Envy of Pilots and the Mischievous Chant
Memories from John Duffy
The memories below are from John Duffy, a student at St Chad's between 1938-1943.
"I entered St Chad's in September 1938, leaving in July 1943. I was thus a pupil at the time of the declaration of World War 2 in 1939 and the Battle of Britain in 1940. Those of us living locally became accustomed to the sight of convoys and armoured cars, manufactured at Guy Motors in Park Lane being driven on the roads on test before delivery to the army. We also witnessed, on a daily basis, Tiger Moth biplanes circling overhead in which aspiring pilots, newly conscripted into the Royal Air Force, were being taught to fly. The sky over Fallings Park, Low Hill and Bushbury was rarely empty of these droning machines.
...A favourite activity on free Wednesday afternoons was to cycle into the countryside between Staffordshire and Shropshire in order to track down the makeshift flying fields from which the Tiger Moths were operating and attempt to trace their flight path. Once there, we would worm our way through the hedge and lie in the long grass at the side of the field, watching enviously as the young men, who were but a few years older than ourselves, clambered aboard in their flying suits and goggles, instructor in the rear cockpit and took off, flew in a large circle and came in to land more or less smoothly. The whole manoeuvre would be repeated again and again until the pupil showed complete control of the aircraft. We learned that the official title for this activity was 'Circuits and Bumps', a most accurate description we thought, having witnessed recent recruits perform several kangaroo hops on landing, before coming to rest. As time passed, we ceased to be envious of these young men, realising that, over a very few weeks (just ten in fact), they would graduate from slow training aircraft to Hurricanes and Spitfires and be flung into battle against the enemy ME 109's. Life could be very short.
All schools were provided with air-raid shelters in the early 1940's. Those at St Chad's were the below ground reinforced concrete type with the spoil from the excavation piled on top...Each was to accommodate fifty pupils...The nearest siren was sited on the roof of the Clifton cinema which then stood at the junction of Cannock Road and Raynor Road, the next nearest being on the roof of the Low Hill Community Centre on Kempthorne Avenue...We could catch the wail of a siren from much further afield, say Wednesfield or even Wolverhampton town centre.
...We were snoozing through a Geography lesson with Brother Andrew...'Siren's Brother!', called someone in the back row...We were straining to hear the confirmation of the initial announcement. Nothing. 'Get on with your work,' said Brother Andrew. 'The next boy to say sirens will get the strap!' Then, distant but quite clear, there it was...The Clifton alarm erupted, swiftly supported by its Bushbury sister...Dow we went into the dark and dank refuge and parked ourselves long the wooden benches. The door closed. For some minutes we sat in silence, waiting for the sound of aircraft, either 'theirs' or 'ours'...A low chant began at the far end of the shelter:
"Who's that man with the big red nose? Ooh, ah, ooh, ah,ah!
Brother xxxxxx* we suppose. Oooh, ah, ooh, ah, ah!"
*Here would be inserted the name of the currently out of favor master. On this occasion, it was, of course, Brother Andrew."
"I entered St Chad's in September 1938, leaving in July 1943. I was thus a pupil at the time of the declaration of World War 2 in 1939 and the Battle of Britain in 1940. Those of us living locally became accustomed to the sight of convoys and armoured cars, manufactured at Guy Motors in Park Lane being driven on the roads on test before delivery to the army. We also witnessed, on a daily basis, Tiger Moth biplanes circling overhead in which aspiring pilots, newly conscripted into the Royal Air Force, were being taught to fly. The sky over Fallings Park, Low Hill and Bushbury was rarely empty of these droning machines.
...A favourite activity on free Wednesday afternoons was to cycle into the countryside between Staffordshire and Shropshire in order to track down the makeshift flying fields from which the Tiger Moths were operating and attempt to trace their flight path. Once there, we would worm our way through the hedge and lie in the long grass at the side of the field, watching enviously as the young men, who were but a few years older than ourselves, clambered aboard in their flying suits and goggles, instructor in the rear cockpit and took off, flew in a large circle and came in to land more or less smoothly. The whole manoeuvre would be repeated again and again until the pupil showed complete control of the aircraft. We learned that the official title for this activity was 'Circuits and Bumps', a most accurate description we thought, having witnessed recent recruits perform several kangaroo hops on landing, before coming to rest. As time passed, we ceased to be envious of these young men, realising that, over a very few weeks (just ten in fact), they would graduate from slow training aircraft to Hurricanes and Spitfires and be flung into battle against the enemy ME 109's. Life could be very short.
All schools were provided with air-raid shelters in the early 1940's. Those at St Chad's were the below ground reinforced concrete type with the spoil from the excavation piled on top...Each was to accommodate fifty pupils...The nearest siren was sited on the roof of the Clifton cinema which then stood at the junction of Cannock Road and Raynor Road, the next nearest being on the roof of the Low Hill Community Centre on Kempthorne Avenue...We could catch the wail of a siren from much further afield, say Wednesfield or even Wolverhampton town centre.
...We were snoozing through a Geography lesson with Brother Andrew...'Siren's Brother!', called someone in the back row...We were straining to hear the confirmation of the initial announcement. Nothing. 'Get on with your work,' said Brother Andrew. 'The next boy to say sirens will get the strap!' Then, distant but quite clear, there it was...The Clifton alarm erupted, swiftly supported by its Bushbury sister...Dow we went into the dark and dank refuge and parked ourselves long the wooden benches. The door closed. For some minutes we sat in silence, waiting for the sound of aircraft, either 'theirs' or 'ours'...A low chant began at the far end of the shelter:
"Who's that man with the big red nose? Ooh, ah, ooh, ah,ah!
Brother xxxxxx* we suppose. Oooh, ah, ooh, ah, ah!"
*Here would be inserted the name of the currently out of favor master. On this occasion, it was, of course, Brother Andrew."