F/Lt STANLEY CHILTON DFC

I volunteered to join the R.A.F. as aircrew early in 1941, probably inspired, like many young men, by the Battle of Britain. Also I didn't fancy being in either the Army or the Navy. After a series of tests and medicals at Cardington, the old airship base, I was called up in June and asked to report to Babbacombe.Here I was kitted out with RAF uniform, including the prized white flash in my forage cap, denoting aircrew trainee, and given the rank of Leading Aircraftsman - roughly equialent to Lance Corporal.

After a week or so I was posted to an Initial Training Wing at Scarborough, where living and working in hotels, we were taught such subjects as air law, the theory of flight,morse code, and how to clear a stoppage in a Browning gun. Mercifully, this was curtailed after a few weeks, when a group of us were called out in the middle of a lesson, sent on embarkation leave, and instructed to report to a transit camp at West Kirby. From here we sailed in a disgusting Belgian merchant ship to Iceland where we slept in tents for a week or so. We then boarded a British armed merchant cruiser bound for Halifax Nova Scotia. This was much more pleasant, apart from the look-out duties which we were required to do at all hours.

From Halifax we went by train to Toronto, where we acquired parachutes and various other items, and were posted to No.13 E.F.T.S., which was in fact a civilian flying school in St Eugene Quebec, Eastern Ontario. Here we flew an aircraft called a Fleet Finch, which was rather like a Tiger Moth with a canopy over the cockpits. This must have been a considerable blessing in the Canadian winter. We were here for about two months, during which time I flew some 60 hours, about half of it solo, practicing circuits, forced landings, cross countries and instrument flying. My main recollection of this station was the quality of the food and the enormous steaks one could have cooked to taste. (About a months meat ration in the U.K. I should think).

In November, most of our course moved on to an Advanced Flying Training School (again No.13 - our luck was still in then). This was an R.C.A.F. St Hubert, on the outskirts of Montreal, where we moved up a notch on to the Harvard. The training here expanded a bit to include formation flying, more instrument flying and night flying, and we clocked up about 120 hours in the three months of the course. As this covered the period December to March, the aerodrome was covered in snow most of the time. Of course during snow storms there was no flying. The runways and taxiways were snow ploughed after a storm, so that there was a 4 ft. wall of snow either side; and anyone who departed from the runway ended up with their nose in the snow, tail in the air and an endorsement in their log book.

Anyway, most of us survived the course and I was awarded my wings and commissioned as a Pilot Officer in March 1942. We were then given a spell of leave which some of us used to visit New York where we were taken in tow and feted as though we had won the war already. Then it was back to Halifax where, we boarded a small merchant ship, this time enjoying the luxury of a cabin. A spell at yet another reception pool in Bournemouth, from where we split up and went our various ways and I was posted to a Spitfire Operational Training Unit at Aston Down in Gloucestershire.

The Spitfire is a single seater aircraft, which meant that unlike the previous aircraft we had flown, we could'nt have any dual instruction. So what we got was an instructor peering into the cockpit and giving us a catechism on the various controls and instruments, un il he was satisfied we were as familiar as we were likely to be. Then, a pat on the back and off you went - every school boys dream, you were flying a Spitfire.

The training now was much more applied - a lot of formation flying, low flying, aeroatics, dog fighting and air to air firing at drogues! By the end of August I had clocked up about 70 hours on Spits and was at last ready to be posted to a squadron, which turned out to be 19 Sqd based at Perranporth in Cornwall. This was the first squadron to receive the Spitfire. Perranporth was a very pleasant posting, with our Mess in the Droskyn Castle Hotel, overlooking the bay. Here I was the complete fighter pilot, top button undone, moustache, all ready to go, the only snag was there was'nt much action for an eager young pilot. We carried out convoy patrols in the channel and round Lands End, took part in sweeps over Brittany; escorted Flying Fortresses as far as our range would allow, which was'nt very far; carried out a few low level offensive patrols, and had a few abortive scrambles.

This was all getting rather boring but in February 1943 events took a new turn when I was sent on embarkation leave and asked to report once again to West Kirby. This was the time when the Allies invaded N. Africa in November 1942 to create a pincer movement on the German army, who were being pushed back from the Western Desert, and those of us on the troopship rightly guessed that that was where we were heading. We accordingly docked at Oran, then travelled by train to Algiers where we joined yet another Aircrew Reception Centre. Now we were in for some real action I thought but it soon became apparent that the pilot losses had been overestimated, and that we were in for a spell of kicking our heels.

Somebody mentioned that there was a requirement for pilots to ferry Spitfires from Gibraltar to Algeria so, on the grounds that any flying was better than none, 3 of us voulunteered to do this. For the next four months or so we enjoyed this rather pleasant existence of ferrying Spitires to Algiers and hitchhiking lifts back -to Gibraltar on American Dakotas. There were of course no German aircraft within miles of this activity so it seemed quite innocuous, but a couple of incidents showed that it was'nt entirely risk free. The Spitfires were brought to Gibraltar in packing cases where they were assembled before we flew them off. Unfortunately for one pilot, the aileron controls had been crossed so that when the control column was moved to the right instead of the right wing going down it went up. The reflex action was to move it even further which resulted in the aircraft overturning and plunging into the sea. The pilot was rescued OK but unfortunately he had bought about a dozen watches in Gib to resell in Algeria where they were unobtainable. As they were not waterproof his little enterprise failed. I myself suffered a little accident which could have been more serious. I was just crossing the perimeter track to land at Oran, when an American truck drove underneath me, hitting my flaps with its metal superstructure. The aircraft juddered a bit but went on to land O.K., and when I got out I found that the whole wing had been knocked back. The aircraft was unserviceable of course, but had the truck been a split second earlier it would have caught my wheels and probably caused the aircraft to somersault.

These little diversions apart, it was a pretty laid back existence, and by June we began to feel rather guilty and, to be honest, a bit bored. So we made arrangements to transfer back to Algiers where we found that the fighting was virtually over, and the aircrew pool had moved on to Tunis. So, armed with a box of food, water bottles, and purification tablets we boarded the train which took about two days. We found that we were accommodated in a rumber of villas adjacent to the beach on the Bay of Tunis, which were supposed to be a rest camp for weary pilots.

We could hardly claim to be that, but for 2 months or more we malingered here on a sort of free package tour with nothing to do but swim & sunbathe. To relieve the tedium I amused myself by doing some shopping at farms and Arab markets in the vicinity where I could barter tea for eggs and vegetables to improve our diet. Also, I was put in charge of a group of Italian prisoners whose job was to clean the villas and steal what they could of our belongings. They were a pretty docile bunch and I got them to build a sort of barbed wire compound, but of course they could have escaped easily had they wished. I used to communicate my wishes and displeasure through an Italian corporal who spoke French. He was a very friendly chap and even asked me if I could get his watch mended next time I was in Tunis - which I did. However, the boredom level was pretty high and a group of us were relieved to be told in September that we were posted to India. This was not as good as Italy would have been, but beggars can't be choosers.

So off we flew to Cairo in the inevitable Dakota, and after a few days there we embarked on Short Empire flying boat! operated by Imperial Airways. After 20 hours flying and night stops at Basra (an airconditioned hotel) Dubai and Karachi, we eventually arrived at a lake near Delhi. After a few days acclimatising, we found ourselves posted to113 Squadron (that lucky 13 again)which was based near Madras. This was about as far from Delhi as you could get in India - 1200 miles as the crow flies, and about 1500 by rail, which is how we travelled. I forget how long this horrendous journey took, but we eventually reached our destination - 113 Squadron.

In the autum of 1943 the Squadron got rid of it’s Blenheim aircraft and commenced conversion onto Hurricane II C’s at St Thomas Mount near Madras for an intended fighter role. Some of the Blenheim pilots remained and others (like myself) with previous single-engine experience were drafted in from North Africa. After about 2 months training in fighter tactics the squadron was judged fit for operations and just before Christmas 1943, 15 aircraft, under the command of F/Lt Hart, flew up to an airstrip in North East Assam called Dimapur. This was adjacent to the Bengal Assam railway and also in the so-called Manipur road, which was the main, indeed the only route to central Burma. It was therefore of strategic significance in the context of the proposed Japanese invasion of India.

Group Photo Patharkandi India 1944 Nobby Noble, Ken Rolls, Kipper Smith, Stanley Chilton, Tubby Long, Sgt Kitchen, Frank Forsyth

Tired of our inactivity, the ruling powers decided to deploy the squadron on strafing attacks mainly along the River Chindwin, using the 4 x 20mm cannons to good effect. On 20 March, however, the Japanese began a major offensive up the Manipur Road. The road runs through a large plain, about 25 miles long and 10 miles wide, about 3000ft up in the Naga Hills. This contained the town of Imphal, the capital of the Manipur state and thus was known as the Imphal Valley, (which became ‘the Valley’ to the RAF). This contained 6 airstrips and 113 moved to one of them called Tulyhul on 22 March. Since ground attack was obviously going to be the role, the aircraft were now fitted with the 250lb bombs, one under each

wing and for the next year or so the squadron carried out bombing and strafing attacks every day, weather permitting. This was very close support and the squadron was briefed by an Army Liaison Officer, Major Teddy Kensington and frequently helped by smoke bombs put down by the army. Targets initially were in the jungle-covered hills south of Imphal and aircraft used either dive-bombing techniques or, where possible, low-level strikes with 11 sec. delay bombs, which were more accurate.

The airfields in the valley were becoming overcrowded (at it’s peak ther were 11 Hurricane squadrons, 5 Spitfire squadrons, 3 Vengeance squadrons and numerous Dakota squadrons) so in late March, 113 was moved out to Silchar and then Ratharkandi in Assam, flying in daily to Tulyhul for rearming and refuelling. The pilots did not object to this as the strips in the valley were themselves subjected to bombing and strafing by the Japanese at this time.

In April the Japanese cut the road north of Imphal down which all the allies supplies came and from then until the end of June the valley was in a state of seige. All supplies (including our bombs, ammunition and fuel) were flown in by Dakotas and Wellingtons, which must have been a logistical nightmare. In late May 113 moved back into the valley to a strip called Palel which was to be it’s base for the next 7 months. This was at the southern end of the valley and uncomfortably close to the front line. Some of the targets were literally within sight from high points near the squadrons dispersal. At least there were no problems finding one’s way home but the downside was that the strip was within shelling distance of the Japanese guns.

In late June came the turning point in the Burma campaign, when, after fierce fighting at Kohima, some 60 miles north of Imphal, to which 113 gave support, the 14th army regained control of the Manipur road and the seige of Imphal ended. Among the first convoys to reach the valley where some lorry loads of (free) beer! During the seige one had seen relatively little of Japanese aircraft, but they did exist and records showed that 33 were destroyed by the RAF, 20 probably destroyed and 60 odd damaged. Allied losses amounted to 75 aircraft destroyed and many more damaged. 113’s losses were, of course, mainly due to ground fire, but some other pilots managed to survive. One recorded elsewhere on this website was Sgt. Clements, who walked back for 16 days after evading capture!

These diversions apart, the bombing and strafing went on relentlessly with the targets getting further away as the Japanese retreated. They were now in less mountainous country and thus easier to find. On the longer trips we were given Spitfire escorts (the Hurricane was no match for Japanese Oscars) much to the Spitfire boys amusement. By December 1944 the targets were getting out of range so the squadron moved to a new airstrip called Yagagyo, about 100 miles to the south, which was actually in Burma. The airstrips from now on did not have proper runways, but were lengths of fairly flat ground, bulldozed level and covered with pierced steel planking. The pilots and ground crews had also given up the straw ‘bashas’ of Palel, for tents and swapped ‘charpoys’ for campbeds!

B25’s, with Spitfires providing air cover. A sort of mini second front. The army was advancing fast now over the central Burma plain and the squadron moved to new strips (Onbauk and Ondaw) in the next 2 months. The next major target was Mandalay, a town of mainly wooden buildings but which contained a huge fortified area, called Fort Dufferin, with immensely thick walls which the army’s artillery could not breach. So 113’s ‘Hurri’ bombers (aided by Thunderbolts) attacked them at ground level with delay bombs and managed to breach the walls.

On March 21st I flew my last operation, having completed the prescribed 300 hours. Appropriately enough this was my 213th mission. Clearly 13 was my lucky number. The squadron had inevitably suffered casualties during my 15 months of operations, and I suppose we lost about 15 to 20 pilots over that period. In the chaos of action one hardly ever saw anyone actually shot down, they were simply not there when we formed up to fly back to base.

After a spell in hospital recovering from something or other I was posted to Eastern Air Command, an Anglo American Headquarters on the outskirts of Calcutta. This was civilisation, a decent room, running water, plenty of American food and drink, and even entertainment and females. I stayed here doing nothing very demanding until August 1945 when the British element were flown down to Rangoon (now liberated) to set up AHQ Burma. This was not as good as Calcutta, but better than the jungle and I spent about 10 months there until in May 1946, I boarded a troopship and headed for the U.K.

NOTES: Asked about LAC Hitchens memoirs wherein the loss of P/O Smith is mentioned, F/Lt Chilton believes this is likely F/O Bennie Smyth, who was shot down in March 1945. QUOTE: "I remember this quite well because he was sharing a tent with me at the time. Also sharing it was P/O Reed (a Canadian) who, unbelievably disappeared the next day! As you can imagine I had a bit of a twitch on my next flight! I went on a Government organised pilgrimage to the Far East in 1985 & identified both their graves in Rangoon."

NOTE UNRECORDED DEATH: I had to undertake a Court of Enquiry into the death of one of our Sgt. Pilots. He had been firing his revolver into an old shell case to try to detonate the fuse and the bullet bounced back and entered his brain. I and a colleague had to get to Dacca, (now the capital of Bangladesh) by a series of flights and a steamship up the Bramaputra river to reach the hospital where our poor Sergeant ended up.


	F/Cmdr F/Lt STANLEY CHILTON DFC RAF 113 SQUADRON BACK TO F/Lt Stanley Chilton main listing \|\| BACK TO SQUADRON PERSONNEL \|\| HOME F/Lt Stanley N. Chilton DFC Flight Commander PERSONAL DETAILS; I volunteered to join the R.A.F. as aircrew early in 1941, probably inspired, like many young men, by the Battle of Britain. Also I didn't fancy being in either the Army or the Navy. After a series of tests and medicals at Cardington, the old airship base, I was called up in June and asked to report to Babbacombe.Here I was kitted out with RAF uniform, including the prized white flash in my forage cap, denoting aircrew trainee, and given the rank of Leading Aircraftsman - roughly equialent to Lance Corporal. After a week or so I was posted to an Initial Training Wing at Scarborough, where living and working in hotels, we were taught such subjects as air law, the theory of flight,morse code, and how to clear a stoppage in a Browning gun. Mercifully, this was curtailed after a few weeks, when a group of us were called out in the middle of a lesson, sent on embarkation leave, and instructed to report to a transit camp at West Kirby. From here we sailed in a disgusting Belgian merchant ship to Iceland where we slept in tents for a week or so. We then boarded a British armed merchant cruiser bound for Halifax Nova Scotia. This was much more pleasant, apart from the look-out duties which we were required to do at all hours. From Halifax we went by train to Toronto, where we acquired parachutes and various other items, and were posted to No.13 E.F.T.S., which was in fact a civilian flying school in St Eugene Quebec, Eastern Ontario. Here we flew an aircraft called a Fleet Finch, which was rather like a Tiger Moth with a canopy over the cockpits. This must have been a considerable blessing in the Canadian winter. We were here for about two months, during which time I flew some 60 hours, about half of it solo, practicing circuits, forced landings, cross countries and instrument flying. My main recollection of this station was the quality of the food and the enormous steaks one could have cooked to taste. (About a months meat ration in the U.K. I should think). In November, most of our course moved on to an Advanced Flying Training School (again No.13 - our luck was still in then). This was an R.C.A.F. St Hubert, on the outskirts of Montreal, where we moved up a notch on to the Harvard. The training here expanded a bit to include formation flying, more instrument flying and night flying, and we clocked up about 120 hours in the three months of the course. As this covered the period December to March, the aerodrome was covered in snow most of the time. Of course during snow storms there was no flying. The runways and taxiways were snow ploughed after a storm, so that there was a 4 ft. wall of snow either side; and anyone who departed from the runway ended up with their nose in the snow, tail in the air and an endorsement in their log book. Anyway, most of us survived the course and I was awarded my wings and commissioned as a Pilot Officer in March 1942. We were then given a spell of leave which some of us used to visit New York where we were taken in tow and feted as though we had won the war already. Then it was back to Halifax where, we boarded a small merchant ship, this time enjoying the luxury of a cabin. A spell at yet another reception pool in Bournemouth, from where we split up and went our various ways and I was posted to a Spitfire Operational Training Unit at Aston Down in Gloucestershire. The Spitfire is a single seater aircraft, which meant that unlike the previous aircraft we had flown, we could'nt have any dual instruction. So what we got was an instructor peering into the cockpit and giving us a catechism on the various controls and instruments, un il he was satisfied we were as familiar as we were likely to be. Then, a pat on the back and off you went - every school boys dream, you were flying a Spitfire. The training now was much more applied - a lot of formation flying, low flying, aeroatics, dog fighting and air to air firing at drogues! By the end of August I had clocked up about 70 hours on Spits and was at last ready to be posted to a squadron, which turned out to be 19 Sqd based at Perranporth in Cornwall. This was the first squadron to receive the Spitfire. Perranporth was a very pleasant posting, with our Mess in the Droskyn Castle Hotel, overlooking the bay. Here I was the complete fighter pilot, top button undone, moustache, all ready to go, the only snag was there was'nt much action for an eager young pilot. We carried out convoy patrols in the channel and round Lands End, took part in sweeps over Brittany; escorted Flying Fortresses as far as our range would allow, which was'nt very far; carried out a few low level offensive patrols, and had a few abortive scrambles. This was all getting rather boring but in February 1943 events took a new turn when I was sent on embarkation leave and asked to report once again to West Kirby. This was the time when the Allies invaded N. Africa in November 1942 to create a pincer movement on the German army, who were being pushed back from the Western Desert, and those of us on the troopship rightly guessed that that was where we were heading. We accordingly docked at Oran, then travelled by train to Algiers where we joined yet another Aircrew Reception Centre. Now we were in for some real action I thought but it soon became apparent that the pilot losses had been overestimated, and that we were in for a spell of kicking our heels. Somebody mentioned that there was a requirement for pilots to ferry Spitfires from Gibraltar to Algeria so, on the grounds that any flying was better than none, 3 of us voulunteered to do this. For the next four months or so we enjoyed this rather pleasant existence of ferrying Spitires to Algiers and hitchhiking lifts back -to Gibraltar on American Dakotas. There were of course no German aircraft within miles of this activity so it seemed quite innocuous, but a couple of incidents showed that it was'nt entirely risk free. The Spitfires were brought to Gibraltar in packing cases where they were assembled before we flew them off. Unfortunately for one pilot, the aileron controls had been crossed so that when the control column was moved to the right instead of the right wing going down it went up. The reflex action was to move it even further which resulted in the aircraft overturning and plunging into the sea. The pilot was rescued OK but unfortunately he had bought about a dozen watches in Gib to resell in Algeria where they were unobtainable. As they were not waterproof his little enterprise failed. I myself suffered a little accident which could have been more serious. I was just crossing the perimeter track to land at Oran, when an American truck drove underneath me, hitting my flaps with its metal superstructure. The aircraft juddered a bit but went on to land O.K., and when I got out I found that the whole wing had been knocked back. The aircraft was unserviceable of course, but had the truck been a split second earlier it would have caught my wheels and probably caused the aircraft to somersault. These little diversions apart, it was a pretty laid back existence, and by June we began to feel rather guilty and, to be honest, a bit bored. So we made arrangements to transfer back to Algiers where we found that the fighting was virtually over, and the aircrew pool had moved on to Tunis. So, armed with a box of food, water bottles, and purification tablets we boarded the train which took about two days. We found that we were accommodated in a rumber of villas adjacent to the beach on the Bay of Tunis, which were supposed to be a rest camp for weary pilots. We could hardly claim to be that, but for 2 months or more we malingered here on a sort of free package tour with nothing to do but swim & sunbathe. To relieve the tedium I amused myself by doing some shopping at farms and Arab markets in the vicinity where I could barter tea for eggs and vegetables to improve our diet. Also, I was put in charge of a group of Italian prisoners whose job was to clean the villas and steal what they could of our belongings. They were a pretty docile bunch and I got them to build a sort of barbed wire compound, but of course they could have escaped easily had they wished. I used to communicate my wishes and displeasure through an Italian corporal who spoke French. He was a very friendly chap and even asked me if I could get his watch mended next time I was in Tunis - which I did. However, the boredom level was pretty high and a group of us were relieved to be told in September that we were posted to India. This was not as good as Italy would have been, but beggars can't be choosers. So off we flew to Cairo in the inevitable Dakota, and after a few days there we embarked on Short Empire flying boat! operated by Imperial Airways. After 20 hours flying and night stops at Basra (an airconditioned hotel) Dubai and Karachi, we eventually arrived at a lake near Delhi. After a few days acclimatising, we found ourselves posted to113 Squadron (that lucky 13 again)which was based near Madras. This was about as far from Delhi as you could get in India - 1200 miles as the crow flies, and about 1500 by rail, which is how we travelled. I forget how long this horrendous journey took, but we eventually reached our destination - 113 Squadron. I Joined as a Flying Officer and concluded my tour in March 1944 as the senior flight commander. I flew on over 200 bombing/strafing missions leading the squadron or my Flight on about 100 of these, and my tour covered virtually the whole time 113 was equipped with Hurricanes. F/Lt Chilton DFC at Rangoon AHQ HISTORICAL In the autum of 1943 the Squadron got rid of it’s Blenheim aircraft and commenced conversion onto Hurricane II C’s at St Thomas Mount near Madras for an intended fighter role. Some of the Blenheim pilots remained and others (like myself) with previous single-engine experience were drafted in from North Africa. After about 2 months training in fighter tactics the squadron was judged fit for operations and just before Christmas 1943, 15 aircraft, under the command of F/Lt Hart, flew up to an airstrip in North East Assam called Dimapur. This was adjacent to the Bengal Assam railway and also in the so-called Manipur road, which was the main, indeed the only route to central Burma. It was therefore of strategic significance in the context of the proposed Japanese invasion of India. Japanese aircraft however were conspicuous by their absence, but the squadron managed to lose 5 aircraft on a training flight when it got caught up in a very strong Cu. Nimb. cloud, which scattered the aircraft far and wide. Fortunately the pilots concerned managed to bale out safely. Tired of our inactivity, the ruling powers decided to deploy the squadron on strafing attacks mainly along the River Chindwin, using the 4 x 20mm cannons to good effect. On 20 March, however, the Japanese began a major offensive up the Manipur Road. The road runs through a large plain, about 25 miles long and 10 miles wide, about 3000ft up in the Naga Hills. This contained the town of Imphal, the capital of the Manipur state and thus was known as the Imphal Valley, (which became ‘the Valley’ to the RAF). This contained 6 airstrips and 113 moved to one of them called Tulyhul on 22 March. Since ground attack was obviously going to be the role, the aircraft were now fitted with the 250lb bombs, one under each Left to right: BACK ROW: Nobby Noble, Ken Rolls, Kipper Smith, Stanley Chilton, Tubby Long FRONT ROW: Sgt Kitchen, Frank Forsyth. Patharkandi 1944 wing and for the next year or so the squadron carried out bombing and strafing attacks every day, weather permitting. This was very close support and the squadron was briefed by an Army Liaison Officer, Major Teddy Kensington and frequently helped by smoke bombs put down by the army. Targets initially were in the jungle-covered hills south of Imphal and aircraft used either dive-bombing techniques or, where possible, low-level strikes with 11 sec. delay bombs, which were more accurate. The airfields in the valley were becoming overcrowded (at it’s peak ther were 11 Hurricane squadrons, 5 Spitfire squadrons, 3 Vengeance squadrons and numerous Dakota squadrons) so in late March, 113 was moved out to Silchar and then Ratharkandi in Assam, flying in daily to Tulyhul for rearming and refuelling. The pilots did not object to this as the strips in the valley were themselves subjected to bombing and strafing by the Japanese at this time. In April the Japanese cut the road north of Imphal down which all the allies supplies came and from then until the end of June the valley was in a state of seige. All supplies (including our bombs, ammunition and fuel) were flown in by Dakotas and Wellingtons, which must have been a logistical nightmare. In late May 113 moved back into the valley to a strip called Palel which was to be it’s base for the next 7 months. This was at the southern end of the valley and uncomfortably close to the front line. Some of the targets were literally within sight from high points near the squadrons dispersal. At least there were no problems finding one’s way home but the downside was that the strip was within shelling distance of the Japanese guns. In late June came the turning point in the Burma campaign, when, after fierce fighting at Kohima, some 60 miles north of Imphal, to which 113 gave support, the 14th army regained control of the Manipur road and the seige of Imphal ended. Among the first convoys to reach the valley where some lorry loads of (free) beer! During the seige one had seen relatively little of Japanese aircraft, but they did exist and records showed that 33 were destroyed by the RAF, 20 probably destroyed and 60 odd damaged. Allied losses amounted to 75 aircraft destroyed and many more damaged. 113’s losses were, of course, mainly due to ground fire, but some other pilots managed to survive. One recorded elsewhere on this website was Sgt. Clements, who walked back for 16 days after evading capture! Although the seige had ended the war of course went on and in July, Japanese troops infiltrated the Palel dispersal at night destroying 7 aircraft (3 Spitfires, 2 Hurricanes and 2 Harvards) using delay charges. This was about half a mile from 113’s sleeping quarters. With the pressure eased a little however the pilots could now enjoy the luxury of going on leave, either to Calcutta, or, for the more adventurous, to Darjeeling in the Himalayas where, in the cool air, we could wear our ‘best blues’, which had been in store in Calcutta. These diversions apart, the bombing and strafing went on relentlessly with the targets getting further away as the Japanese retreated. They were now in less mountainous country and thus easier to find. On the longer trips we were given Spitfire escorts (the Hurricane was no match for Japanese Oscars) much to the Spitfire boys amusement. By December 1944 the targets were getting out of range so the squadron moved to a new airstrip called Yagagyo, about 100 miles to the south, which was actually in Burma. The airstrips from now on did not have proper runways, but were lengths of fairly flat ground, bulldozed level and covered with pierced steel planking. The pilots and ground crews had also given up the straw ‘bashas’ of Palel, for tents and swapped ‘charpoys’ for campbeds! The next major operation for 113 was to support the crossing of the river Irrawaddy by the 14th Army. The only bridge across this river was well to the south, so the crossing was by boat. There was intensive air support by numerous squadrons, including Thunderbolts and Stanley and George Forstad horsing around with sidearms. B25’s, with Spitfires providing air cover. A sort of mini second front. The army was advancing fast now over the central Burma plain and the squadron moved to new strips (Onbauk and Ondaw) in the next 2 months. The next major target was Mandalay, a town of mainly wooden buildings but which contained a huge fortified area, called Fort Dufferin, with immensely thick walls which the army’s artillery could not breach. So 113’s ‘Hurri’ bombers (aided by Thunderbolts) attacked them at ground level with delay bombs and managed to breach the walls. Shortly after this the squadron moved back to Wangjing airstrip in the valley to re-equip with Thunderbolts, which with their superior range and performance were able to continue operations in southern Burma. On March 21st I flew my last operation, having completed the prescribed 300 hours. Appropriately enough this was my 213th mission. Clearly 13 was my lucky number. The squadron had inevitably suffered casualties during my 15 months of operations, and I suppose we lost about 15 to 20 pilots over that period. In the chaos of action one hardly ever saw anyone actually shot down, they were simply not there when we formed up to fly back to base. After a spell in hospital recovering from something or other I was posted to Eastern Air Command, an Anglo American Headquarters on the outskirts of Calcutta. This was civilisation, a decent room, running water, plenty of American food and drink, and even entertainment and females. I stayed here doing nothing very demanding until August 1945 when the British element were flown down to Rangoon (now liberated) to set up AHQ Burma. This was not as good as Calcutta, but better than the jungle and I spent about 10 months there until in May 1946, I boarded a troopship and headed for the U.K. Last reunion 2002, Stanley is seated front row, 4th from left. See the photo section - Reunion page for other Reunion photos and names. NOTES: Asked about LAC Hitchens memoirs wherein the loss of P/O Smith is mentioned, F/Lt Chilton believes this is likely F/O Bennie Smyth, who was shot down in March 1945. QUOTE: "I remember this quite well because he was sharing a tent with me at the time. Also sharing it was P/O Reed (a Canadian) who, unbelievably disappeared the next day! As you can imagine I had a bit of a twitch on my next flight! I went on a Government organised pilgrimage to the Far East in 1985 & identified both their graves in Rangoon." NOTE UNRECORDED DEATH: I had to undertake a Court of Enquiry into the death of one of our Sgt. Pilots. He had been firing his revolver into an old shell case to try to detonate the fuse and the bullet bounced back and entered his brain. I and a colleague had to get to Dacca, (now the capital of Bangladesh) by a series of flights and a steamship up the Bramaputra river to reach the hospital where our poor Sergeant ended up. NOTE: All information above has been blended into the '113 Squadron Story' see History section. Reference: credits back cover, as having helped with F/O Pat Woodward book. Reference: Profile LAC Harry Hitchens, 113 Squadron Timeline, Squadron History, Photo Section -people pages & reunion pages, numerous info updates to various veteran profiles from the 44/45 era. SOURCE ALL: F/Cmdr., F/Lt Stan Chilton DFC BACK TO F/Lt Stanley Chilton main listing BACK TO TOP