From Mike Critchlow. (1973/4)

From Colin Gompertz. (1959/60)      

The RAF Bawdsey blazer badge .

The badge was designed by a small "committee" of the Education Officer, ( I think his name was White) Gerry Clarke and Baz ? from the drawing
office, and me in my Air Publications and Forms Store (APFS) next door about 1959. I think we had to get approval from Group or Fighter Command and of course the Station C.O. so it was an official badge. I have no idea how many were made or sold, but they were not too expensive for even this National Serviceman. I last saw Gerry Clarke on the TV with his paintings at I believe was Warwick Castle.  He did many RAF station badges in East Anglia while at Bawdsey.

From Colin Gompertz (1959/60)

What a fantastic "blast from the past"   I now well remember Roy (Clarke) - the story comes back to me now. A very pleasant bloke. I used to put the bets on for him if he was busy haircutting downstairs. I remember one day my boss Flt.Lt.Blackburn was making a rare visit to me and the phone rang and it was the bookie. Blackburn pointed to Roy's list and said "Make sure that one gets on, its mine!. Carry on Gompertz"  Flt Lt Blackburn was an Ops Controller, ex Navigator and very pleasant. I used  to have to find him to get his signature on the monthly forms order (in quadruplicate)  Every time he used to ask if I was getting enough passes. " Bring me a pad for me to sign" He used to sign the lot! That could only happen at
Bawdsey.  He was always grateful that I kept APFS out of his hair. They all had extra supervisory jobs and hated it. He knew I kept it in order as all his colleagues got all the forms and pads they needed in the control room. They very rarely had them before - another Bilko creep!

Bob Jones has written a series of articles for magazines over the years dealing with his Bawdsey days during the War years and the camp in general. Since the articles have pictures embedded in them I have put them on the site as .zip files.  The first one deals with a WAAF named Peggy that he met during the War at Bawdsey, . Then there is some info on early RAF Bawdsey days  and a tale about a sea launched German attack on Bawdsey during the War. All really interesting stuff. Many thanks Bob. RS.

BOB ATKINSON.  Bob was posted to Bawdsey in the late 1940s but remained after his RAF service as a civilian Transport Controller until it closed down for the first time so he was around for at least twenty years. Sadly Bob died in 1991 but Phil, his son, would like to hear from anyone who knew his father. He also wonders if anyone knew his Dad's friends Nev and Jock on the picture.  phil.tina@ntlworld.com

From ex-SAC Steve Thompson, (1973/4)

Well, thats who I used to be in what seems like another life.I was an Aerospace Systems Operator {ok,a Scopie} at Bawdsey from getting posted in on permanent staff in 73 to mid 74.What a great place.I already remember a couple of people on your site.Mike Critchlow and Dick Barret. A few more names, Dave Harris, Keith Full, Tony Oliver.
Bawdsey was the best. I must be malnourished because I remember the cheese toasties in the Deben club. The D.D tops. Bob Claytons Black Widow disco as mentioned by Dick Barret. The no- mans land between the TV rooms and WRAF lines.
I think I was a bit of a jerk in those days, sorry, but it was some of the best times I have had in my life. The people were the best, incredible folks.
I live in the U.S now where I work as a Deputy Sheriff in Colorado, assigned to firearms training and SWAT. All the best to old friends. Steve.

From ex-LAC  Francis Hookham 1950-51

I remember well the phosphorescent bathing on the way back from a night bind

Does anyone remember my one handlebar bicycle ?

Did anyone accompany me to the music classes which must have been in Woodbridge - the lecturer demonstrating change of note by blowing across a bottle filled with water as he drank the water gulp by gulp ?

The pig swill boiler

Was there a full or near full moon at Christmas ¹50 because I remember climbing the CHEL tower very late on Christmas eve or night and seeing the
wonderful golden road of reflected moonlight on the waves right up to the edge of the cliff

Collecting field mushrooms and taking them to the NAAFI to be cooked for supper

Badminton in the Hall

Crewing a Firefly for one of the Flying Officers - tricky water in the mouth of the Deben - we were 23 of 90 in the Firefly Championships in Poole
Harbour in ¹51

It all seemed to be a waste of time at the time but I am glad I did not miss National Service

Where are they now ?

From ex LAC Pete Dulley (1950 - 51)

I was generally pretty law abiding but my only digressions occurred on night watches at ‘T’ Block.  I was once put on a charge by Corporal Bell for making toffee apples in the rest room.  Next day he relented and let me off with a reprimand.  Nearer the end of my time there I had taken my brand new Velocette motorcycle into the block and was busily cleaning it on the coconut matting between the highly polished transmitters when the CO walked in.  He didn’t even mention the motorbike but chatted away trying to persuade me to make the RAF my career!

I spent my last 6 weeks working under the Station Warrant Office in the PSI gardens.  At that time there were somewhat derelict green houses around the walls and my job was to take glass out of those at one end and use it to glaze those at the other end to make them usable.  I’m not sure what he grew in them afterwards but I got quite handy with a glass cutter!

I recall being on watch with Mike Shaw when the telephone rang.  He answered it and was asked if the CO was in the block.  ‘Who wants him?’ asked Mike.  ‘Watson-Watt here’ came the reply!

Also from Pete

From Mike Shaw (1950-51)

I remember Jimmy Reilly well, especially for his excellent rendition of 'La Mer', which he sang, in French, at the drop of a hat. And, as I recall, hats
were dropped pretty frequently just to hear it...

I vaguely remember you telling us about the Windsor knot incident (picked up by SP's for the 'wrong' knot).  I think it may have even made the gossip columns of the Bawdsey Express. (My biggest regret is dumping them all - a great pile of them - when we moved house umpty-nine years ago. They didn't seem to be important any more. What a story they'd tell and what memories they'd hold now, though).

My biggest embarrassment - and best kept secret (till now) - occurred one day when I went into the R-Block early to run the gear up and then do the weekly routine maintenance 'behind the PPI cabinets'. It was an all WRAF watch, and they came into the ops room not realising I was there working at the back, and they started discussing ... 'things' ... I became so embarrassed at what I was hearing I didn't have the face (guts) to suddenly appear before them with a sheepish grin, so I stayed still, quiet as a mouse, for the entire 8-hour watch. I couldn't even slope out during the
duty change-overs. Luckily(?) my 'date' at the time wasn't on that watch, so my name never came into it - but what I did hear no fresh young innocent airman should have ever been privy to.  Women can be quite explicit when they start discussing ... things! When I finally emerged after the watch was over (and they'd all long gone), the other mech on duty (who was that?) wanted to know where the hell I'd been skiving all b---y  day.  I think my 'education' took an almighty leap that day.

From P.S Lyford   (National Service and 144 Signals Unit R.A.F. Bawdsey 1956-58)

I was one of the lucky erks who was pre-selected for O.C.T.U. before being called up for National Service. Consequently, on Thursday 19th January 1956, when I walked through the rain down that long road at R.A.F. Cardington from the Guardroom to the arch bearing the legend "Welcome to the Royal Air  Force", I was able to look forward to a more privileged National Service life than most National Servicemen, who felt anything but welcome in that place !

We must have been one of the first intakes to be pre-selected, for our Corporal announced that he wasn't sure just how to approach us "You might
just come back one day and be my officer". So he arranged for our uniforms to be issued on the following Monday, which meant that they would not be tailored until the following Wednesday, which meant that we would not be able to do coal fatigues. Oh dear, what a pity, never mind! He was also extremely apologetic about Reveille each day - "Sorry to wake you up, gentlemen!"

During the course of that week we were issued with our number ("Sir,  2784234") pyjamas airman, boots ammunition and shoes airman, brushes hair and brushes shoe, underpants, socks, towels and housewife (pronounced "Huzzif" - "the only woman the Air Force will give you for free,
 gentlemen"), we were shorn ("the Royal Air Force does not care what you have underneath your hat, gentlemen, but we do not like to have anything
showing"), we had our photographs taken for the 1250 identity card, sitting in pews with our numbers on boards before us like convicted criminals. We were confined to camp and spent most of our spare time trying to get the tortoise stove to stay alight long enough to give out some heat, shrinking our berets airman into a better shape than that provided by the manufacturers and producing that see-your-face-in-the-toecaps shine on our boots airman with spit, polish and a red hot teaspoon without burning the stitches! Why did those boots have to be made with knobbly leather instead of nice shiny leather?

One week after arrival at Cardington, we entrained for Liverpool, where we spent the night on straw-filled palliasses in the most miserably depressing Crimea Barracks in Crosby, which must have been built for the army at the time of that war. Threlfalls Bitter failed to induce any sense of
well-being. The following day we embarked on the Isle of Man Steam Packet for Douglas I.o.M., where we entrained on the narrow gauge railway to Ramsay and thence by road to R.A.F. Jurby, which was to be our home for the next three months.

Warrant Officer Paddy Webb and his bicycle were our constant companions on Course 50 Red One. We learned all about QR's and ACI's, we learned Section 40 by heart ("conduct prejudicial to good order and discipline" - "he threw down his rifle and said 'I will serve no more, you may do what you wish' or words to that effect. I therefore charged the accused") We bulled our boots and the billet floor, but we drew the line at burnishing the drawing pins on the notice board and probably lost many OQ's (Officer Quality Points). We froze under canvas on the beach at the Point of Air in a howling gale in March. We had char and buns in the bus which appeared every evening in the road outside the station. We wore our Jurby caps when out of uniform in case we bumped into Flight Lieutenant Tull, or Thacker of The Regiment. We were very envious of the Short Service Student Officers because they were paid a guinea a day, whereas we National Service Officer Cadets could only draw 4 shillings a day from which was deducted 4 shillings a week for the Soldiers,  Saillors and Air Force Association (SSAFA), leaving us the princely sum of 24 shillings to spend on haircuts and carousing in the Mess.

Practical jokes abounded. W.O. Webb had his bicycle hoisted to the top of the flagstaff. We were summoned from our beds to the Astra Cinema one night at 2a.m. to hear a lecture from the Commandant. When he did not arrive, one keen Student Officer took it upon himself to telephone the Commandant to remind him - no OQ's for him that night! After three months, we took our final exams and most passed. Those who didn't pass were mostly re-coursed and went through the whole course again, this time in more clement weather! Those who passed out were inspected by Lord
Sempill and marched off with bayonets fixed and band playing. My pay rose to half a guinea a day (10/6d or 52 pence in new money!) as an Acting Pilot Officer. Our postings came through and of course the Royal Air Force did its best to get them wrong. Qualified accountants who had asked for the Accounts Branch were posted to the R.A.F. Regiment. Would be Rockapes became accountants. I was unusually lucky - I asked for Fighter Control and Bawdsey as my first choice and, against the odds, I got it!

We had several Warrant Officers on the course, including W/O's Jim Gresham and Bob Willis, pilots from the Station Flight at R.A.F. Northolt. After passing out, they persuaded their fellow pilots at Northolt to send up a flight to bring them back down to civilisation. The flight plan was filed
"to collect Lord Elpus from R.A.F. Jurby" - unfortunately the CO Northolt heard of the flight and turned out the Welcoming Party. Sadly for the CO,
and for Bob and Jim, Lord Elpus was not on the flight!

A short attachment at R.A.F. Langtoft in Lincolnshire was followed by the Fighter Control Course at R.A.F. Middle Wallop in Hampshire. We attacked the incoming Red Squadrons on plotting table exercises. We actually flew Practice Interceptions (P.I.'s) in Prentices (?) flown by 242 Squadron (nicknamed The Bad Boys' Squadron as, rumour had it, they had all committed some dreadful misdemeanour). One Flying Officer WRAF was rather disconcerted when her pilot turned 1800 by doing a half-loop and roll-off-the-top instead of the usual Rate 1 turn. She made a comment to the pilot who said "Say again" and thumbed the RT transmit button. Into the cabins down below came her dulcet tones "Please don't do that, it makes me feel all funny!" We actually had a Radar which, it was rumoured, had been used in the Western Desert during the war - it reminded one rather of part of an abandoned chicken coop!

My pay rose to fifteen shillings a day (75 pence!)!

And then to Bawdsey. After checking in with the Adjutant, Flying Officer Doreen Jarrett,  I went up the drive to be confronted by the extraordinary
first sight of the grey stone front of the Mess. Just inside the front door was a table on which I left my cards (one for the PMC and Officers, the
other for the Commanding Officer). Corporal Scotty Scott, the Bar Steward then took me to my room. It was all very civilised and rather like a rather exclusive country club!

Next day I went down the Hole for the first time. I left my 1250 in the Guardroom and went down the stairs and along the upper corridor to the Chief Controller's Cabin. I was on A Watch with Flight Lieutenant Crawshay-Williams ("Crasher Bill") in the Chief's chair. First, and most
important, was a visit to the Officer's Rest Room and coffee and introductions to the rest of the Watch and the first of many time-wasting
games of Cribbage. 

Who was stationed at R.A.F. Bawdsey?

The C.O. when I first arrived was Wing Commander "Hawkeye" Wells, who had distinguished himself on night fighters during the war. Sadly, by this time his eye was not so hawkish and he had to view the Ops board from the Chief Controller's cabin through a pair of binoculars. Nevertheless, he was extremely popular and his Dining Out was Memorable! After a game of cricket in the Ante-Room, during which several windows, used as wickets, were broken, he was towed off the Station in his car. He was followed as C.O. by Wing Commander Norris-Smith.

Senior Administration Officer, Squadron Leader Taylor, I remember as Duty Officer one day visiting the Airman's Mess and receiving a complaint that the fish had bones. He sat down alongside the complainant and filleted the fish! What service.

Senior Operations Officer was Squadron Leader "Knocker" Noyes. Accounts Officer Flight Lieutenant Angus McLeod, who enjoyed his beer and
whisky, could always be relied on to win a crate of beer or bottle of whisky in any Mess draw. All I managed to win was a pair of plastic coat hangers in the Sergeants Mess draw - they broke when I first hung my coat!

Others included:

Fighter Controllers Vic Southon, Dave Riordan, Ron Brunt, Fred Penny who had flown Spitfires in the war, Derek Day, Dennis King, newly returned from 2nd TAF, Ron Alenius, Frank Fauchon (a large man with a very small Austin 7 Ruby)

Radar Supervisors Barbara fForde, Kay Dunn and Pam Klein (so keen on flying that she had an altimeter and air speed indicator in her car), John Simpson, Andy Andrews

Andy Anderson was our resident and very Scottish Rockape, assisted by Corporal Denyer, who did everything by numbers, even opening the Armoury door for the A.O.C.'s Inspection by numbers (Hand in pocket two three, take out keys two three, insert key two three, open door two three.....)

Geoff Moseley the Education Officer went walking in Yugoslavia and nearly caused a Diplomatic Incident by getting himself arrested by the Yugoslav Authorities on a charge of Spying!

John Barker was the C.O. of the VHF transmitter station across the water at Trimley

At the risk of breaking the Official Secrets Act (I'm sure the Russians knew anyway!) we had a rather ancient Type 7 metric radar with its large and
inaccurate banana-shaped blip, a Type 14 centimetric with its bog of Permanent Echoes and Type 13 nodding height finder which was usually
unserviceable; fortunately we also had an American FPS-6 height finder which was far more reliable. The Type 80, with its greatly improved performance, was only just coming into service and had not made its appearance at Bawdsey before I was demobbed. The four great 300ft-high Chain Home towers still stood, although the arrays had long since been removed. The view from the top of the towers was amazing!

At that time the R.A.F. was well up to strength and there seemed to be no shortage of aircraft to control. Among the squadrons we controlled in 11
Group were 111 with Hunters at North Weald, 64 and 65 with day and night Meteors at Duxford, 54 with all-weather Javelins at Odiham, 513th and 514th Fighter Pursuit Squadrons USAAF with F86D Sabres at Manston. The Americans had so much (for the time) electronic wizardry in their aircraft that they used to abort at the slightest malfunction. Navigation was a problem for them if place names were not accompanied by country - "Paris where?" "Paris France". "Ah Roger!" They were great characters and invariably brought suitcases full of their duty frees when visiting us - our bar profits suffered but we did not. On one occasion we celebrated Kay Dunn's 21st birthday with them in great style. Some weeks later I was controlling a pair of F86's and one pilot asked "How are you off for Wheelbarrows?" This was not one of the usual codes, such as "Gravy", "Jugs", "Angels" etc and I had to ask the Chief Controller to translate. He didn't know and passed it up to Sector who passed it to Group who passed it on to USAAF who gave permission to transmit in clear. By this time everyone was listening in. "Do you remember that great party when we wheeled Kay Dunn downstairs in a wheelbarrow?"

I had one of those never-to-be-forgotten moments one Sunday afternoon, controlling a Spitfire and Mosquito from the Civil Anti-Aircraft
Co-Operation Unit (CAACU) doing PI's - I could almost smell the nostalgia!

We introduced the United States Air Force to Dining In and Guest Nights, inviting officers from Bentwaters and Woodbridge. Low-flying and
High-Cock-a-lorum they though GREAT and demanded to go round again, despite painful close encounters with the Mess furniture. Anthony Eden was at this time having his problems with President Nasser and the Suez Canal, and petrol was rationed and in very short supply. We envied the Americans with their enormous gas-guzzling cars and their drivers parked outside the mess all night, engines running to keep the heaters going! We were invited back to their Officers' Club and were somewhat surprised when their CO removed his clip-on bow tie after dinner and laid it carefully alongside his plate, followed by all his officers. R.A.F. Horsham St Faith presented them with a ceremonial cannon made from a beer crate and length of drainpipe. It was wheeled into the Officers' Club with great ceremony and a thunderflash was fired from its barrel. Our transatlantic friends thought this GREAT and the Duty Officer was despatched to the armoury to bring  further supplies of thunderflashes. A bag of Maltesers was dropped into the barrel after the second thunderflash and produced a peppering of holes in the rather insubstantial Club wall; this the Americans thought GREAT and the Duty Officer was despatched again to bring in further supplies of Maltesers from their PX. By the time they had run out of thunderflashes and Maltesers, there was little left of the wall but everyone thought the evening had been GREAT!

What an incredible place Bawdsey Manor was and, indeed, still is! Built in the 1890's by an industrialist named Sir Cuthbert Quilter, it was bought by the Air Ministry in 1936 for £24,000 and became the first R.A.F. operational radar station a year later in 1937, after the early Watson Watt experiments up the coast at Orfordness. It had some 104 rooms - I held the mess inventory but never counted them. Very few rooms were on the same level and every external aspect of the Manor was different - Gothic, Victorian, Elizabethan, Flemish, Oriental. It was said that the architect committed suicide when he saw what he had designed! Running along the cliff face was a path with tunnels and alcoves looking out over the North Sea. The sunken garden at the rear of the building was said to be haunted and certainly it felt very eerie on a full-moonlit summer night. We had a full-sized billiard table, a small Chapel, the holy-of-holies cipher room where the Orderly Officer had to compose a secret cipher each evening telling Group of the state of the warning lights on the Chain Home Towers! Some secret but it was good practice! If Bawdsey had a drawback, it was that it stood on the wrong side of the Deben Estuary - a night out in Felixstowe necessitated the use of the Bawdsey Ferry, an open fishing boat which stopped running at 2245 and was bitterly cold and wet in winter! An enforced stay overnight at the Ferry Boat Inn was not recommended!

Bawdsey Manor is now Alexander's International Language School and water sports activity centre. They have recently opened guest accommodation not only in the Manor itself but also in cottages in the grounds which are available to rent throughout the year -their website has all the details  at http://www.bawdseymanor.co.uk.

The RAF Bawdsey Reunion meets for lunch in the Manor each year, thanks to the owners of the Manor and Squadron Leader Frank Fear. 

SAC Tony Humphreys – 1969 – 1971

After my basic training at RAF Swinderby, I was posted to RAF Bawdsey to train as an ‘Areo Space Systems Operator’.  On completion, I was posted to the site as permanent staff.  I can honestly say it was the best two years of my life.  My bunk mate was Jerry Wainwright and as a couple of 17 year old likely lads we had a whale of a time.  Does any one remember Pedro?  He was the camp mystic.  Other names that spring to mind are:  Dusty Fogg, Fraser, Liz Longstaff, Jackie White, Flt Sgt. Fen and off course my first love, Penny Lewis.  Where are they now?

BFN became the focal point for me and I enjoyed many a happy hour spinning the wax or relaxing in the lounge area.  I eventually left RAF Bawdsey for Hong Kong and RAF Kai Tak, but the memories of Bawdsey will remain with me forever.

Excerpt from ‘Maid In England ’.  Author - Nadia Simpson (nee Kelly)  Published 1998.  

            So. I made my way to Bawdsey. A train to Felixtowe and then a ferry ride across the mouth of the River Orwell right into the grounds of Bawdsey Manor.

            Nobody had told me about Bawdsey Manor. I suppose I expected an operations set-up similar to Neatishead. 

            Because confusion seems to abrogate the memory function I can’t recall that first ferry ride. Maurice the ferryman, and his small motor-boat became familiar over the next months because we needed him to take us across to Felixtowe.  Also there was a pub across the water (The Ferry Boat Inn) that we would go to sometimes. Very daring! I drank cider and felt common. Mum always said that only common women sat about in pubs!

            The first thing I recall is walking up a long drive and suddenly seeing a huge building that looked to me like a castle.  Someone took pity on my lost look. It was all right. This was the place.

            Formalities over, I was escorted up to my new digs at the top of the White Tower . Can you blame me for feeling as though I’d landed in the middle of a fairy tale?

Two more girls, Tommy and Jackie, (girls I swear), shared that glorious room at the top of the tower where from the window, you could see forever. A magical place.

            Along a winding dusty path through some trees, we walked to the operations room.  We could use bikes but I walked.  Canada , (Gerry Knight) always claimed a bike. She came back from leave once with a mangy black canine. Caused a bit of a stink but when it blew over she still had her dog.  It sat on the handlebars of the bicycle as she cycled to ‘K’ site. His name was Bobby and he fainted a lot. One second he would be sitting up at a table in the N.A.A.F.I. and the next he was on the floor in a dead faint. He didn’t seem to hurt himself or mind hitting the hard floor because in a minute he’d jump back onto his chair.  Perhaps he got bored and kept falling asleep?  Whatever, we got used to it and his peculiarity hardly forced a comma in the conversation.

            The tall transmitting and receiving towers stood sentinel over the complex. There were three types of equipment for tracking high-flying aircraft, medium, low flying and shipping. The three blocks were set a good distance apart. (Along with several other silly young things I climbed the highest tower. Coming down was the worst. A very dangerous stunt).  I seem to recall it was three hundred and sixty feet high with a six-foot swing at the top. But don’t quote me on that!

             Sir Robert Watson Watt and his brilliant team of scientists had developed radar at Bawdsey. By 1940 they had established a sufficient ‘radar curtain’ along the south east coast of England in time to meet the German air attacks, and this put Britain in the forefront of radar development.

              All the young men and women who had the good luck to be sent to Bawdsey shared an unreal, magical time. We had a mile and a half of private beach at the bottom of huge cliffs. We ran like gazelles along the cliffs or down the steep winding paths to the beach, young and strong, a little wild with not a care in the world.

             The house had been built by a Sir Roger Quilter,  as a wedding present for his wife. (Roger?). It wasn’t very old, mid nineteenth century, but had the atmosphere of a much older building. The grounds were well kept and the original gardens still maintained to a tidy if not perfect degree.

            The sunken rose garden was a lovely place to sit quietly and read or just be on one’s own for a while. A swimming pool, empty, was in a bit of a state. Broken bits of tile thrown about and grass growing between the cracks in the concrete. A few of us offered to tidy it up and see if it could be filled and used again but nothing came of it.

            Not least there was an arbour. Long and leafy. Dank and eerie. Its cover made of climbing roses I think. Or a grape vine. Its length thirty or forty feet. It was (still is for us who knew her) the bower of The White Lady. She stands at the far end. Alone. Headless. A fearful place to be after dark.

            On nights when there is a full moon, her marble skin reflects a white light all around her and it is well recorded that she walks, minus her head, around the garden looking for same before settling back on her plinth to await yet another full moon.

            Sometimes, if we remembered, we would tip-toe as close as we dared and hide behind the bushes and wait with breath held, eyes bulging, in the hope that she would go walkabout. At the slightest noise or movement we fled in all directions screaming and laughing hysterically.

            Forty-six years later I took my husband to see Bawdsey Manor and we found a security man at the gate-house. He let us inside the grounds but only far enough to allow us to take a picture. He told us that it was a bad day for visitors unless you were part of a group of wealthy Arabs who were viewing the manor because it was going for auction in the near future.  He told us that the government had finally decided to sell it after allowing it to stand empty for thirty-five years. I asked him if the White Lady was still there.

            ‘Yes!’ He said,  ‘and the tales of her moonlit walks.’

            I’ve never wanted a lot of money but when I heard that I wished I had the million and a half pounds to buy the house and grounds, then some more millions to restore it and some more millions to enable me to live in it.

            I would leave the White Lady without her head but I expect some non-sentimental filthy rich Arab will remove her and in her place will stand some vulgar, extravagant flapdoodle. Gold plated I shouldn’t wonder. You see how unrelentingly British I am?

Nadia Simpson.   Sunshine Coast.    Australia .     Dec. 2004 

From Keith ('Alfie') Bass. (Bawdsey 1967)

In my 22 years in the RAF I spent most of my time mis-employed in drawing offices in and not has an ADO/ASOP. One of the things I would do was to paint a cartoon representation of each unit I served at. The one I painted for Bawdsey was called Bawdsey Hare Hops (approx 3' x 2'6'') and depicted the every day antics of the station run by members of the Royal Hare Force. The  attachment will give you an idea of the characters, unfortunately the other attachment explains what happened to it and I believe that Grp Capt Rhodes died in an accident in the Far-East shortly after leaving Bawdsey, so I have no idea what became of it.

                Click on thumbnails.

From John Holland (1952 - 56)