stanley david

I joined up in March 1943 when I was 18, getting my Air Gunner's badge 3 months later. On joining a crew in Rufforth my first pilot never returned from his first second dickie trip over Berlin. My second pilot then volunteered for overseas duties, to which all of the crew agreed. We flew to Rabat in November 1943 and joined 624 Squadron - the C.O. being W/Cdr Stanbury. As I was the Mid Upper Gunner with no turret, I was, of course, designated to become the Dispatcher. The squadron was stationed at Blida, by the Atlas Mountains in Algeria. I,along with a few other Dispatchers agreed to do a four-day parachute course with the Americans. Along with male and female agents we did four jumps and earned and received the American Para troopers Badge, which I wore proudly. I must say, I consider those agents to be the bravest people of World War 2, without exception. I finished my two tours of Ops (52) in September 1944. I am still in touch, with my W/Op -swapping cards every Christmas.

Parachute Training with the "Yanks"

I was just 19 when I did the course of 4 parachute jumps with the Americans in Algeria in 1944. At the time I was the only British representative and the only Dispatcher from 624 Squadron- the rest being potential male and female agents of different nationalities. After the normal ground training on how to land etc., we took off one early morning in the old reliable Dakota, and just before we reached the jumping height of 800 feet the instructor said to me that I would have to be the first to set an example to the rest. I was relieved at the time. Standing at the door for the brief period enabled me to collect my thoughts and do the things I had been taught to do. Then the instructor shouted 'HO' and slapped my back. My landing on the first attempt was far from brilliant, as I found the American T Type chutes quite difficult to manoeuvre. The following day I was in the second stick and was able to observe the first stick -mainly the female agents jump. Unfortunately, one of them just slid out the door and was holding on to the ledge from outside the aircraft. The instructor stamped on the agent's hands until she finally let go. At the time it was rather nerve racking, as the chute might have entangled with part of the aircraft. There were no further problems with the remaining two jumps, apart from bruisings and sprained ankles (not mine –I only broke a watch). I did enjoy the course immensely and it certainly got the adrenaline working. Although I wore the necessary headgear, when the chute opened the buckles on the straps always hit the back of my head, drawing blood. The Americans treated us extremely well and their food was of the highest quality. These were good memories and I consider myself privileged to have been associated with the agents of WWII."

Algerian Adventure

I should like to tell a little tale about a certain incident which happened whilst I was on 624 Squadron. On one particular operation to Southern France, I was to drop a French -Canadian whom I befriended on the way out to the target area. On arrival - .for some reason I can't recall -there was something amiss and drop had to be aborted. On the way back we started to chat again and I said I was going to get a pass and pop into Algiers. He said that was a good idea and that he would go with me. When the great day came we got a shuttle into Algiers, booked into a small private hotel and then started our rounds. After quite a few drinks, we finally wound up at the Sphinx. (Not. like the Sphinx in Egypt, but a place well known to servicemen for helping them out, with certain problems). After a few more drinks we left and started on our weary way to our hotel, pausing at a few more bars until we were both rather sloshed. On the way back he suddenly raced away up a side turning we had just passed. I arrived back at my room, stripped off and flaked out. When I awoke next morning I knew someone had been in my room as my pass and private papers were strewn all over the place. When the landlady came in she informed me that the Military Police had tried to waken me and couldn't, but had found that my pass was all correct. My friend was not so lucky and the Police had picked him up, as he didn't have a pass. The following day I had to start my return to Blida, as Ops ' were on that night. I tried to hitchhike to no avail until the last few miles when I was given a lift on the back of a two-wheel cart full of hay. As I was in uniform, I was a little concerned because in those days Algeria was no place to be alone. However, I arrived back safely, but from that day I never heard of the French Canadian again.

A Dog's Life

After I had finished my tour of operations as Air Gunner / Dispatcher with 624 Squadron at Blida and when the squadron had been disbanded, I became a sighting instructor until the war ended. When I was then asked what I wanted to do next, I said 'anything connected with dogs', thinking it would get me back to the U.K. Some hope: I was posted to the Police Dog, Training School in Heliopolis. I declined to do a police course, but became a Dog Handler. The first dog they gave me was an Alsatian and every time it barked its legs gave way and it flopped onto its belly. My next dog they gave me was another Alsatian, called Tex and we got on well with each other although it was not the ferocious type of dog I had imagined going on duty with. When it was my first spell of night duty I started my round with Tex and after an hour or two I was informed there had been a break-in. To put you in the picture – our compound was about 150 by 250 yards, surrounded by barbed wire with our tents just inside running parallel with the wire. I had a funny premonition and raced to my tent to find all my private kit had been stolen. The culprit had slipped through the barbed wire behind my tent. I thought the only likely hiding place was the local graveyard, which I searched to no avail. The following day the Arab Police had a tracker dog on the job and out of all the suspects that they lined up it picked out my Dhobi Wallah! As nothing could be proved he got off and was sacked by me. After that, Tex got into a fight and was killed by a Boxer. My next dog was a Pit-Bull called Simon, but that’s another story and even more interesting.

Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

As mentioned in the previous article, I was a Dog Handler in Egypt after completing my operational tour as an Air Gunner-Dispatcher on 624 Squadron at Blida. My first two dogs were Alsatians and then I was paired up with a Pit Bull named Simon. My recollections of Simon are as follows - Now Simon was a very ferocious animal. He was a one-man dog and it took me a while to get used to him -and him to me. He was built like a tank and had muscles to match, but I knew that I had to be the 'Boss'. After any night duty we always put our dogs in the kennels, as it was safer for the other Dog Handlers, but on one occasion I decided to let Simon stay in my tent. I looped the handle of his lead under one of the legs of my iron bed, and then I stripped off and went to sleep. Sometime later, I felt a thud on the bed and a hairy head on my outstretched arm. The hairy head started to snore loudly and to slobber all down my arm. I decided this was enough and shouted 'OUT SIMON'. I then found myself facing a mouth about two feet wide with fangs to match and a roar like a lion to go with it. I looked at this gigantic abyss and meekly said in a very quiet voice, “OK Simon, you can stay”. He stayed. There was no contest. He was so heavy on top of my blanket - I couldn't move until he did. That was the one and only time that Simon slept in my tent.