Beneath the Beret of Jack Waterfield Part Four - Crashes and Cold
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Drem, 611 Squadron, and the Winter of 1941–42
After completing the Fitters Course at Weeton and enduring fourteen days confined to barracks, Jack Waterfield received his next posting, one that would take him far from the training grounds of England and into the operational world of RAF Fighter Command. His destination was RAF Drem, in East Lothian, Scotland. It was here, among Spitfires, snowdrifts, and the relentless demands of squadron life, that Jack would face some of the most defining moments of his early service. Crashes and cold.
Arrival at Drem: A Station from Another Era
RAF Drem was unlike any station Jack had seen before. It was a relic of the First World War. A grass airfield with no concrete runway, two hangars with collapsing roofs, and a layout that felt more like a forgotten farm than a modern fighter base. The station had once been linked to East Fortune, home to airships patrolling the North Sea. Now it housed No. 611 (West Lancashire) Squadron, part of 13 Group, flying Spitfires.
The squadron’s Commanding Officer was no ordinary man. Douglas Douglas‑Hamilton, the 14th Duke of Hamilton, flew a Gloster Gladiator and commuted from his estate nearby. Jack notes this without embellishment the RAF was full of unlikely juxtapositions, and a duke flying a biplane was simply one more.
Jack was initially assigned to the armoury, but he never felt at home there. Before long, he was moved to the flights, working directly on the aircraft, a role he would come to excel in.
Crashes, Cold, and the Cost of Flying
Life at Drem was harsh. The winter of 1941–42 was bitter, and the airfield’s exposed position made conditions even worse. Snow buried the station. Ice coated the dispersals. The men dug out paths just so officers could reach their billets in Gullane, where they stayed in a luxury hotel on the golf course, a contrast Jack never forgot.
But the weather was only part of the hardship. Drem was a place where Jack saw, for the first time, the brutal cost of flying.
One day, a Spitfire crashed on landing. Jack watched as the stretcher passed by. The pilot’s leg had been torn off and lay detached on the stretcher beside him. It was a sight that stayed with Jack for the rest of his life.
Another time, a Spitfire clipped the tail of another aircraft while taxiing. Both machines were write‑offs. Miraculously, no one was hurt but the incident underscored how unforgiving the airfield could be.
A Canadian pilot from 410 Squadron, flying a Tiger Moth, offered joyrides to ground crew. Jack didn’t go up, a decision that may have saved his life. The pilot misjudged his landing and crashed into the trees at the far end of the field. The aircraft perched in the branches like a broken toy. The salvage crew retrieved the engine; the rest was scrap.
Two Canadian pilots attempted to fly under the Forth Bridge, a daredevil act that ended in disaster. The bridge’s steel girders tore their aircraft apart. Both men were killed instantly.
Jack records these events plainly, without drama. The truth didn’t need embellishment.
“Backers Up”: Defending the Airfield
Opposite the RAF camp was a unit of the King’s Own Scottish Borderers (KOSB). Their major, a veteran of the First World War, often came across to drill the airmen in “Backers Up”, the defence of the airfield until the Army arrived.
The drills were exhausting. The men wore:
• Blue overalls
• Greatcoats
• Tin helmets
• Gas masks
• Rifles
The “anti‑aircraft guns” were nothing more than poles stuck into tea chests. But the training was serious. If the Luftwaffe attacked, these makeshift defences were all they had.
The Grenade Accident
Grenade training was conducted in trenches. One recruit threw a No. 36 Mills bomb, but his arm caught the lip of the trench. The grenade arced upward, landed under his coat, and detonated.
The explosion sent his coat and gas mask flying. Grit and shrapnel cut his face and struck another man between the legs. Both survived, but the incident ended trench‑throwing practice. From then on, grenades were thrown standing up.
The SWO and the Collars
Jack’s memories of the Station Warrant Officer are sharp. One freezing day, the corporal ordered the men to turn up their coat collars against the cold. The SWO appeared, bellowed “Halt!”, and demanded to know who had authorised it.
“I say when it’s inclement,” he roared.
The men turned their collars down and marched on, shivering.
Jack never forgot the absurdity, or the authority.
The Cannon Problem No One Could Solve
This was the moment that defined Jack’s time at Drem.
The squadron’s Spitfires were being converted to Mk VB standard, fitted with two 20 mm Hispano cannon laid on their sides with 50‑round drums. But the guns were jamming after only a few rounds during testing at the butts.
The Warrant Officer in charge of the armoury blamed manufacturing defects. He even attempted unauthorised modifications, a serious breach. The Air Ministry sent senior officers from the Armament Branch to investigate.
One by one, the armourers tried to install and align the cannon. One by one, they failed.
Then Jack, an AC2, the lowest rank, was asked to try.
He:
• Tightened the front mount
• Slid the rear mount into position
• Aligned the red marks
• Torqued the muzzle with the brass spanner
• Backed it off one and a half turns
He loaded the drum. The cannon ran out cleanly. The senior officer asked Jack to demonstrate the procedure to the entire armoury.
It should have been a triumph. Instead, the Warrant Officer threatened him. Jack had embarrassed him in front of the Air Ministry. From that moment on, Jack was marked for “export”, a quiet way of saying he would be posted out.
But the truth remained: Jack solved a problem that no one else could.
A Station in Transition
Around this time, crates arrived containing:
• Thompson submachine guns
• Canvas bags marked FBI
• Vickers guns and tripods
• No .45 ammunition
• No belts for the Vickers
Jack bought a book on Vickers guns from W. H. Smith in Edinburgh to prepare. Ammunition remained a mystery.
He was then attached to Abbotsinch, near Glasgow, to prepare two 611 Squadron aircraft for movement. But instead of returning to Drem, he was swept into a larger operation under Squadron Leader Hughes, one that would take him to Glasgow docks, then onto a ship whose name would become legend.
Jack was about to board USS Wasp.
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