Pilot Officer Fred Anderson M.I.D. 'Tall Fred' was born 9th August 1920. He was still 19 years old when he enlisted in the RAAF at RAAF Station Richmond, NSW on the 29th July 1940. This was almost 2 years before 30SQN formed at this air base. He married Ethel Cartwright during the war around the time 30SQN formed. He was a Sergeant and navigator, he arrived at 30 Squadron on 6 July 1942 and flew 48 sorties with pilot Pilot Officer J R Brazenor. He left 30 Squadron on 4 May 1943 and completed a second tour with 31 Squadron arriving on 6 March 1944 and flew 29 sorties with Flight Lieutenant J A P Boyd. He left 31 Squadron on 2 December 1944 and was discharged from the RAAF on 23 May 1945 with the rank of Flying Officer whilst serving at 2 Air Observer School. 

He was interviewed by George Dick and recorded on cassette tape at Glenbrook, NSW on 31st October 1990
 

Having just finished my bombing and gunnery training at No 2 Bombing and Gunnery School at Port Pirie, been categorised as a Wireless Air Observer and promoted to Sergeant, I went by train to RAAF Station Richmond to join a newly-formed operational unit — No. 30 Squadron — arriving there early in July 1942. Other Sergeant WAO's who had been on my course at Port Pirie came to the squadron from at the same time as I did included Danny K Box, Stewart F Cameron, George C Carnegie, Norman E Greasley and Ronald C Sillett. I'm not sure whether Sergeant J R Wilson came from Port Pirie at the same time as I did or whether he came a few weeks later.

Other pilots and wireless air observers were at Richmond when I arrived, as the Squadron had formed some six weeks earlier. I see from Neville Parnell's book that the unit was formed at Richmond on 9th March 1942 and that Squadron Leader Charles Read was its temporary commander. I never came across him there; we took our orders from Wing Commander Brian (Blackjack) Walker, who had assumed command on 4th June.

A couple of days after my arrival at Richmond I looked out the window of our classroom and saw an odd-looking aircraft on the tarmac. Somebody said that it was the plane we were going to fly in and it was called a Beaufighter. I'd never seen or heard of it before — in fact, until then I had no idea what my posting to Richmond was all about. Nobody had bothered to tell me at Port Pirie (perhaps they didn’t know) and nobody at Richmond thought to fill me in.

Initially, ground training occupied most of the WAO's time art Richmond, the focus being on some new Australian radio equipment manufactured by Amalgamated Wireless Australia. While we were reasonably familiar with the 1082/1083 gear fitted in the Oxford and Anson aircraft in which we had done our training, we had never seen or even heard of this AT5/AR8 equipment before, and we spent quite a few hours getting to know it. The transmitter and the receiver had to be manually tuned for, in common with other airborne radios in the RAAF, they weren't fitted with crystals at that time.

We did this radio familiarization in a small square brick building fronting the tarmac, and between two igloo hangars; it is still standing today (1990). Our instructors were Warrant Officer Lenny Greenhill, who had returned from England where he had flown in Sunderlands of No 10 Squadron, and Warrant Officer 'Caesar' O'Connor — also recently returned from the UK. Lenny Greenhill knew his job pretty well, and I think that he knew that he knew it too. 'Caesar' was a different kettle of fish — a happy-go-lucky fellow. Both of these fellows passed on a tip that they had used in their Sunderlands: if you flashed an Aldis lamp fitted with a red filter, the pilot of enemy aircraft might be deluded into thinking you were firing tracer and either break off or keep a healthy distance away.

A lot of the pilots were ex-flying instructors that I think Blackjack Walker knew; he'd been up in Darwin with Wirraways, and a some of the pilots and navigators were Permanent Air Force fellows who'd been with him up there. Some other pilots had come back from UK; they'd been on Beaufighters over there. The chap I had, Bob Brazenor — he'd been over there. And Jack Sandford, who later became Commanding Officer of 30 Squadron he'd been over there in the UK too. Jack was decorated with a DSO and a DFC.

Squadron Bruce Rose (who had lost a leg flying in Beaufighters in the UK) was the Chief Flying Instructor during that 'operational conversion/refresher' training period at Richmond. The pilots included Flight Lieutenant Ross Little, 'Torchy' Uren, Dick Roe (he was killed while flying upside down in a Vultee Vengeance during an air pageant in Melbourne after he came back from New Guinea). He was my idol as a pilot — well-built, handsome, and a bonzer bloke.

I imagine the pilots were studying the Pilot's Notes for the Beaufighter, brushing up on its handling characteristics, and discussing among themselves the use of this aeroplane in its operational role. When the Wireless Air Observers weren't delving into the innards of the AR5/AT8 radio gear we were out there getting to know the aircraft allotted to our squadron.

Bob Brazenor and I became crewed up a week or so after I reported in to the unit orderly room at Richmond. I don't know how the pilot/navigator partnerships came about — the names might have been drawn from a hat, or perhaps one of the instructors just drew up a list at random. Maybe the Squadron's Commanding Officer ('Blackjack' Walker) made the allocations himself.

Eventually, pilots and navigators got to fly together on familiarisation flights in the local area. We took off from Richmond on my first flight in a Beaufighter just after morning tea on 28th July. During the one-hour flight my pilot did some formation flying and then fired his armament at the gunnery range. My air experience in the Beaufighter before we took off for our war station in New Guinea amounted to just on 21 hours, of which some 5 hours were night flying. Most of that was in local flying, but there was a grand total of two 'long-range' flights — one to Narrandera, one to Cootamundra and Jervis Bay.

That one was at night and gave us quite a scare, for we met extensive cloud cover as we flew up the coast from Jervis Bay, and when my ETA for Sydney was up we couldn't see any sign of the place. Bob decided to head out to sea for some miles and if low cloud still persisted, make a cautious descent, come back westwards, and if we can't make it, then we'll bail out. We did break out of the cloud just above the drome at around midnight and somewhere less than three hundred metres. Due to the blackout conditions applying to all coastal towns at that time we had been unable to get a ground fix.

The AT5/AR8 sets were the only radio communications equipment fitted to the Beaufighters at Richmond. Pilot and navigator wore face masks which incorporated a microphone, controlled by a thumb-switch on its uppermost surface. I tuned the transmitter and receiver so that the pilot could talk to the tower, but when we got outside of the local area I had to tune the sets to the Aeradio frequencies (6540 and 4495 kcs) and send them position reports by Morse. We used this civil communications facility because the RAAF didn't have its own network in Australia to talk to non-operational aircraft.

After a mere three weeks undertaking the 'operational conversion/training' activities at Richmond, the squadron was deployed northwards to its operational base in New Guinea. Bob and I flew Beaufighter A19-15 from Richmond to Townsville (Bohle River) on 17th August 1942. We had two of the groundstaff as passengers — AC1 Carmichael and AC1 Breen (an Instrument Maker). That aircraft we took to New Guinea was one of the 72 Beaufighters built by the Fairey Aviation Co at Stockport, UK, but modified for RAAF service. It was to remain our aircraft for the whole of our tour; it was written off after a belly-landing at RAAF Station Williamtown.

My Flying Log Book shows that on 10th September we made a 4 hour flight from Townsville to Fall River in Eastern New Guinea, and contains the annotation "To Battle — Milne Bay".

We undertook a number of training flights from the aerodromes at Garbutt and Bohle River — where we were camped. We did at least three gunnery exercises out on the Barrier Reef, and some formation flying. The Squadron — or maybe one of the Flights — made a practice deployment down to Charters Towers, the groundstaff taking 11 hours to come back in the train.

Japanese flying boats had recently made two or three attacks on Townsville, but their bombs had dropped harmlessly in the harbour. We were sent up one night to intercept a Japanese raider — the searchlights and were also involved — but when we closed on that aircraft at about 20,000 feet and picked it up in the searchlights, Bob Brazenor recognized it as a B17. When he told ground control, he was recalled, because it turned out to be an exercise. Control had told everybody else but us.

On another occasion when a raid was expected we were sent up to defend the p;ace, but when our aircraft got to about 20,000 feet, Bob Brazenor discovered that he had forgotten to bring his oxygen mask. There wasn't much point in giving him my mask because I certainly couldn't continue without oxygen either. So down we went, quite quickly.

We were camped in tents which were close to the strip at Bohle River, where there were plenty of dust, plenty of flies, kookaburras and magpies. We relieved our boredom by going out in the bush and firing off our revolvers.

'A' Flight was deployed from Bohle River to Milne Bay and while we there Len Vial and Ralph Nelson managed to write off a Hudson during take-off. The afternoon we got to Milne Bay our aircraft ran off the steel matting and got bogged in the mud; we weren't able to manhandle it out by nightfall, so we were sent off to get some sleep. We were put up in the Sick Quarters which already accommodated a native boy who had been shot up and whose leg had gone gangrenous. The stench was revolting. I believe he recovered and got some decoration for bravery and for being the only survivor from a small boat that had been attacked.

The Beaufighters weren't very active there, but the Kittyhawks always seemed to be in the air and the Hudsons of 6 Squadron were often out on bombing attacks. We sat around playing cards most of the time. The Japanese were all round the strip, for no sooner had the Kittyhawks taken off than they were firing their guns at nearby targets. The natives caught quite a few enemy soldiers, and their attitude was obvious when they brought their prisoners in because they just tipped them unceremoniously on the ground as though they were bags of potatoes. Quite a few Japs were killed in the immediate area of the strip and these were buried with a bulldozer. You'd be walking around the area and see a hand or foot sticking out of the ground.

There were some Beauforts at Milne Bay at that time, probably No 100 Squadron, and they were doing torpedo attacks, although I don't think they had any great success at that time. One of the Beauforts returned with a torpedo still attached, but when the aircraft landed the torpedo fell off and went haring off down the strip in front of the aircraft. It didn't go off, but it certainly caused a stir.
We were at Milne Bay from 10th to 25th September 1942, at which time we flew to Wards Strip at Moresby.

We went back to Milne Bay on a deployment from 3rd October to 19th.

Our tent at June Valley was already set up for occupation, although I think we dug our own trench. During one of the air raids I'd jumped into the trench but hadn't been in it for more than a minute or two when I heard an almighty rushing sound, which I took to be a bomb, and believed that I was about to be blown to smithereens. Then something hit me across the back — which turned out to be either Bob Cummins or Alan Kirley from the next door tent; they'd been asleep and were woken by the ack ack guns, and as they hadn't got round to digging their own trench, and thought that mine was the place to be that night. Alan said that he had been dreaming about going home on leave at the time of being woken, and when the all clear was given, was going back to sleep to find out what he did on that leave.

There wasn't much to do around the camp if you weren't flying. We spent a good deal of time down at the strip, talking to the engine fitter and the airframe fitter who looked after our plane, and fiddling with the wireless gear to make sure it was in tip-top condition. A lot of the other aircrew played cards, but that didn't interest me.

I had a hand-wound gramophone but only two records — 'Abide With Me', and 'Lead Kindly Light'. I don't think that either Padre Reeve or Padre Kirby ever invited me to take my machine to one of their church services. Padre Reeve was a later warded an OBE for services to the Sydney City Mission. The Padres would come round the camp and chat to the chaps in their tents. It seemed to me that Padre Kirby was not so much interested in providing aid and comfort as he was in collecting material which could be used in the novel which he published a few years later.

Damien Parer visited the Squadron during March 1943 and in addition to making a cine film of the Bismark Sea episode, took quite a few stills around the camp. We also had a visit from a war artist — Dennis Adams — who did quite a number of pencil sketches, including one of me in the back of a truck.

Peter Parker didn't came to Moresby with the Squadron but went back south around about Xmas time. Peter and Blackjack seemed to be good mates; both of them wore Lugers. Peter sent up a crate containing a couple of dozen bottles of beer and Blackjack was looking forward to having a whale of a party. You should have heard what he said when he opened them and found that they were filled with water!

The crew in the next tent to ours — probably that occupied by Bob Cummins and Alan Kirley — made up a brew of jungle juice in a kerosine tin. It was made up of apples, sultanas, coconut juice and other things and because they had screwed the lid back on the tin and the yeasty gas couldn't escape, the whole thing blew up one night and took the side out of their tent.

Letters home were supposed to be censored by an officer, and he would cut out any bits that gave specifics of our aircraft, operations, location, and so on. I used to give mine to Bob Brazenor and he would sign them without reading them, trusting me not to have broken the rules.

One of the most frightening and terrifying things that I saw was when a B24 was came back to do a night landing. He appears to have mistaken Wards Strip for Jacksons, and was making his approach when he saw our Beaufighter making its landing approach to Wards, at which time he swung off his approach run, hit the top of one hill, bounced off that onto the top of the next hill, where the aircraft and its bomb load simply exploded. A dreadful sight.

We didn't do too many night operations, but on one occasion we were sent out to strafe four destroyers which were lurking about to the north of Lae. Some genius at Operational Group Headquarters had prescribed that we should make our staffing runs on those vessels by the light of flares. But it was hopeless. The pilots simply couldn't handle that — for one thing they had no idea where the horizon was.

Probably the most tragic event which affected me personally was the fatal accident when Bruce Stephens was on the approach to Wards in A19-14, and he must have hit a tree because the aircraft went in just at the end of the strip, killing the pilot, and his navigator, Stewart Cameron. The Beaufighter just blew up, and we were standing watching it, all helpless as they burned to death in their cockpits. A dreadful sight which I've never forgotten. Stewart and I were quite good mates, and he had been extremely helpful during our signals and observer training. He was a real brain. He could pick up mathematics in a wink, whereas I found them a bit of a struggle. He took me under his wing. Another one of our navigators — Bill ('Tiny') Cameron was later killed in a Beaufort from Nowra which crashed into the sea.

On 13th October 1942 we were ordered to carry out an attack on Buna and the Beaufighters were climbing in formation to get over the Owen Stanley ranges when Tom Butterfield called out over the R/T that he couldn't make it, and ploughed into the side of a hill. Tom and his navigator, Jim Wilson, were killed, and that was in A19-68.

I was down at Wards the day that Blackjack pranged his Beaufighter. Just as he was about to touch down, another aircraft taxied on to the runway, so the CO bounced his own aircraft over the top of the intruder and, of course, landed so heavily on the other side that his undercart collapsed.

We were attacking Lae on one occasion when we lost an engine in A19-15, not because of enemy action, but they had shot away our trim tab with a point five shell. We had to make a forced landing in a small clearing in the jungle near Dobodura. We went back to Moresby for the night, and I came back with Ron Uren the next day, and he flew the plane out and back to Wards after the mechanics had made the necessary repairs. That was on Saturday, 6th February 1943. Some of the Americans who saw the engine with the cowls off wanted to know where the tappets were. That was the day, incidentally, that the Yanks had shot down 21 enemy planes at Wau, without sustaining any losses themselves.

Some time earlier we had been on an Army co-operation mission at Wau. The Japanese strip were at one of the strip and the Japanese were at the other end of the incline. The Army were supposed to use smoke signals to show us where the enemy soldiers were, but as we never saw any smoke, we strafed what we thought was the Japanese position. Many years later I met a soldier who had been there at the time and he said it was a most frightening experience to see and hear the Beaufighters attack with machine guns and cannons blazing. He also said that we very nearly wiped out the enemy hiding in the trees at the bottom of the strip.

Our own soldiers often complained that we were never around when they were in a tough position, and they probably doubted that their own Air Force was even in New Guinea. So we were sent over to put on a display at the Kanuzi river, near Buna, and not only show them that we were around, but show them what a Beaufighter could do. It was all low-level stuff, and when we landed we found some leaves and branches in our undercart.

On another occasion — early in January 1943 — we were sent out to find a B24 which had crash-landed in the Buna area and eventually sighted some of the crew about a mile north of Mambare. One of them wrote a message in the sand that they wanted food, matches, maps, and shoes. Jim Yeatman and I dropped them our boots, what food we had in our aircraft, a medical kit, and a map on which I had indicated their present positions together with a message that an enemy patrol was nearby. We heard later that they had been rescued and were flown back to Moresby.

I imagine that everyone was a little bit apprehensive when we went out on a strike — you wouldn't have been normal if you weren't. And I suppose there were one or times when I was a little bit scared. I wasn't a bit concerned when, on one of our first operations to Buna, I saw quite a number of little black puffs floating by; they looked so inoffensive. Bob Brazenor called out to ask me if I had seen them, and it wasn't till he reminded me that these were Ack Ack explosions from gunners who were trying to shoot us down that I hoisted in the situation. When we landed we found a few holes in the aircraft's fuselage and that brought home to me that this flying game was quite serious.

Yes, I suppose I was a bit concerned, but I accepted that if I was to die then I would die. There was nothing much I could do about it. A lot of fellows had been killed either by enemy action or flying accident, and it was in my mind that if it was my turn to go then that would be it. We were told that if we were ever shot down or forced down in enemy territory we should avoid being taken prisoner, because they had heard about the treatment prisoners had been getting. I suppose we were prepared to kill ourselves if we were ever to be in that situation.

Since I wore shorts, short-sleeved shirt, and soft-leather flying boots, it would seem that I never gave serious consideration to the idea of surviving in the jungle if we ever came down. Those clothes would not have lasted more than a few days in that sort of environment.

The conditions inside the Beaufighter flying at low level in the tropics more-or-less dictated the wearing of light and comfortable clothes. The most torrid time for the navigator was when he had to move forward from his station to change the cannon drums. He would be draped about with a web belt to which was attached his revolver and pouch, ammunition pouch, water bottle, and survival kit; he would be wearing the most awkward life jacket ever invented, a jungle knife strapped to his leg, and trussed up in a tight-fitting parachute harness. And while the pilot was throwing the aircraft round in tight turns in the target area, the navigator would have the struggle of removing the heavy drums from the cannons and replacing them with the heavier drums filled with 20mm shells. And inevitably, the cord from the navigator's microphone and headphones would snag in some protrusion and nearly jerk his head off.

The pilot got in and out of the Beaufighter through a hatch which was essentially a section of the floor which opened outwards and downwards, and which could be locked in either the open or closed position. We were over Buna when our hatch in A19-15 flew open and Bob Brazenor called me to come down and close it because, not only was it noisy and windy inside the aircraft, but the aircraft's performance was being affected. So I had to straddle this gaping aperture, looking straight down at the tops of palm trees whopping past us only a few feet below us. That was quite a frightening experience.

We were intercepted by Zeros a couple of times over Lae, but we were able to get down on the deck over the sea and since they couldn't overtake us, they would eventually turn back. There wasn't a great deal of difference in their respective speeds, but the Beaufighter had a slight edge at low level. Our job wasn't to take on the enemy fighters in the air, but to take them out on the ground. Other targets were the enemy installations, their barges, luggers, and ships, supply dumps, and vehicles.

Just to the rear of the cupola, and above the radio crates there was an aperture to accommodate the Verey Pistol. Nearby was a canvas stowage pouch which contained a number of Verey cartridges and I often fired some of these off. I had the idea that they might start a fire among the ground installations, so Bob would let me know when we approaching something appropriate and I would fire a cartridge, not though its proper aperture, but downwards, through the flare chute. I shouldn't imagine that it caused any damage but it gave me some personal satisfaction that I had actually discharged a weapon at the enemy.

Our activities on 3rd, 4th, and 5th March 1943 - during the Bismark Sea Battle — were certainly the most exciting; there was so much happening and so many planes involved. Bob Brazenor and I did four sorties, including two on one day.

We did a number of attacks on Lae, and all of them were heart-in-the-mouth sorties. There was an old ship off the end of the strip that had been wrecked a long time ago, but every day some American bomber skipper would lay claim to having sunk a ship off the coast at Lae.

The area around Lae contained a couple of Australian coastwatchers and they would send radio messages telling Moresby what the enemy was doing, and, in particular, what aircraft were there and where they were parked. Their messages were of tremendous value in laying on strikes against the place. They did a great job and took great risks.