Beneath The Coventry Blitz

As a part of our continuing effort to commemorate the incredible global story of WW2, we present our ongoing ‘Family Stories’ series. This series tells YOUR relatives’ stories of derring do - both on the front line and home front. In this episode we hear your tales of being sunk off Lisbon, jungle warfare in Burma, letters from the Coventry Blitz, and reflections on Australian digger life during the New Guinea campaigns With thanks to Will, Norn, Mitchell, and Stuart. Start your free trial at ⁠patreon.com/wehaveways⁠ and unlock exclusive content and more. Enjoy livestreams, early access, ad-free listening, bonus episodes, and a weekly newsletter packed with book deals and behind-the-scenes insights. Get your WHW Merch here! A Goalhanger Production Produced by James Regan Editor: Gabriela Gibbs Assistant Producer: Alfie Norris Exec Producer: Tony Pastor Social: @WeHaveWaysPod Social Producer: Harry Balden Email: [email protected] Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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• 1:44Speaker 00

  Hello and welcome to our series of family stories, the podcast written by you, the listener. Today, we're bringing you a whole range of stories and accounts from a sailor sunk off Lisbon, the reality behind Anzac digger life, and a forgotten letter from the Coventry Blitz. First up, we have this story from Will, who writes: I want to tell you about two men whose stories I've spent the last few months piecing together. One is my grandfather, one is my wife's. They never met, served in completely different parts of the war, and neither family knew the full story of what either man had actually been through, until my father-in-law found a stack of logbooks in the loft. My wife's grandfather was Stanley Paul Smith, Stan, a Spitfire and Mustang pilot who flew with 43 Squadron across North Africa, Tunisia, Malta, Sicily, and Italy between 1942 and

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  1944, and then with 611 Squadron from Arnhem through to the end of the war. Towards the end of his life, with his memory going, he said something out of nowhere that nobody in the family understood at the time. There was these poor buggers in the water. I never forgot that. That was it. He never explained it. When the logbooks came down from the loft, I went looking for what he meant and found it, a log entry from the 27th of March 1943, after a torpedo bomber intercept off the Algerian coast. I saw two aircraft floating and in flames, men in water waving. Convoy fired on us. Italian aircrew in the water, and then the Royal Navy opening fire on their own air cover. That was what he'd carried for 60 years. My grandfather was William Cummins, a merchant navy officer from Middlesbrough.

• 3:12Speaker 00

  He left a tape-recorded memoir submitted to the BBC People's War Archive, completely verbatim, deadpan, northeast, and extraordinary. He survived the torpedoing of SS Thirso in June 1942 by U552. In the chaos below decks, William grabbed an axe to free the lifeboat, but his hand landed right on top of his wallet, his watch, and his rolls razor. He took the axe. The watch sank off Lisbon, and he was still bitter about it decades later. He used to say, "You know where there is a good watch? Off bloody Lisbon!" Chief steward and chief engineer had broken into the bonded stores when the torpedo hit and drank as much whisky as they could. By the time they looked up, the lifeboats had gone. William's response when they started screaming from the deck was, "To hell with them if

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  they were so keen on spirit they could stop there." They launched the jolly boat. Clearly under the influence, they forgot the plug. It sank. Cargo was cork, and as the Thirso went down, it erupted to the surface everywhere. Fortunately, the men were rescued from the floating cork. The Corvette that picked William up, HMS Marigold, was sunk by an Italian torpedo six months later. The crew she rescued outlived her. This is where the two stories connect. In November 1942, William joined SS Fox as second officer, ferrying war supplies along the Algerian coast as part of Operation Torch, ammunition-encased aviation petrol in containers called flimsies. William noted, "By goodness, they were flimsy. They would only just stand

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  up to their own weight, more or less." At the same time, Stan's logbook has him flying daily patrols with 43 Squadron over the same stretcher coastline, including repeated entries of Patrol Bougie. The 43 Squadron operational records confirm fuel shortages at the forward airstrips during exactly this period. William was delivering the fuel Stan Squadron couldn't fly without. At Bougie, a city in northern Algeria, the Fox-loaded cased petrol that had already been transferred once from a bigger ship degraded, leaking, soaking the hold with 100 octane fumes. William noticed a ventilation fan arcing in the DMS accommodation and mentioned it. Nothing was done. Towards the evening, there was a crunch

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  and the petrol went up. It went up aft first, blew up the DMS gunner's legs. He ran through his burning cabin, face on fire, reached the gangway, and found the radio operator hanging upside down from the ladder, frozen with terror, coat tails brushing the key, refusing to let go. "I ran over, and immediately I stood on his hands." He let go, of course. Having let go, he just flopped on the key, picked himself up, and went. Everyone survived. The fuel intended for Stan Squadron burned in the harbour. Stan's logbooks got more remarkable the further you go through them. He flew the Sicily Invasion on the 9th of July 1943. Invasion! Took off in darkness, so as to be over Acid Beach at dawn, and logged what is probably the best friendly fire entry I've come across. A flight lieutenant in his squadron

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  got shot through the glycol radiator by an American P-51, whose pilot mistook the Spitfires for ME109s. The American then got hit by Italian flak. The same walrus rescue aircraft picked both of them up under intense fire from Italian shore batteries. Stan's verdict: "Bloody good show!" From August 1943, Stan flew as number two to Polish Squadron leader Eugenius Horby Horbatzieski. Stan flew over 60 operational sorties under his command. His logbook entry when Horby was posted home: "All very sorry to see him go. He hath done over 60 shows here. Due to his personality and fine leading the squadron, has improved 100%." Horby was killed 10 months later, leading 12 Mustangs against 60 FW190s over

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  France. He was 26. By 1944-45 with 611 Squadron, the entries got shorter as the operations got bigger. At Arnhem, Stan wrote, "Escort. Dakota's dropping troops and supplies. Arnhem. Rhine Crossing. Airborne crossing of Rhine." By 1945, it's four words and move on. On the 16th of April 1945, he escorted 617 Squadron's Lancaster's to Sveinamunde, flew on to the Russian bomb line east of Berlin, came within sight of Russian aircraft, and came home on a dead engine, gliding into Woodbridge. After surviving for so long, his luck nearly ran out three weeks from the end. While all of that was happening, William went back to sea, sat his master's ticket, married my grandmother Renee, and kept going. Chief

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  officer on the Fort Wellington, trading to North Africa and Argentina, then on to Sandstrø, a ship he clearly loved, completing a full circumnavigation via the Suez Canal outward and Cape Horn home, finishing in January 1946. He left the sea that March and eventually rose to harbour master of multiple ports around the UK. What I find incredible, looking at both of them, is that neither man talked about any of it. Stan said four words near the end of his life and left a loft full of logbooks. William left a tape recording that barely anyone knew existed. They never knew that their wars had crossed paths. Well, thank you, Will, for those fascinating stories.

• 8:14Speaker 06

  Yeah, that's absolutely amazing, isn't it? And this story comes from Norn, and Norn writes, "Dad was ye classic, humble, intelligent British gentleman. He struggled with taking any lives. He would never, ever even raise a hand to his children. But he was patriotic and never shirked his duty. He went from being a rug-a-blue, dark, of course, to being a schoolmaster, and moved to Sedborough School as a house tutor, geography teacher, and sports coach. From there, he joined the Border Regiment and fought his war in Burma." At some stage, he became a major and was sent on a mission where he was, I think, the only one to survive. But he was very badly injured by an exploding bullet that ripped his thigh muscle away and left him with what he called a 'gamy leg'.

• 8:56Speaker 06

  He was told it had to be amputated if he was to survive. He was in the jungle, on his own, badly wounded, and could move only by crawling on his elbows, hiding when he thought he heard anyone. By the third day, he'd lost too much blood and couldn't evade the approach of two soldiers. They were British, and the more junior said they'd have to help Dad. The senior officer said it was too risky and that he'd make it an order, so they left Dad behind unaided. Dad, on his aside here, inspired so much loyalty that when he was transported home, the Gurkhas honoured him with a cookery which I still have in this original scabbard. Testament to this, Dad's Batman was convinced he was still alive in the jungle and went in search of him. Much to Dad's luck, he managed to find him.

• 9:40Speaker 06

  Following this ordeal, my dad was awarded the MC and mentioned in dispatches. The Japanese flag he and his men had captured, he gave to the Border Regiment Museum in Carlisle, silk with bullet holes, after he retired. Jump ahead a few decades. Dad was headmaster of a prestigious boys' prep school in Hampstead. I remember couples who were expecting coming to put their child's name down for a place in case they were having a son. Dad was an utterly honourable man, the truest educationist I have ever met, so it was completely out of character when he came rushing home to our schoolhouse in Buckland Crescent, calling, 'Ninette, Ninette!' My mum was half-Greek, half-Swiss-French, the opposite in character from my dad. It was highly unusual for Dad to call out, even more unusual for them to go into the

• 10:23Speaker 06

  kitchen and shut the door. So down onto the stairs I went as close as I could to try and listen, only to see my mum rushing out, shouting, 'I'll kill him!' Mum had nursed my dad at King's. The only way to stop him talking was to tell him to write a book, which he did. B Company. As you've probably guessed, a man came into his office that morning to ask for a place at the Hall School, Hampstead, for his son. Dad recognised him straight away as a senior officer from that Burma jungle. The man did not recognise Dad, and Dad, being who he was, he never said anything. Hence my mum, bless her. If I'd known at the time, I'd have got my hockey stick and joined her. So the next question is obviously, did his son get a place?

• 11:07Speaker 06

  Well, with a slight smile, my dad said he'd left that decision to the lady in charge of the junior school. I wish I was more like him sometimes. There are more bits in the story, and I know he never wrote about that. I hope this leaves you with a smile on your face as it does me, and increases the deep, deep respect I have for the generation of ordinary men and women who served during the Second World War. Thank you for sending that story in, Nawn.

• 11:31Speaker 02

  The wheel was brilliant, but the road made it iconic. Electricity was powerful, but the grid brought it to every home. Innovation needs infrastructure. AI is no different, especially in finance, where AI can't run without context. But it can run on Plaid's infrastructure. Built over 13 years to understand why money moves. Plaid makes AI work in finance. Visit plaid.com/ai to learn more.

• 12:05Speaker 07

  Stonefire Nawn is made with real buttermilk and ghee. It's the perfect flatbread for any occasion. I put out Stonefire Nawn with dips at every dinner party. I make Nawn grilled cheese when my daughter has friends over. I use Stonefire Nawn to reward the humans who do my bidding. Right, it's perfect for camping trips. Dance for it, feeble mortal! Sorry, is he talking to me or...? Dance! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

• 12:31Speaker 03

  From our tradition to yours, Stonefire. Together we Nawn.

• 12:35Speaker 04

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• 13:05Speaker 00

  Right, now, our next contributor is Mitchell. My grandfather Jack served in the 212th Australian Field Ambulance from 1943 onwards. He died when I was eight and I adored him, revered him, and was petrified of him in equal parts. I was obsessed by war growing up, and was from a young age drunk on the Australian Anzac legend. My grandfather would wear his slouch hat when he mowed the lawns, so I knew he served when I was too young and probably too scared to ask any questions. I know his stories via stories from my mum and an old shoebox that was given to me by my grandfather 20 years ago, filled with scattered, unfinished war diaries, letters, and other documents. Jack was part of a generation of Australians who grew up in the shadow of their fathers who served in the First World War.

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  It's impossible to explain the formative impact the First World War had on Australia. Over 60,000 were killed from this very young nation, and not a single family was left unscarred. Jack grew up in a family where there was a portrait of the King on the wall, so when 1939 rolled around, there was an enormous expectation that these men would follow in their father's footsteps. Before Pearl Harbour in Singapore, the war was a long way away. In Sydney, life was pretty normal. There were stories in the paper about Australian Royal Navy ships in the Mediterranean and our troops in the desert, but the impact on day-to-day existence was negligible. By early 1942, that had all changed. Australia was on the front lines and really scrambling to catch up. My grandfather was studying law at Sydney Uni, and after finishing his studies in 1943, he joined the field ambulance.

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  He trained in North Queensland and was sent to Port Moresby in early 1944. Port Moresby was not under direct threat, but Jack's diaries describe regular Japanese bombing raids, lots and lots of wounded men, and for a few weeks, time in the jungle on some sort of patrol, looking for and identifying enemy aircraft. By war's end, Jack was a moratai, and he was home early in 1946. By any account, his war was unremarkable. What does make it remarkable is the fact that his experiences were shared by tens of thousands of men exactly like him. Also remarkable is the lasting generational impact his war had on my family. Even more remarkable is the way that this war has shaped my country. The war changed Jack.

• 15:14Speaker 00

  When I think of my grandparents' house, I think of pained silence. Silence that has a volume because it represents something: tension and uncomfortability. A gentle man who loved cricket and reading, the years away at war must have played on his anxieties. He was never on the front line, but the front line was always there. The Japanese army was only ever a rumor away, and he lived for three years in a state of hyper and constant alertness. He also saw tragedy daily: the physical destruction of bombs and explosives, bodies torn apart, and the scourge of tropical disease. He had great mates, but he loved his family and the extended time apart from home and loved ones gnawed at him. Once, when he was observing aircraft, he was alone for a few nights. Can you imagine how frightening that would have been? Alone, in a jungle somewhere north of Port Moresby.

• 15:58Speaker 00

  Jack was a mild-mannered lawyer from Petersham, and this drastic and savage interruption to his life can't be underestimated. Jack's mum, dad, and sisters never really recovered from his years away either. My great-grandmother sent herself literally insane by saying 'Hail Marys' again and again every day until he got home. The lack of accurate information was also torturous. Neighbours, talking over the fence in Randwick, were not privy to military intelligence. Again, the Japanese were only a rumor away, and by all accounts, the Japanese were expected to land at Bondi any minute. My grandmother lived by the train line and remembers troop train after troop train. US soldiers and sailors were billeted throughout the neighbourhood, and military uniforms were a fixture of daily life. The war was everywhere. My grandfather's letters were censored, and he wrote quite rarely as well.

• 16:43Speaker 00

  His family had no idea what he was doing or where he was. This, for almost three years. Three years without a decent amount of sugar, or butter, or petrol, and no cricket, and air raid drills at school, and tension and fear. It must have been awful. Everyone felt the pressure, whether you served or you didn't. Australia was spared aerial bombing and our cities were all intact. Aussies were pretty desperate to move on. Jack returned home from a war, signed whatever he had to sign in a suburban post office, and went to work as a solicitor the next day. In a year, he was married and a homeowner. He was a father after a year, and as my mum, Christine, was born in 1948. Everyone talked about the war, but also no one talked about the war. No one asked, 'How did the war make you feel, Jack? You okay, mate?

• 17:28Speaker 00

  You wanna talk?' No. He just kept on going and going, and going and going until he couldn't keep going. I think that this is where his heroism can be found. He didn't complain or whinge, he just got on with it. Like my great-grandparents who worried themselves sick, my great-auntie who never married so she could look after her brother on return, like my grandmother, and like millions of others, he was a casualty of war. I never heard him mention the war. I saw his slouch hat next to the mower and looked at it like it was a sacred object. But, he never marched on Anzac Day, never wore his medals, and never, ever mentioned a single thing. He just kept going. He died in 1988. I'm 47 now, and history is my life. I'm a high school history teacher, and I would like to think that I can look at the Second World War with some perspective.

• 18:10Speaker 00

  That being said, I'm still astounded at the way it continues to shape Australian national life. The war is everywhere. I live near the beach between Sydney and Newcastle. On my way to work, I drive past three returned service men's clubs. All of these are shrines to the Second World War. You can sit and play a poker machine next to a glass case filled with war memorabilia. This 303 cartridge was kindly donated by Bert Sugden and family, Long Jetty, New South Wales. Growing up, I would play cricket in Riverwood, once home to the biggest allied hospital in Australia. It was visited by MacArthur and Eleanor Roosevelt, and once had over 490 buildings and catered for over 2,000 patients. It's suburbia now, the score is sit in an old wooden hut, the only building that remains. Jack, from all accounts, was gentle, kind, and cerebral.

• 18:55Speaker 00

  He loved chess, reading the classics and cricket. When he was asked to stay a few nights in the jungle to monitor and record aircraft, he was lonely and frightened, and probably a little bored. To pass the time, he carved a full set of chess pieces out of wood from nearby trees. He dyed the pieces with shoe polish when he got back to Moresby. I still have this chess set, and I cherish it. I saw the chess set when I was young, and I remember asking him for a game once. I was desperate to play and spend some time with him. He just could not bring himself to say yes. I can only begin to imagine the hurt this must have caused him. He was not a cruel man, and I know he loved me. I often think of him alone in the jungle, carving chess pieces with a blunt field knife, surrounded by madness and worry and war.

• 19:37Speaker 00

  For good or for worse, Australian history has been hyper militarised. We are the mightiest Anzacs ever to have Anzact. I don't know how I feel about this because the war was horrible and did nothing but destroy lives. But I'm bloody proud of my grandfather and I love him very much. I hope that you have enjoyed his story. Oh, thank you, Mitchell. That's a very moving reflection on your grandfather and on the war's effect on him. Thanks for sharing that with us.

• 20:03Speaker 06

  This story is from Stuart. Born in Coventry in 1920, my late father, Alan Green, was a 20-year-old pharmacy student at Leicester School of Pharmacy when he joined the RAF Volunteer Reserve at RAF Carlington on the 1st of May 1940. Having originally been earmarked for observer pilot, he was selected as a navigator as a result of colour blindness. He was mobilised on the 20th of September 1940, following which he was sent to Torquay in Devon to complete his basic training. On the 14th of November 1940, Alan heard rumours that thousands have been killed in his home city in the biggest single raid on the UK in World War II. Here is the original letter he sent to his parents following the attack.

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  Dearest Ma and Pa and Gwen, many thanks for the letter I received last night around seven o'clock. It was a great relief to know that you were all alive anyway, even if other things have gone. Very few people will have anything left after this war, and if we manage to get away of our lives, we can consider ourselves lucky anyway. On Friday night, I heard rumours that thousand people had been killed in Coventry and naturally disputed them, thinking it was absolutely impossible that there could be such a death toll. On Saturday morning, I got a paper and got the shock of my life when I saw it was all true. As soon as finished at 6.30 on Saturday, I tried to get through, but it was hopeless. On Sunday morning, I spent two hours in a telephone box and got Coventry but could not get in touch with you or Griffiths or anyone.

• 21:31Speaker 06

  I spent two more hours on Sunday night and still could not get through. At last, in desperation, on Monday night, I rang Coventry Police Station but was asked why I'd wanted the police. I told them and they said they would put me through to the inquiries department they'd set up at the council house. I spoke to a Mr Grant who knew Pa and he said there were no Greens on the casualty list, but that 60% of the casualties have not yet been identified. He said he would try and find something out about you and get you to wire me. This, as you may imagine, did not relieve me much, especially since he told me there were quite a few casualties in the morningside area. Anyway, I got back to the hotel very worried and was overjoyed to find your letter on my bed.

• 22:14Speaker 06

  Grant told me that Earl Street was all in ruins. I already knew this from pictures in the paper. I had a letter from Basil this morning saying Pa was laid up with Lombeigo and so, what with one thing and another, I decided to see my commanding officer with a view to getting 48 hours leave to come and see you. The application has been successful and so I shall come home either on Saturday night or Sunday morning, but will have to be back here by Monday midday. The only trouble is I shall have to pay my own railway fare, so if we have got any money at all, I wish you could wire me a little on immediately to cover it. I understand that Earl Street shop is completely gone, Harford Street windows smashed, the warehouse gutted and Chelsmore ruined. Is this correct? I suppose there is something left of my pet shop Stoke Heath.

• 22:57Speaker 06

  I imagine we have lost thousands of pounds' worth of stock and other things and are possibly up to our necks in it. Tell Pa that if we get through all this, we can start again and therefore not to worry himself to death about it all too much. It's just no good. I've finished my course here and assure you that I'm not sorry for it's been terribly hard work all the time and I've hardly been out at all in the past two weeks, what with exams and guards and so on. I have never before taken an exam, for instance, after being on guard and haven't had no sleep for 38 hours. You see, I'm generally made guard commander, which entails changing sentries all night and as such, I'm not allowed to go to sleep at all. On top of this, we get several hours hand drilling when they make you sweat like bulls

• 23:40Speaker 06

  and sit all the rest of the day in wet clothes. It's marvellous. But it gets you hardened up for the time when you meet Gerry. I'm not at all sorry I joined up because in the not-too-distant future, I may be able to get my own back on some of those rotten devils. I can assure you that if I continue to go through as an observer, I shall as navigator and bomboma lose no opportunities to pick out a few chemist shops. If all goes well, I shall be home this weekend and also home for six days leave a week on Monday, but don't bank too much on this as I may be posted without leave, even abroad. I have got my flying, but as I think I told you, it's remarkable. The next part of my course, will I understand, be mainly flying. By the way, let me know where you are because I see you posted my last letter in the Warwick

• 24:24Speaker 06

  Leamington district. I'm a guard again tonight and so must go and look for someone to post this letter for me. I've missed one letter post already. Whatever happens, keep your pecker up. We shall win through yet with a bit of luck. That's what we must consider first. Other things will come afterwards. If you are short of ready cash, sell my motorbike if it is still whole. Wilmore Evans might take it, but if you can manage, leave it as I might be able to use it at my next station. I should become a leading aircraftman in two weeks, although it may be a bit delayed. My pay will then be five and six a day with one and six extra flying pay, I believe. This will be much better. Anyway, I think it's time I close now. I'm hoping against hope this letter will reach you.

• 25:08Speaker 06

  If you wire me any money, send it to Lucius, L-U-C-I-U-S, Street Post Office, Torquay, where I will collect the same. Keep smiling. I am your son, Alan. Alan was shot down twice during his time in bomber command, on both occasions in stirrings. The first was on the night of the 4th, 5th of May 1942, when they were staken for an enemy aircraft by the RAF and shot down in error by a Hurricane. Thankfully, all the crew bailed out successfully. The second occasion was by a German night fighter over Holland on the 20th, 21st of June 1942. Although three of the eight crew members were killed, the youngest casualty was only 19, Alan managed to bail out with four colleagues.

• 25:49Speaker 06

  After a brief period in hiding, being helped by Dutch farmers, Alan was captured on a tram while making his way to Amsterdam to meet up with Dutch Resistance. He was eventually taken to a new POW camp in Silesia called Stalag Luthri, which became famous for the Wooden Horse Escape and the Great Escape. Having been forced marched into Berlin in early 1945, Alan was eventually liberated by the Russian Army and returned home in May 1945. He sadly died on his 56th birthday in 1976. Thank you, Stuart. What a fascinating story that is.

• 26:24Speaker 00

  Well, a huge thank you to our contributors today, Will, Norn, Mitchell, Stuart. To be featured in one of our Family Stories episodes or in our newsletter, please email us at [email protected] and don't forget to label the email Family Stories so that we don't miss it. Sign up to our Patreon at wehaveways/patreon.com. Thank you and goodbye.

• 26:44Speaker 06

  Cheerio.

• 26:52Speaker 02

  The wheel had roads. Electricity had the grid. Innovation needs infrastructure. Plaid makes AI work in finance. Visit plaid.com/ai to learn more.

• 27:08Speaker 07

  Stonefire naan is made with real buttermilk and ghee. It's the perfect flatbread for any occasion. I put out Stonefire naan with dips at every dinner party. I make naan grilled cheese when my daughter has friends over. I use Stonefire naan to reward the humans who do my bidding. Right. It's perfect for camping trips.

• 27:26Speaker 05

  Dance for it, feeble mortal.

• 27:28Speaker 07

  Sorry, is he talking to me or?

• 27:30Speaker 05

  Dance.

• 27:33Speaker 02

  From our tradition to yours. Stonefire.

• 27:36Speaker 04

  Together we naan. Did you know that mosquitoes have killed almost half of all people who have ever lived? Today, people are fighting back. With support from the Gates Foundation, American scientists and partners around the world have developed a new generation of bed nets that can kill up to 90% of mosquitoes exposed to them, helping cut malaria rates in half. The result? A safer, healthier future for everyone. The Gates Foundation, partners of human potential. Search gatesfoundation.org/mosquito to learn more.