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During my service at RAF Sawbridgeworth in 42/43 it was decreed to have an exercise which would illustrate how effectively we would defend the airfield against German paratroopers.
The airfield defence was in the hands of a World War One veteran - Major East, I think that was his name - a chap well into his seventies. He was rarely seen but we got the impression he lived locally and had volunteered to do his bit, so it was that he would don his bemedalled uniform, make an appearance from time-to-time to consult with the Station commander or, if he couldn't find him, would descend upon the squadron and try his luck with our CO. To say he was a welcome sight would be far from the truth and to emphasise just how well he was regarded, we all had strict instructions that if he appeared on the horizon, the Boss must be informed straight-away. So it was in the early days of Major East's reign any sighting would result in the CO making a hasty exit by the back door and then roar away in his Humber, or to make a dash to don his flying gear and do an air test which, strangely, suddenly needed to be carried out!
However, the major was no fool and soon devised tactics of his own which allowed him to to sneak up on us unseen and, therefore, unannounced. As a consequence the CO then had to spend the next hour or so studying the schedules the Major had prepared which detailed the personnel to be deployed to their defence area of the perimeter, and other relevant matters. (It must be remembered that the RAF Regiment had yet to be tasked to undertake airfield defence.) So, despite the wriggling of both the Station Commander and our CO, an overnight exercise was arranged to demonstrate just how well we could defend the airfield and its aircraft against all-comers.
The exercise was scheduled to be conducted on a chilly night in late autumn and the "enemy" we were informed, was identified as the Sawbridgeworth Home Guard - just how tough was that supposed to be? - and so the scene was set for this dramatic confrontation.
Major East soon demonstrated that he had not lost any of his World War One tactical efficiency. He directed that Slit trenches were dug at strategic points on the airfield; barbed wire was temporarily or permanently installed at strategic points to trap and entangle any Nazi stupid enough not to notice it was there. If that was not enough to deter the enemy we were issued with whistles to raise the alarm or summon help at first sight of the dreaded invader. Our NCOs were detailed to make regular inspection of the trenches to ensure nobody was drunk or asleep. We had everything covered and could not fail.
Come the "actual day" one or two difficulties arose before we even started our gallant defence. Firstly there was the weather; nobody had taken into account the mist that formed just as the disgruntled “troops” resplendent (but shivering) garbed in greatcoats, balaclavas and full kit, took their places. Rifles and Sten Guns were brandished at the ready (fortunately only loaded with blanks which, given the consequences, was most probably a wise move.) However, more immediate and a greater cause for concern was the refusal of cookhouse staff to stand-by and provide sandwiches and hot drinks. They claimed that because of staffing difficulties coupled to the fact that our exercise "wasn’t night flying" that they would not be providing any sustenance through the quiet hours. Undeterred, but p*ssed off, we gallant defenders huddled in our trenches and peered into the grey-black wall of fog with a determination to massacre the intruders.
We settled down to our task with as much enthusiasm as we could muster - which didn't amount to much! Our NCOs made their infrequent visits which became less frequent as the night grew longer prompting seditious thoughts of them being quartered in some cushy, warm billet which was doubtless a lot more attractive than our situation of freezing our appendiges off out on the airfield. In a feeble attempt to escape the boredom and the onset of "Trench Fever" we suggested mounting “stick patrols" (roving groups of two or three airmen whose whereabouts would be unknown to the enemy) but our superiors knew better and this idea was dismissed.
As the night wore on, the occasional cry of “Halt who goes there”, was almost the only relief from creeping hypothermia. There was one brief spell of excitement in the drear, cold night, when the crackle of gunfire was heard. One of the entrenched sections had fired on an intruder. Nobody could tell us exactly where, who or why and our interest ebbed to the point that by the time the dawn arrived we didn’t really care if the lowliest German parachute division had invaded; have it all, we thought, but leave our billets alone. We heaved our frozen bodies from our dugouts and as we trudged toward the squadron to be dismissed we comforted ourselves with the satisfaction that we had shown these local yokels they couldn’t trifle with trained servicemen....
…..until the aircraft were inspected. Each one bore a sticker proudly announcing “Destroyed by Sawbridgeworth Home Guard”. We were later told that while we froze at our posts the Home Guard had paid their visit and were back in their local by nine o’clock, well in time for a well-deserved pint or two.
And the gunfire? It was later concluded that the attacker was not a sneaky Sawbridgeworth Home Guard, or a vicious Nazi with evil intent, but a Sawbridgeworth fox seeking to destroy the contents of the local hen-houses rather than His Majesty’s aircraft or property. The suspicion was that even that invader had carried out its mission and escaped unharmed!
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