W/O John Bott

When I joined the 113 from X1 we were both stationed with our Blenheims at a place ESE Calcutta, I think it was about 40 miles up the road. The sister X1 squadron who had an Aussie W/Cdr borrowed my Nav and then disappeared with him over Chittagong or Akyab. Very soon after this we (113) moved to St Thomas, Mount Madras in southern India to begin retraining from a bomber to a fighter squadron. Our Navs & Air gunners which would not be required anymore joined 2 seat "so called dive-bombers" called Vengeancers which I think were seconded to the Indian air force, it was all a shamble. At the St Thomas, Mt Madras airfield we were converted through Harvards to Hurricanes. 146 Squadron did the conversion. I was known on the 113 for being a bit unruly in speech & behaviour after the grog we managed to get from the local native quarters. As a NCO I rose to the dizzy rank of Warrant Officer but then did most, it was done on time.

One incident I recall while we were there was a huge dam broke and we awoke to be floating in our charpoys and rising fast. We eventually had to climb on the roof of our basher and watch the water rise. The rats we saw were bigger then cats. The rise slowed down and a few of my mates swam under water into the officers mess and stole a whole load of grog. (Editors note: this missing bar stock from the officers mess is recorded in the official squadron records, the officers believing it had been lost in the flood) We then strode off when we could into a hotel room in Madras and drank our illicit grog. There was of course hell to pay, but the few of us who were missing were rounded up and we were on our way to Bangalore to finish the conversion on an airfield called Cholavarum. The mind is a bit blank but after that we all moved by train up to the Naga Hills to a place with a runway called Dimapur. Here we slept on bamboo beds in bashas surrounded by stone shapes in the form of the male anatomy.

Up in Assam we were. From that strip, we the squadron became operational on Dec 4th 1943 ( 04/12/1943 ). At this time we had a C/O called Buck Courtney and his younger brother Pat had joined us. Could not stand Pat on the squadron, but in civvy life, he was a great friend when in 92 I nearly died of an Aorta Aneurysm but that is another story. My wonderful flight commander was a chap by the name of Ken Rolls "who sadly is no more." Also Buck & Pat are no longer around.

Our Sorties were over the Eastern Hills and down to straffing sampans and things supplying the Nips. On one ocassion Ronny Lockwood and I were scrambled to locate a Nip at about 30 000 ft and I hit a Vulture on take off but we pressed on in the faint hope of sighting the intruder. We did not make contact but I remember seeing another Vulture as we passed 15 000 ft. Of course I lost Ronny and he landed at Imphal while I came down on the strip at Palel "which was to mean a lot to the 113 later on." The Vulture had done some damage to my port wing so the ground crew at Palel mended it and I was off back to the (male anatomy) aerodrome at Dimapur. On arrival Buck Courtney tore a strip off me for loosing Ronny.

After awhile the nips cut the main supply line at Kohima "where the famous battle was won and the nips gave up their intention of invading India through use of the railway line which began at Dimpur." 113 moved to Palel via Jorhat and Tulihal and Silcharwest. We then operated from Pathakandi for awhile, flying down to a strip called Tulihall each day in the Imphal Valley and back to Pathakandi, but when the Kohima road was finally opened we landed up at Palel via other airfields on the way.

Palel was a strip almost surrounded by Jap forces and they lobbed a few shells at us one night and destroyed at least two of our aircraft, I remember that the Flight Sergeant Bill Lockerbie (in charge of our ground staff) was furiously annoyed that a Jap used his office for a washroom. Palel was the scene each day of shooting up the enemy attacking our soldiers in 17 Div. One day I spotted a tank and radioed the base and they through HQ scrambled the Indian Air force with tank buster Hurricanes. I was to show them where the tank had been and we flew out to the area but they screwed it all up and fired a few bursts at our own soldiers, I screamed at them and then was directed to land at Imphal and see Wing Commander of Operations. He met me as I climbed out of my Hurricane and told me he believed my story, and that I was in the clear and to rejoin the 113 at Palel. I think the offenders were the 14 squadron (Indian) but I never heard anymore about the incident.

(Editors note: It is woth noting that a similar mistake took place on Feb 20 1942 ( 20/02/1942 ) when unidentified Blenheims attacked retreating columns of the British 17 division and caused very heavy casualties. The poor chaps from the 17th must have been as fearfull of seeing the RAF comming as the enemy.)

Most of us did 3 or 4 Sorties a day assisting 17 division but there came a time in June 44 when our targets were up towards the Kohima area where the army was beginning to push the Japs back towards Burma.

On June 6th, 1944 ( 06/06/1944 ) I boobed when I reckoned my Flight Commander Aussy Frost (S/Ldr Ernest Frost) was bombing too far right of the so called target and with my No #2 we banked around and had another go. Pulling out of my dive I heard and felt a bang and my Merlin engine petered out. Flying dead stick at low level I had no time to choose suitable ground, and hoping for the best, made a crash landing in about 10ft of grass. The Japs were firing at me and..... well.... the rest is another story. I got back by exceptional good luck in about 2 1/2 days. A very lucky escape and I still find it uncomfortable to bring it back to mind.

I had two weeks off and my great Aussy friend Creamy Ryall and I applied for some sort of course which meant going to Kasmir up the Zochila pass to learn how to survive in uncomfortable surroundings and ski a bit. The real reason we went was to sample the only beer brewed in India and that we did to extreme measures. The tramping up the pass to the plain at the top was 14 thousand feet and no grog up there. When the snow started that year it was not too long before our instructors got the "wind up" and we hurtled downwards before we were cut off. We made it back to Murray where the beer is brewed and via a couple of race courses we made it back to Delhi from where we could bludge a lift on a Dakota or something to get back to Calcutta.

In this posh Delhi Hotel where the so called Rahz hung out, we kidded a turbaned senior waiter to serve us afternoon tea in a huge teapot full of Murray beer. I think we had perhaps a refill or two and shocked the Rahz who obviously by then knew what the score was. We looked after the waiter who was only doing his job for the white men in RAF and RAAF uniforms. Perhaps his children or great grand children still have a chuckle.

John remained in relatively good health, and active untill he died after a short illness in 2005. By strange co-incidence this was only months after making contact with some of his old friends for the first time since the war, and also recording his memories for the web site. Perhaps he knew what was coming. The following, is a moving tribute from his children read at Johns funeral. Written by his son Mike.

We decided upon 2 hymns for the service. `The day thou gavest Lord is ended' was suggested by Auntie Joan, who sadly was a bit too poorly to make the trip here from her home in Penzance. The hymn was sung by his family around a piano on Sunday evening after Church.

`Abide with Me' was chosen at our mothers funeral 10 years ago. It was also the punch line of a joke told by her `black sheep' brother uncle Bob that our dad was very fond of. Although Bob laughed his head off every time he told the joke none of us ever got it.

Since he has gone we have been going through his stuff and we came across a booklet on his wartime squadron. One of his surviving buddies when offering his condolences also pointed us to a website dedicated to the squadron.

In terms of close shaves there was also the legendary `walk back' when he had to crash land his Hurricane behind enemy lines and find his way back with a `no-prisoners' army searching for him. I say legendary- it certainly would have been if he had ever been able to tell anybody the whole story.

Since his one true love was flying he soon quit civvy street after the war and rejoined the RAF, carefully avoiding promotion and hence a desk job. Us kids were born about 3 years apart and with service life we found we were never in the same place for more than 2 years.

Tragically mum became very ill when we were quite young and Jackie and I found ourselves at boarding school -Manda luckily escaped. At around the time we finished Wymondham College, the old man retired from the Air Force.

John then embarked on a new career with the Midland Bank firstly at Cornmarket then Bracklesham and Chichester where he spent a total of about 18 years. Although not the same as the cockpit he thoroughly enjoyed his time at the bank; not so much the work but the relationships he developed and highly valued at each branch.

Possibly as a result of our childhood the old man always felt that he should have been around for us more no matter what nonsense we told him this was. I have to say, and I speak for any that knew him well, the old man never put himself first. Everything he ever did was for other people and his children in particular.

I remember being worried once when I wanted to go into business and I approached the old man for a loan. I had to introduce him to this right dodgy character who would be my partner. He didn't hesitate with the dosh and the 2 went on to become great friends.

With Jack it was worry that she would find out what he had been up to. This might have been smoking a cigar just after he should have died on the operating table with his aortic aneurysm or acting the clown at some boozy function.

The old man was a fantastic character . Whether it was just 2 people or a crowd his presence brightened each occasion. He had no time for pomp or bull and his particular brand of acerbic address was loved by all.

Right into his eighties he still had a mind which didn't befit his failing body and he had difficulty coming to terms with this. In this sense it was difficult to treat him any differently and I for one used to give him terrible stick.

Only 3 or so weeks ago Pam spotted him climbing over the central reservation outside our home after he had got off the bus on his way up to the office. He tried to avoid her and the ensuing bollocking by ducking into the Post Office. The daft sod then hid his face thinking if he couldn't see her she wouldn't see him.

As regards his demise, I am certain he would think on reflection it could have been a lot worse. True he had had breathing difficulties for a while but this wasn't really diagnosed as anything. He was in hospital for a little over a week and from a concrete diagnosis on the Friday he was gone on the Wednesday.

On the night before he went Easty & I were sat with him and I told him a hitherto unmentionable tale of when I borrowed Easty's suit for a court appearance and had to give it back to him with a knee and elbow missing. This got a great chuckle from him.

Finally I would like to read an extract from the 113 website that was an account of the OGs entry and written by him. Funnily enough he told me part of this same story earlier this year on a session in Penzance. It is in the vernacular but bear with me.

It is simply him.<On June 6th, 1944 ( 06/06/1944 ) I boobed when I reckoned my Flight Commander Aussy Frost (S/Ldr Ernest Frost) was bombing too far right of the so called target and with my No #2 we banked around and had another go.

Pulling out of my dive I heard and felt a bang and my Merlin engine petered out. Flying dead stick at low level I had no time to choose suitable ground, and hoping for the best, made a crash landing in about 10ft of grass.

The tramping up the pass to the plain at the top was 14 thousand feet and there was no grog up there. When the snow started that year it was not too long before our instructors got the "wind up" and we hurtled downwards before we were cut off.

I think we had perhaps a refill or two and shocked the Rahz who obviously by then knew what the score was. We looked after the waiter who was only doing his job for the white men in RAF and Royal Australian Air Force uniforms. Perhaps his children or great grand children still have a chuckle >

Nancy, one of his 7 grandchildren, will now play a short piece on her flute which her granddad bought her. This will be followed by a short piece from Barry Purcell, who has been a great friend to Johnny for many years.


	RAF 113 SQUADRON W/O John Bott BACK TO W/O John Bott listing \|\| BACK TO SQUADRON PERSONNEL \|\| HOME W/O John Bott, Pilot - Blenheims, Hurricanes. Burma 1942 -1945 Trained - unknown Promoted P/O about July 44 Promoted W/O 1945 When I joined the 113 from X1 we were both stationed with our Blenheims at a place ESE Calcutta, I think it was about 40 miles up the road. The sister X1 squadron who had an Aussie W/Cdr borrowed my Nav and then disappeared with him over Chittagong or Akyab. Very soon after this we (113) moved to St Thomas, Mount Madras in southern India to begin retraining from a bomber to a fighter squadron. Our Navs & Air gunners which would not be required anymore joined 2 seat "so called dive-bombers" called Vengeancers which I think were seconded to the Indian air force, it was all a shamble. At the St Thomas, Mt Madras airfield we were converted through Harvards to Hurricanes. 146 Squadron did the conversion. I was known on the 113 for being a bit unruly in speech & behaviour after the grog we managed to get from the local native quarters. As a NCO I rose to the dizzy rank of Warrant Officer but then did most, it was done on time. One incident I recall while we were there was a huge dam broke and we awoke to be floating in our charpoys and rising fast. We eventually had to climb on the roof of our basher and watch the water rise. The rats we saw were bigger then cats. The rise slowed down and a few of my mates swam under water into the officers mess and stole a whole load of grog. (Editors note: this missing bar stock from the officers mess is recorded in the official squadron records, the officers believing it had been lost in the flood) We then strode off when we could into a hotel room in Madras and drank our illicit grog. There was of course hell to pay, but the few of us who were missing were rounded up and we were on our way to Bangalore to finish the conversion on an airfield called Cholavarum. The mind is a bit blank but after that we all moved by train up to the Naga Hills to a place with a runway called Dimapur. Here we slept on bamboo beds in bashas surrounded by stone shapes in the form of the male anatomy. Up in Assam we were. From that strip, we the squadron became operational on Dec 4th 1943 ( 04/12/1943 ). At this time we had a C/O called Buck Courtney and his younger brother Pat had joined us. Could not stand Pat on the squadron, but in civvy life, he was a great friend when in 92 I nearly died of an Aorta Aneurysm but that is another story. My wonderful flight commander was a chap by the name of Ken Rolls "who sadly is no more." Also Buck & Pat are no longer around. Our Sorties were over the Eastern Hills and down to straffing sampans and things supplying the Nips. On one ocassion Ronny Lockwood and I were scrambled to locate a Nip at about 30 000 ft and I hit a Vulture on take off but we pressed on in the faint hope of sighting the intruder. We did not make contact but I remember seeing another Vulture as we passed 15 000 ft. Of course I lost Ronny and he landed at Imphal while I came down on the strip at Palel "which was to mean a lot to the 113 later on." The Vulture had done some damage to my port wing so the ground crew at Palel mended it and I was off back to the (male anatomy) aerodrome at Dimapur. On arrival Buck Courtney tore a strip off me for loosing Ronny. After awhile the nips cut the main supply line at Kohima "where the famous battle was won and the nips gave up their intention of invading India through use of the railway line which began at Dimpur." 113 moved to Palel via Jorhat and Tulihal and Silcharwest. We then operated from Pathakandi for awhile, flying down to a strip called Tulihall each day in the Imphal Valley and back to Pathakandi, but when the Kohima road was finally opened we landed up at Palel via other airfields on the way. Palel was a strip almost surrounded by Jap forces and they lobbed a few shells at us one night and destroyed at least two of our aircraft, I remember that the Flight Sergeant Bill Lockerbie (in charge of our ground staff) was furiously annoyed that a Jap used his office for a washroom. Palel was the scene each day of shooting up the enemy attacking our soldiers in 17 Div. One day I spotted a tank and radioed the base and they through HQ scrambled the Indian Air force with tank buster Hurricanes. I was to show them where the tank had been and we flew out to the area but they screwed it all up and fired a few bursts at our own soldiers, I screamed at them and then was directed to land at Imphal and see Wing Commander of Operations. He met me as I climbed out of my Hurricane and told me he believed my story, and that I was in the clear and to rejoin the 113 at Palel. I think the offenders were the 14 squadron (Indian) but I never heard anymore about the incident. (Editors note: It is woth noting that a similar mistake took place on Feb 20 1942 ( 20/02/1942 ) when unidentified Blenheims attacked retreating columns of the British 17 division and caused very heavy casualties. The poor chaps from the 17th must have been as fearfull of seeing the RAF comming as the enemy.) Most of us did 3 or 4 Sorties a day assisting 17 division but there came a time in June 44 when our targets were up towards the Kohima area where the army was beginning to push the Japs back towards Burma. On June 6th, 1944 ( 06/06/1944 ) I boobed when I reckoned my Flight Commander Aussy Frost (S/Ldr Ernest Frost) was bombing too far right of the so called target and with my No #2 we banked around and had another go. Pulling out of my dive I heard and felt a bang and my Merlin engine petered out. Flying dead stick at low level I had no time to choose suitable ground, and hoping for the best, made a crash landing in about 10ft of grass. The Japs were firing at me and..... well.... the rest is another story. I got back by exceptional good luck in about 2 1/2 days. A very lucky escape and I still find it uncomfortable to bring it back to mind. I had two weeks off and my great Aussy friend Creamy Ryall and I applied for some sort of course which meant going to Kasmir up the Zochila pass to learn how to survive in uncomfortable surroundings and ski a bit. The real reason we went was to sample the only beer brewed in India and that we did to extreme measures. The tramping up the pass to the plain at the top was 14 thousand feet and no grog up there. When the snow started that year it was not too long before our instructors got the "wind up" and we hurtled downwards before we were cut off. We made it back to Murray where the beer is brewed and via a couple of race courses we made it back to Delhi from where we could bludge a lift on a Dakota or something to get back to Calcutta. In this posh Delhi Hotel where the so called Rahz hung out, we kidded a turbaned senior waiter to serve us afternoon tea in a huge teapot full of Murray beer. I think we had perhaps a refill or two and shocked the Rahz who obviously by then knew what the score was. We looked after the waiter who was only doing his job for the white men in RAF and RAAF uniforms. Perhaps his children or great grand children still have a chuckle. We eventually arrived back at Palel and were confronted with a new C/O S/Ldr Rose. I had by then become a pilot officer. ~ John remained in relatively good health, and active untill he died after a short illness in 2005. By strange co-incidence this was only months after making contact with some of his old friends for the first time since the war, and also recording his memories for the web site. Perhaps he knew what was coming. The following, is a moving tribute from his children read at Johns funeral. Written by his son Mike. TRIBUTE TO JOHN BOTT From his son & daughters Jackie, Amanda and I would like to express our sincere thanks for you all attending here to celebrate the life of John Bott or rather the `Old Git' as here was more affectionately known. We decided upon 2 hymns for the service. `The day thou gavest Lord is ended' was suggested by Auntie Joan, who sadly was a bit too poorly to make the trip here from her home in Penzance. The hymn was sung by his family around a piano on Sunday evening after Church. `Abide with Me' was chosen at our mothers funeral 10 years ago. It was also the punch line of a joke told by her `black sheep' brother uncle Bob that our dad was very fond of. Although Bob laughed his head off every time he told the joke none of us ever got it. We felt it was appropriate to say a little bit about the old man as a devoted father. Since he has gone we have been going through his stuff and we came across a booklet on his wartime squadron. One of his surviving buddies when offering his condolences also pointed us to a website dedicated to the squadron. Reading this material it is quite extraordinary we are here at all considering they were flying 3-4 sorties per day from bases in India & Burma against the Japanese in dodgy old aircraft. In terms of close shaves there was also the legendary `walk back' when he had to crash land his Hurricane behind enemy lines and find his way back with a `no-prisoners' army searching for him. I say legendary- it certainly would have been if he had ever been able to tell anybody the whole story. For many of us here it is impossible to comprehend the horror of war and I regret that I never really told him how proud I was of him for coming through all that. Since his one true love was flying he soon quit civvy street after the war and rejoined the RAF, carefully avoiding promotion and hence a desk job. Us kids were born about 3 years apart and with service life we found we were never in the same place for more than 2 years. Tragically mum became very ill when we were quite young and Jackie and I found ourselves at boarding school -Manda luckily escaped. At around the time we finished Wymondham College, the old man retired from the Air Force. This was after he had exhausted prolonging his flying days by cheating the eye tests -he somehow used to get hold of a crib sheet of the eye test chart and memorise it. John then embarked on a new career with the Midland Bank firstly at Cornmarket then Bracklesham and Chichester where he spent a total of about 18 years. Although not the same as the cockpit he thoroughly enjoyed his time at the bank; not so much the work but the relationships he developed and highly valued at each branch. Possibly as a result of our childhood the old man always felt that he should have been around for us more no matter what nonsense we told him this was. I have to say, and I speak for any that knew him well, the old man never put himself first. Everything he ever did was for other people and his children in particular. I remember being worried once when I wanted to go into business and I approached the old man for a loan. I had to introduce him to this right dodgy character who would be my partner. He didn't hesitate with the dosh and the 2 went on to become great friends. Similarly right up to his departure he was always concerned for Amanda's well being and doing whatever he could. He didn't appear to extend such worry for Jackie however. With Jack it was worry that she would find out what he had been up to. This might have been smoking a cigar just after he should have died on the operating table with his aortic aneurysm or acting the clown at some boozy function. ž The old man was a fantastic character . Whether it was just 2 people or a crowd his presence brightened each occasion. He had no time for pomp or bull and his particular brand of acerbic address was loved by all. Right into his eighties he still had a mind which didn't befit his failing body and he had difficulty coming to terms with this. In this sense it was difficult to treat him any differently and I for one used to give him terrible stick. Only 3 or so weeks ago Pam spotted him climbing over the central reservation outside our home after he had got off the bus on his way up to the office. He tried to avoid her and the ensuing bollocking by ducking into the Post Office. The daft sod then hid his face thinking if he couldn't see her she wouldn't see him. ž As regards his demise, I am certain he would think on reflection it could have been a lot worse. True he had had breathing difficulties for a while but this wasn't really diagnosed as anything. He was in hospital for a little over a week and from a concrete diagnosis on the Friday he was gone on the Wednesday. On the night before he went Easty & I were sat with him and I told him a hitherto unmentionable tale of when I borrowed Easty's suit for a court appearance and had to give it back to him with a knee and elbow missing. This got a great chuckle from him. ž Finally I would like to read an extract from the 113 website that was an account of the OGs entry and written by him. Funnily enough he told me part of this same story earlier this year on a session in Penzance. It is in the vernacular but bear with me. It is simply him.<On June 6th, 1944 ( 06/06/1944 ) I boobed when I reckoned my Flight Commander Aussy Frost (S/Ldr Ernest Frost) was bombing too far right of the so called target and with my No #2 we banked around and had another go. Pulling out of my dive I heard and felt a bang and my Merlin engine petered out. Flying dead stick at low level I had no time to choose suitable ground, and hoping for the best, made a crash landing in about 10ft of grass. The Japs were firing at me and..... well.... the rest is another story. I got back by exceptional good luck. A very lucky escape and I still find it uncomfortable to bring it back to mind. As a result I had two weeks off and my great Aussy friend Creamy Ryall and I applied for some sort of course which meant going to Kasmir up the Zochila pass to learn how to survive in uncomfortable surroundings and ski a bit. The real reason we went was to sample the only beer brewed in India and that we did to extreme measures. The tramping up the pass to the plain at the top was 14 thousand feet and there was no grog up there. When the snow started that year it was not too long before our instructors got the "wind up" and we hurtled downwards before we were cut off. We made it back to Murray where the beer is brewed and via a couple of race courses we made it back to Delhi from where we could bludge a lift on a Dakota or something to get back to Calcutta. In this posh Delhi Hotel where the so called Rahz hung out, we kidded a turbaned senior waiter to serve us afternoon tea in a huge teapot full of Murray beer. I think we had perhaps a refill or two and shocked the Rahz who obviously by then knew what the score was. We looked after the waiter who was only doing his job for the white men in RAF and Royal Australian Air Force uniforms. Perhaps his children or great grand children still have a chuckle > One great account We are left with a great richness of memories and we will miss him terribly. Nancy, one of his 7 grandchildren, will now play a short piece on her flute which her granddad bought her. This will be followed by a short piece from Barry Purcell, who has been a great friend to Johnny for many years. John Mabbut Bott…. Great bloke BACK TO W/O John Bott main listing personnel section BACK TO TOP