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H. Salmon WWII Letters - Part 1

jcduncan8

If you have read the Peter Heywood letters also on this blog (If not, i recommend them), you will know that Peter joined the RAF and went to Rhodesia for pilot training, he became a Sergeant pilot, but ended up becoming an instructor in Rhodesia for the remainder of the war. This young chap Herbert Salmon who’s letters I am about to share, also joined the RAF and went to Rhodesia to train as a pilot. Both Peter and Herbert went to the same place, but likely never met, sadly Herbert or ‘Bert’ as he was known to his family will not get to go home at the end of the war and is one of the many young men buried abroad. This is his story in his own words via his letters.


The first letter is sent home to Kent in June 1942 and his address is ‘C Squadron, Flt. 7/48, 6 Hall Road, Regeants Park NW8’:


“Dear Mum, I got back just in time on Sunday and had a pretty easy time standing at the window of the orderly sergeants room watching the people go past. All the other poor blokes were given fatigues in the cook house and when Bill and I (he’s the bloke who was in the orderly sergeants room with me), when we went down for supper, we got a double helping of everything.

We’ve just had dinner (a very nice beef stew with trifle afterward) and we’ve got an hours rest before an afternoon of drill and P.T. This morning we spent three very peaceful hours in the Odeon Swiss Cottage listening to lectures and watching some films. I think most of us went to sleep – I did, I needed it. I think we’ve got an anti gas lecture this afternoon, so that will be a chance for another quiet snooze.

I’m going over to the Ministry tonight to try and see hockie – would you mind very much if I went down there next Sunday Mum- he says the invitation is open if I like to take it, so if you don’t mind I think I’ll go down next Sunday for the day. I can be sure of a decent day. I shall definitely be home on Saturday, I think I’ll come down by train, it’s pretty expensive, but it’s worth it, and that means that I shall be home about the same time as last week.

Well Mum, I can’t find anything more to write about, and we’re on parade in 10 mins, so I must close now. Kind regards to everyone, love from Bert”



The next time Bert wrote a letter home was Tuesday 15th June 1942:


“Dear Mum, Dad and Kids, Am just managing to scribble a few hurried lines before I go on parade. I only just made it on Sunday evening, I wished I’d have caught that early train now, the 9.45 came in at 3 minutes to ten and got to Victoria at 12 minutes past ten. I knew I’d never do it by bus, so I had to jump in a taxi and tell the driver to ‘step on it’. It was a waste of money, the fare was 3/6, but he got me in by 10.31 and the orderly sergeant put a note on my card that the clock was a minute fast, so I only just made it, but I mustn’t leave it as late as that again. It’s too much of a rush and too damned expensive.

I think there is something in the wind up here, three of the lads including Gillie, the medical student, have been posted to Hornchurch in Essex. So last night, we all went out on the ‘wallop’. For some reason or other, they gave us a special pay parade yesterday (Monday), I drew £2, but I made a bit of a hole in that last night. They’re all complaining of headaches in our room here.

Well I really must close now Mum, I’ve got to clean my boots and buttons before parade at 8 o clock so until I’m home again, all the best to everyone, and love from Bert”



The next day Bert wrote again as he had just heard that his flight was to be posted overseas, it is the 17 June 1942:


Dear Mum, You’ll probably be very surprised to hear from me again this week, but I’ve just had definite news that the whole of our flight is on an overseas posting, and as far as I can gather, if everything goes alright, I shall be home on Saturday for 10 days (embarkation leave I suppose). I haven’t the faintest idea where we shall be going, there’s all sorts of rumours going about, but the general opinion seems to be that it will be Canada.

I thought that they were leading up to it by issuing flying kit and giving us a special pay parade on Monday. Anyway we’re having a lovely time up here, all we do is sit on our beds, smoking and singing, there’s absolutely nothing for us to do. I went over to Covent Garden last night with one of the fellows in our flight, there is one advantage of being in uniform, they only charge a shilling to go in over there if you’re in uniform.

Well I really must close now, I’m on parade in 5 mins and I’ve got 90 steps to go down. I’ll try and ring tomorrow and let you know what time I’ll be home. See you all on Saturday, love from Bert”



The next letter isn’t dated, but just says ‘Friday 8.45am’ I believe it is Friday 3rd July 1942 because he is still waiting to leave the country, he must have had his 10 days of leave and is now back at camp:


“Dear Mum, Dad and Kids, just thought I’d drop you a line as we’re not on parade until 10 o clock, the final inspection, by the Group Captain. I’m afraid it certainly looks as if we’ll be off tomorrow morning, we’ve had nothing but inspections ever since we got back here. Doddy couldn’t get out until late last night so I’m going to have a good drink with him tonight. He’ll be out early I think.

We were paid yesterday, I got 30/- and we were told that we were going to get another months pay at our next station, presumably Brighton. I went down to the Regal, Marble Arch last night, it was a jolly good show, although it cost us 2/6 each to get in. We saw the film ‘Blues in the Night’ and there was also a stage show, an orchestra with the Three in Harmony. Then we went along to a café and had sausage, mash and baked beans, and after that a pint of wallop, which went down very well as I think I put too much salt and pepper on my grub. But on the whole, it was a pretty good evening out, and we all thoroughly enjoyed it.

Well I haven’t time for much more, Mum, we’ve got to be absolutely spick and span for the Group Captain, and I must wash and change into my best blue. I expect this will be my last letter from St Johns Wood, but I’ll write as soon as we get to Brighton, or better still, I try and get home from there. Anyway, it’s no use writing from here any more, and it’s no good your writing to me here, so don’t write until you get my Brighton address. Must close now Mum, Regards to everyone, all my love, Bert. P.S look out for Doddy on Saturday”


On the 4th July 1942 Bert wrote from the Grand Hotel in Brighton, this is the same place that Peter Heywood stayed, except Peter will be there in March of 1943. Bert wrote:


“ Dear Mum, well, as you can see from the above address, we are now in the Grand Hotel on the sea front at Brighton. We left London on the 9.28 this morning, and we were in our billets here at 12.

(continued at 12 midnight)

Have just got back from an anti invasion exercise which is on all night. All our flight were marched to a school about 2 miles from the hotel and there informed that we were casualties as a result of a bomb dropping in the school playground. I myself had a label tied on me which read:-

‘Fractured limbs on left side-no complications’

But anyhow, I was carted off to hospital on a stretcher and actually had a nice ride round Brighton in a first aid car.

It’s not too bad down here, they’re stricter on discipline than St Johns Wood, but we’re in lovely billets and decent grub, and it’s quite a change to be beside the sea.

Well I really must close now Mum, I’m feeling terribly tired and all the other fellows want me to “put that b----y light out” I mustn’t keep them awake. Please drop me a line as soon as possible at the above address, it will be all right as I think we shall be here some time. Cheerio for now, your loving son, Bert”



Still at the hotel in Brighton, Bert wrote home again on 9th July 1942:


“ Dear, Mum, Dad and kids, I haven’t received a letter from you at the time of writing this one, but I thought I’d drop you a line because I’ve nothing else to do. I’m on duty tonight, and all I have to do is sit on a window seat at the top of the stairs leading to the floor on which we’re billeted, and sign the fellows of our flight in and out. I’m on from 6.15 til 10.30 tonight and I’ve got to stay in here all the time.

We held a squadron dance in the ballroom of the Grand Hotel here last night, the ticket enabled us to stay out til 11.59 last night, so naturally everyone bought one, including me – which left me with 2/6 and by the time I’d bought myself some cigarettes and a drink, I found myself with sixpence, so if you could send me a few shillings by registered mail, or better still, a postal order, I’d be very much obliged Mum. Has Gordon got that fire-watching money yet, if so you might send that along.

I think the plans must have gone wrong about our staying here for a few days only, because they’ve put us on a lecture course down here, consisting of Maths, Morse and Aircraft recognition. It seems to me that we are beginning our I.T.W. here, because we pass out of I.T.W. at 6 words per minute in Morse, and we’ve had so much practice that I can already do 10 words a minute. It’s the same with the Maths, I absolutely walked through a test I.T.W. examination that we had – although I could have passed it before I came to Brighton I think.

Well Mum, what do you think of Doddy in his uniform, or didn’t you see him. I dropped him a line earlier in the week, but give him my best regards if you see him again this weekend, and as usual, best regards to everyone, your ever loving son, Bert”



Bert must have managed to get home for a visit shortly after the last letter, because his next letter on 13th July 1942 mentions his problems with getting trains back to base:


“Dear Mum and Dad, Well I managed to get back in time last night, but you can tell that silly old b---r on the gate of Bromley South that he very nearly got me 7 days CB. I enquired twice about that 7.42, and when I came out of the station on Saturday and again on Sunday afternoon, and both times they said that it was running all night. However, you remember when that Holborn train came in Mum, and I went up to the stationmaster and asked him what had happened to the 7.42, and he said it wasn’t running. Just as he spoke, the 2 mins to 8 train to Victoria came in so I got that. It was a slow train and got to Victoria at 8.28, just in time for me to see the 8.28 to Brighton go out. Luckily however there was an 8.30 which stopped at various stations down in Sussex, and which got to Brighton about 10.10 and I just managed to get in in time, which is the main thing. I didn’t have time to get anything at Victoria of course, so when I got back, I got one of the guards to go into the cook house and see what he could scrounge. He managed to get me a couple of buns and a mugful of milk (about 1 pint) so I didn’t do so badly really.

I got the registered letter today Mum at dinner time, thanks very much, and I enquired about that other one but they said it hadn’t arrived at the station so they couldn’t do anything about it. I’ll just have to wait and see if it turns up. There’s a rumour going round that we’re moving on Friday, in which case, I’m afraid Bognor will be out of the question, but it’s only a rumour, and I’ve heard those before. Well Mum, I think that’s all, and it’s getting dark, I think I’ll be saying cheerio, all my love Bert”


It seems that the rumour came true, because the next time Bert writes he is at West Kirby in Cheshire and it is the 18th July 1942:


“Dear Mum and Dad, just a short line to let you know that I arrived here safely after an all - night train journey. We left Brighton at 11pm last night (Friday) and when we got out of the train this morning at 6.00 am we were at West Kirby station. It was marvellous how that train went, I didn’t know a line existed from the Southern to the L.M.S.

It was raining like hell when we got out of the train and we had to cart our full pack with us to some lorries which took us to the camp here. It’s not a bad place here, and looks something like Biggin Hill with all the huts (there are about 40 of us in a hut) but they’re pretty big and there’s more room than we had at Brighton really. There was a whole train load of us at Brighton, and we were packed in pretty well. I managed to get a corner seat and I got a couple of hours kip, but it was pretty tiring really. We seem to be miles from anywhere up here. I’m told that its three miles to the nearest town, which is West Kirby, and there’s one bus a day, so it looks as if I shall be doing quite a bit of walking. We’ve got a loud speaker in every hut here which is connected up to the squadron offices.

I understand from the notices on the door here that every effort is made to give cadets the full amount of embarkation leave, so it is quite possible that we shall get a bit more, but I shouldn’t bank on it too much. I suppose it depends on the sailing date of the ship.

Have you heard whether Doddy has been posted yet, if so, you might let me have his address. Please give kindest regards to Aunt Ada and Uncle Syd and tell them I’m sorry I couldn’t get out to see them. All my love Bert. P.S. Send me a stick of rock from Bognor”



The final letter for July is dated 22nd July 1942, Bert wrote quite a long letter home from West Kirby, detailing what it is like there and what they must do each day:


“Dear Mum, Dad and Kids, Many thanks for your letter which I received after tea tonight. Very glad to know that you’re having a good time and that the weather is ok. It’s absolutely putrid up here, while I’m writing, the rain is heaving down outside and has been doing so all day. Well I didn’t have time to tell you much about this place in my last letter, but now that we’ve settled down, it’s turned out to be not so bad. The only trouble is, we’ve absolutely nothing at all to do. We get up at 7.30 (some difference to Brighton’s 5.30) and we don’t have to parade until 9 o clock and from then onward, the rest of the day is ours. I forgot to tell you, we’re billeted in huts up here, about 30 in one long hut with double decker bunks and hooks and shelves for our kit. Incidentally, on Sunday morning, we went down to the stores to draw tropical kit – khaki jackets, shirts and shorts, shoes, stockings and a topee – it was funny to see us all trying the stuff on when we got back to billets, it looked just like the Relief of Mafeking. However don’t worry Mum, tropical kit is issued to everyone who goes overseas, and you usually wind up by handing it all back.

We have much better recreation hours up here, allowed out every night, from 5 pm to midnight, and from 1.30 on sat and Sunday, but the trouble is, it’s so damned expensive up here. I had some tea in Hoylake (1/2 hours walk from camp) on Sunday, a small piece of meat roll with a bit of salad and bread and butter, and tea, that cost me 2/6. The stuff up here is expensive, and you don’t get much of it. There is also an acute shortage of cigarettes up here, you can’t get any at all in West Kirby or Hoylake, and we’re rationed to 5 per day from the N.A.A.F.I. so if you could send me a few of any sort whatsoever, I should be very pleased Mum, Weights or Woodbines or anything like that.

So poor old Doddy’s been sent to Ludlow the concentration camp – I don’t envy him, especially if the weather there is as bad as it is here. I’ve given up cleaning my boots now, they’re filthy after 5 minutes wear. However that was a good idea to give Mrs D my address for Doddy, you might give her my kindest regards when you see her again, and Mr Dodson.

I hope you found Aunt Ada and Uncle Syd in the best of health, give them my kind regards and I hope Uncle Syd doesn’t tell you to ‘push off’ on Saturday. Is the beach entirely roped off. I suppose it is, that’s a bang in the eye for Rusty, he can’t take on his old job of anchor inspector now can he? I suppose you didn’t think of getting my camera fixed up for this week, if you did, you might let me have a look at some of the snaps when you get them developed.

I’m afraid that it doesn’t look as if we’re going to get any more leave from here Mum, in fact we’re only waiting for the word go and we shall be off from here. As soon as we know definitely when we are going, I’ll try and get a wire off, although it’s very difficult, you’re watched all the time. Anyway if suddenly my letters stop, it’s no good worrying Mum because it’ll be some time before I can get word to you from wherever we’re going, and I’ve no idea whatsoever where that’ll be.

Well there’s not much more to say Mum except will you keep my money handy because I think I shall need some as I don’t think we’re going to get paid at all here any more. Am going to get some supper now, have a good time and don’t worry, all my love, Bert”



The next letter isn’t dated, but Bert has just got aboard his ship to sail abroad and is writing a few lines home, I am guessing it is the beginning of August 1942:


“ Dear Mum and Dad, Am just managing to get off a line to you from the ship before we sail. This is the last letter you’ll receive from me for some time now, but you can write as much as you like to the above address, and your letters will eventually reach me. By the way, please take careful note of that address, it’s different from the last one, and you might spread it around because everyone else I wrote to has a different address, which isn’t detailed enough.

Well Mum and Dad, I hope you enjoyed your week at Bognor, and that you feel the benefit of it. I should have liked to have got across from Brighton, but we were moved too soon I’m afraid. I slept last night in a hammock for the first time, quite comfortable really, it makes me feel as if I’m in the Navy and not in the RAF. I expect Rusty had a good time at Bognor in spite of the fact that he couldn’t get down on the beach to carry on his old job of anchor inspector.

By the way Mum, if you have any photographs of any of you taken any time in the future, don’t forget to let me have one of them, and also Mum, would it be possible for you to let me have a ‘local rag’ now and again just to see how the old home town is going on.

Well I haven’t time for much more now Mum, but I will say that where we are now, we get plenty of chocolate and cigarettes at 20 for 8d, that’ll make Dad wild I bet. Well I must say goodbye for now Mum, Dad and kids, don’t worry, I’m perfectly safe, kindest regards to all from your ever loving son, Bert”



I can only imagine Bert must have been feeling quite home sick by this point, and with the prospect of leaving everyone and everything he knows behind. He wrote again while still travelling aboard the ship, which I believe was the S.S. Rangitiki due to that being written on the back of a certificate celebrating ‘The Baptism of the Equator’ with the date 18th August 1942. Bert wrote on the 8th August 1942:


“Dear Mum, Dad and kids, Just another line to let you know that I’m still ok. We don’t have to pay for letters, so I thought I’d let you have another as I’ve nothing much to do. I really don’t know what to say, I could tell you an awful lot, but of course, it wouldn’t get past the censor. However, I think I can say that by the time you receive this letter, we shall have reached our destination.

As an afterthought on my previous letter, I asked you to get Dad to let me have his brothers address in South Africa. I don’t know if he has any idea of it at all, but if he does know anything about his whereabouts he might let me know. I know it’s a big place, but one never knows who I am going to come across out there. It would be just fine if I could meet my long lost Uncle out there wouldn’t it. By the way Dad, don’t let Mum do all the work of answering these letters, let me have a line or two from you, and Les too if he likes, the more the merrier. Incidentally Mum, if you can get some of the family to write I should appreciate it very much. Tell them I’ll answer every letter I receive from them.

We are seeing some very interesting things out here now. The sunrise and sunset in the tropics is really wonderful, and the sea is the bluest that I’ve ever seen, at night you can see little flashes of light coming from the wash against the sides of the ship, it’s the phosphorence in the foam, and it’s really an amazing sight. I’ve seen also dozens and dozens of flying fish, they are only about six inches long and have wings shaped like a Spitfire. They suddenly appear out of the water in front of the ship, and swoop along the tops of the waves then disappear just as suddenly as they came. Tell Rusty I’ll catch one for him and send it home, if I can get near enough to put salt on its tail. This morning, as I was taking some fresh air on deck before breakfast, I saw a school of porpoises – huge fish which keep on leaping out of the water like salmon. They are really marvellous to watch.

I don’t know how you spent August bank holiday, but it was one of the quietest I’ve ever had. In fact, I didn’t realise it was a bank holiday until I asked the reason why we had an extra cake and an apple apiece for tea. Then I suddenly remembered Rusty’s birthday was on the 4th, so I have written a letter wishing him many happy returns. You’ll probably get it the same time as this one.

There’s just one more thing before I close Mum, could you possibly get a copy of the local rag every week and send it on to me, just to let me know how the old home town is going on. Well there’s nothing more to say Mum, except that I’m perfectly safe and am quite enjoying the experience. I’ll write again as soon as we’re settled down at our destination, so until then, I am your ever loving son, Bert.”


An amusing baptism of the equator certificate given to Bert when he sailed to Africa.

To be continued...

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