leaving an aeroplane in flight, the journey down and, finally, contact with mother earth once again. The training layout is known as the ‘circus’; rather an apt description as our party soon discovered. Split up into small ‘sticks’, each group came under an RAF instructor to practice rolling, swinging, falling and jumping from the most peculiar gadgets designed to render the trainees parachute conscious – the consensus of opinion appeared to be that it was like the funfair at Margate, only more so (much more so)!
When the learners began to get accustomed to their harness and surroundings and learnt how to fall without injuring themselves, they were introduced to Heath Robinson contrivances which looked sufficiently fearsome to inspire a fair degree of doubt but were, in fact, graduated to the physical and mental development of the students. All the time strenuous PT and lectures formed a background to produce high morale, fitness and efficiency.
Then came controlled descents in harness over short drops. The learners jumped through a hole in the floor, where the speed of going down was checked by mechanical means and the acceleration of gravity is not precisely as the text books describes.
After some weeks of ground training came the first real jump from a captive balloon. All agreed that the emotions on the upward journey were mainly centred on averting eyes from the hole in the floor. A kindly thought on the part of the designer of this outfit relieves the beginner from having to open his parachute, so he jumps out through the hole and gravity does the rest. A few seconds drop, then a tug at the shoulders and, lo and behold, he floats gently to earth!
At last came the real thing. The ‘stick’ marched to the bomber, was inspected by the Commander and entered the waiting plane. The machine took off and the chaps began to wonder what they had let themselves in for! At times they sang, then came the warning on the intercom, ‘Ready for Action’ followed, a few seconds later, by the green indicator light. One after another, in their right order and without fuss, they quickly disappeared through the hole in the Whitley bomber. At first little sensation was experienced, due to being in the slipstream of the plane, then a bit of buffeting, followed by the familiar tug at the shoulders, and lastly the descent. Once on the ground the ‘stick’ hastily detached their chutes and went straight for the containers for arms, ammunition and explosive equipment for the job in hand. The care and attention given to obtaining the greatest value for the least weight in rations and all airborne equipment would surprise most soldiers, who either walk on their feet or are transported by ground vehicles. It is a magnificent training where physical fitness and careful organization go hand in hand to ensure every chance of success in action.
Perhaps the most exciting experience in the training is the first night operation; even the approach to the familiar airfield takes on an eerie appearance with a half moon playing hide and seek between low cumulous clouds. The emplaning, now familiar enough by day, seems distorted with the heavy shadows, and the rest of the ‘stick’ look strangely awkward fellows in their kit. The customary command is followed by the revving up of engines into a roar. The take-off restores thought to the usual subjects and procedure. The flight is, of course, much the same, with the great difference that outside all is dark; the fitful moon only seems to accentuate the blackness. Then the exit into stygian gloom, anxious searching earthwards but nothing to see; down, down, it seems longer than usual, until quite suddenly they are on their feet again. Within a few seconds, numbers of the stick join each other and start their ground tasks just as though they had arrived there by any other means. The tang of the cold night air and the dew upon the ground is nature’s stimulus to quick thought and action on these occasions.
When the required number of drops had been performed the men were awarded their cherished wings and some leave. At last these lads from Kent joined the ever increasing throng of dapper young men who wear maroon berets jauntily on the side of their heads and mingle with the crowds wherever service men are to be found. Their life upon the ground is much the same as any other soldier, except for the special emphasis on the rapid exploitation of an opportunity. This entails great fitness, thorough training and an eye for the main chance.
The squadron had lectures and demonstrations of previous operations from the first raid in Italy in the attempt to destroy an aqueduct, to the Bruneval raid and later work in Tunis. Much was to be learnt and, as in all dangerous undertakings, a fine understanding between all ranks and pride of craft was developed in this new branch of the Army. It would be affectation to deny that they had solid grounds for their pride, in between time, they still sing about Mr Stevens, Windy Notchy Knight and piccanin skoff. Maybe some airborne sapper with a lyrical bent will write a verse more appropriate to his new method of arriving on the job.
There for the moment we leave the Kentish Airborne Sappers in the full assurance that, as in Tunisia, so elsewhere they will render a good account of themselves in the destruction of the King’s enemies.