Post by simon darkshade on Jul 22, 2018 12:52:05 GMT
These are a few little vignettes of the immediate post WW2 world that I'll return to some day.
The Home Fleet was out.
Freezing wind and stinging rain whipped through the inadequate shelter of Lieutenant Jack Wilkinson’s watch station as he pulled his foul weather gear tighter in what he knew was a vain attempt to sustain some memory of warmth. The sky was a uniform leaden grey and there was only the dimmest of indications that dawn had passed some time before. The faint lights of the other ships of the fleet flickered through the wretched storm and Wilkinson shuddered momentarily at the thought of what it would be like to be on one of the destroyers in seas like this. Even the Battles would be at the mercy of the wild northern seas.
Nevertheless, it was deemed necessary by the great and mighty that the fleet sortie from Scapa Flow and the forward anchorage at Trondheim to their current location off Hammerfest for reasons as yet unknown. Perhaps another show of force for the Russians, who had been dabbling around the North Cape over the last few months with their new battlewagon. If so, thought Jack, this was one very firm statement to stay back in their own waters made with a hell of a lot of force.
No fewer than ten battleships – nine British and one Canadian - were present, along with two of the huge Malta class battle carriers and a pair of older ships, Ark Royal and Victorious, both recently returned from the Pacific. Escorting the behemoths to their icebound destination were five hulking heavy armoured cruisers, a dozen assorted light cruisers and four full flotillas of destroyers. Several of the battleships, including Jack’s own Black Prince, carried recently installed launchers amidships for Stooge anti-aircraft rockets, with the armoured cruisers sporting the new Helmover super-torpedoes. Heaven help the Soviets if they had cause to run into them.
The Soviet Northern Fleet was relatively small by comparison, comprising the new Sovetskaya Rossiya, two older dreadnoughts, the battlecruiser Sevastopol, half a dozen cruisers and eleven destroyers. For the most part, the fleet had been icebound and had not exerted an inordinate influence over the recent war. It had however been undertaking increasingly wide ranging exercises at sea of late, causing some measure of concern given the crisis currently building in the Black Sea.
A shrill screaming sound drew Jack’s eyes to the skies and he saw four dark blue Attackers cut across the sky towards the north east, closely followed by a pair of larger twin engine planes. Canberras. That must mean the RNAS lads back at Narvik are up and about early. Whatever snooping Soviet frigate or destroyer was out there was going to get a rather memorable flyover.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The three large scale deployments of the Royal Navy Home Fleet to Norwegian waters in the second half of 1946 achieved their nominal objective of deterring Soviet adventurism towards Scandinavia but in retrospect are seen as setting off a greater degree of alarm and concern in the mind of the Politburo regarding encirclement and the potential for a concerted Western attack. The RN had earlier conducted similar exercises in and around the disputed Straits in support of the Byzantines and the Kingdom of Bulgaria and successfully outlasted the Black Sea Fleet before redeploying as a warning measure off Alexandretta in the autumn as part of a concerted response to Ottoman exercises on the Syrian border.
Subsequent Soviet defectors indicated that subsequent Soviet actions in the Far East and Europe were strongly influenced by the setbacks of 1946, with the first indications coming in 1948 as part of the fabled 'Soviet Crown Jewels' (see Chapter 5)
The second half of the year also saw the departure of the last heavy elements of the British Pacific Fleet from occupation duty in Japan, with HMS Illustrious being deployed to China Station off Hong Kong and the remaining two carriers heading for Singapore. British, Canadian and American ground forces completed their pullout from Korea in mid 1947, and these factors played a part in what was to come in that region of the world in the following years.
- from Chapter 4 'Roots and Ruptures' in 'The Aftermath of the Second World War'(Elmer Selvington, Cathbad University Press, 1959)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Christmas is no time for a man to be away from hearth and home, thought Corporal George Sampson, and especially no time to be stamping around in the bloody cold here, outside of B Company HQ in Landsberg an der Warthe. The 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers were one of four British battalions deployed around the town, as part of the 28th Infantry Division’s sector of the German-Polish border, or what was now considered the border between the West and the encroaching tendrils of the Soviet Union.
Some five Western Allied divisions were based along the border zone, and all viewed the daunting task of facing the vastly numerically superior Red Army as a source of black humour; one sergeant in C Company ran a rather large book on how long they would last if hostilities kicked off and no bets had been taken for anything above two hours. Amusing as it was, it was also decidedly irrelevant, as both 2nd Lancs and the Kremlin knew that Bomber Command would be halfway to Moscow in that time.
Things were looking up, though. Word was they would be pulled out in the new year, what with the draw down of forces continuing. Their supporting squadron of Crusader tanks had been pulled out four weeks ago with no replacement; those units staying on were getting the big Centurions with their powerful 36pdr guns. He’d heard on the BBC Forces Programme that most of the Crusaders were being sold or passed on to Allied nations as aid, for what it was worth. His thoughts had turned to something far more important, far more immediate than international relations – Home.
Home.
The very word was alluring and warmed George with its very thought. He sipped at his mug of tea before inhaling deeply and gratefully from his battered Woodbine and blowing the smoke out into the cold winter night. It had been an awfully long time since George had seen Lora and the boys, far too long. He'd been in since 1938, joining up after the Vienna Crisis accelerated the rearmament process. Since then, he'd fought through the campaigns in France, Norway, Portugal and Spain, Italy and finally returned to France again two years ago before ending the war in the shattered heart of Berlin. Not many of his mates from the beginning had been with him to see the Union Jack rise jauntily above the Reichstag next to the Stars and Stripes and the French Tricolour over an ashen sky and the devastated ruins of the capital city of Hitlerism. It would have been even better had our flag been first, he thought, but the Poles had won that honour fair and square. It had been a ghostly moment when the thousands of guns had ceased fire and the Heynal had rang out over the centre of the city.
Bah, memories! George stamped his feet and pulled his greatcoat closer around his four and half foot frame. brushing the Lee Enfield battle rifle slung over his shoulder as he knocked icicles out of his long red beard.
Soon, my darling. Soon I'll be home to the hill.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RAF Cairo, Egypt September 15th 1946
The target was open. Defenceless, seemingly. He swooped down in a terrific dive through the oppressive desert air, exhulting at his triumph. Almost there, almost perfect –
A gigantic hand fell from above and squashed the fly unceremoniously on the notched wooden surface of the table, sending a plate with a thickly cut piece of bread and copiously spread strawberry jam clattering across before coming to rest on a well thumbed issue of The Beano.
"Bugger! Bleedin‘ fly trying to get at me sarnie! Cheeky devil!“cursed Leading Aircraftman Stanley Taylor, brushing the remnants of the insect against his shorts whilst carefully inspecting his luckily rescued tea.
"It’s your own stupid fault, Stan. I keep telling you, if one of the little bastards gets in, you need to reset the bloomin‘ window amulet or go and see the duty Thaumaturgist and get him to recharge it. But no, you’d prefer to be a lazy sod and moan about it afterwards.“ sighed Leading Aircraftman Michael Browning, putting down his newspaper for the inevitable argument.
"Leave it off, Mike, you know I don’t like those bally wizarding types. Send shivers right down me spine, they do. It’s not normal, I tell ya!“
"Yes, Stan, I know, no need to start again. Honestly, though, you’d think you’d be used to them by now, even if you are from the unexplored wilds of Scoriton. Why, as I remember you telling it, your grandmother was a witch, wasn’t she“ A broad grin started to spread across Browning’s face as he warmed to his task.
"No, she bloody well wasn’t, you sod, and you know it! She had a way with herbs and plants, is all.“
"I thought she had her own broomstick and all. Didn’t she used to take you flying-„
The only thing that was flying at that point in time was Stan across the table at Michael, knocking him out of his chair with the intent to give him a thorough beasting. As they rolled around on the floor, the door of the room opened with an audible scrape.
"Ahem.“
Both men lept to their feet and briskly brushed themselves down as they came to attention before a bemused Flying Officer Edmund Pevensie.
"Dare I even ask chaps?“
"No, no need to sir. Usual rough and tumble.“ replied Browning
"Very well, stand easy. Now, there’s a spot rather important news just come through on the teletype. It seems we’re going to get some visitors. A Yank bomber is coming through on a flight through from Iceland on its way to Singers. I think they are a bit interested in our little old base here for some unknown reason.“ Pevensie smiled as he looked deliberately to the north.
"Very good, sir. B-29?“
"No, one of their big B-36s. 25 Squadron up at Alex are going to try get up and escort her in, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. I’ll be interested to get a look at one in the flesh, so to speak. The newsreels say they are almost as big as a York.“
"Big as a York, sir? Blimey, would you believe that!“ guffawed Stan as he pictured something comparable to their own eight engined bombers
"You’d be surprised what I’d believe, Taylor, very surprised. Anyway, look sharp, as things are going to get very busy very quickly around here. Oh, and the skyship is due in at 4 o’clock, so there’ll be mail and food deliveries from home, along with a new draft of replacements. Round up a few men and drive out to the main aerodrome and meet them, will you?“
"Righto sir“
"Excellent. Carry on, chaps.“ Pevensie saluted and strode off jauntily.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
April 23rd, 1946
Tube Alloys Test Site, Maralinga, South Australia
The blinding flash of a new sun lit the desert horizon, smashing the predawn stillness and warming the face of Group Captain Roger Masterson as he stood silently and in awe watching the blooming cloud of baleful red and brilliant yellow alongside the collection of scientists, airmen and soldiers. He’d seen bombs go off in his time – Tallboys, Grand Slams and even the thirty two ton Answer. This…this…this was different. The newsreels did it no justice at all.
“There we have it, gentlemen – the Mark 2 Atom Bomb. First of our own true weapons, with all that entails. Almost four times as strong as the bombs we and the Americans dropped last year on the Japanese.” The words were spoken quietly and almost reverently by a bespectacled scientist.
Shortly after, as the now familiar mushroom-shaped plume of smoke still stretched up into the brightening sky, the observers broke up and headed for the assorted vehicles that would take them back to the base camp and the airfield some thirty miles away. Masterson, having obtained the roll of film he had been sent so far for, hurried over to catch the scientist who had spoken before
“Professor Penney! One moment please!”
“Yes…Group Captain Masterson, isn’t it?”
“Yes sir. One thing – four times more powerful, you say?”
“At least. We’ll have the basic details later today, but our full report will take a little longer. When do you leave?”
“This afternoon, Professor. The Chief of the Air Staff wants the footage in time for the next meeting of the Air Council, so I’m going high priority on a Canberra.”
“Quite understandable, old chap, and far be it from me to keep Air Chief Marshal Harris waiting. We’ll wire through what we come out with.”
“Thank you, sir. Goodbye.”
“Indeed. Good morning.”
"Professor?"
"Yes?"
"One last thing. A bomb like that - it will kill anything? Living or dead?"
Penney grew pale momentarily with understanding.
Mars.
"In the case of the former, absolutely. In the case of the latter, probably."
"Right. Cheerio."
Masterson hurried away to begin his long journey to the other side of the world. This footage, judiciously shown, would be of very great use. The sight of an RAF heavy bomber successfully delivering an atomic bomb would be worth its weight in gold in the bitter battle currently underway between the Navy, Army and the Air Force.
This would do it.
And greater still than interservice rivalry were the problems currently arising far away at the edge of the Empire, far across the waves of the aether.
This had better do it.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The beginning of the end of rationing came as a welcome measure to the civilian population of the British Isles, with the increased volume of imports by sea and air providing relief from the shortages of wartime. By the end of 1947, most restrictions had been lifted as part of a general ‘bonfire of controls’, with petrol and sweets coming off in late 1948. Food aid to the newly liberated and occupied states of Europe was procured grudgingly and expensively from the substantial agricultural output of the Commonwealth nations – Canada, Rhodesia, Israel, South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, New Avalon and Prydain all benefitted from extensive British Government purchases.
The mid to late 1940s were neither a time of shining success nor great woe and austerity for Britain, but the absence of several previous major industrial competitors allowed a general consolidation of interests in a number of lucrative foreign markets, in addition to significant income from investments in the Americas.
In 1950, a number of things changed…
from ‘The Postwar British Economy’ by Dr. Colton Columbite (EA Blair Publishing, 1984)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
12th November 1946 ‘SOUND BARRIER BROKEN’ – The Times
In the latest of a series of test flights that began in May, the experimental Miles M.52 jet-plane piloted by the famed Janusz Zurakowski broke the sound barrier in level, controlled flight, topping 680 miles/hour and causing an audible sonic boom.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
15th November 1946 ‘NEW CUNARD LINER’ – Empire News
A new superliner for the Cunard Line was laid down today on the Clydebank at John Brown's. The as yet unnamed ship is expected to be completed in late 1951.
She is to be the largest superliner yet to enter service, exceeding twelve hundred feet in length and expected to displace as much as some of the largest battleships. This vessel is the first superliner to be laid down in Britain since the war. It is said that the ship will be equipped with some of the most powerful engines in the world and could well be a challenger to the Queen Mary or the Oceanic.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
All things must fade at some time. Some fade in ignominy, some fade in failure and others, all too few, go down to glory.
Her sisters had gone before her, to mixed fates – one to the scrapyard and the other to warmer waters and more tropical climes. She had returned from there a few months before, the last of her class in active service. She was an old, scarred ship and not quite as fast or dashing as in her pomp, but that is to be expected for a veteran of two bitter and hard World Wars and all the long years of warlike peace in between.
Such sights she had seen in her time, from the clashing giants and tremendous victory at Jutland to the gales and ice of the Arctic to the great battles that tore apart the Mediterranean and then finally the vast array of ship in Tokyo Bay to see the ending of the last war.
Now was a time for rest for a weary warrior, to pass the baton to her already formidable grandchildren. So it was that one final journey lay before the old lady.
Gently, ever so gently, tugs pushed her along up the river, past bridges and cranes raised in silent and solemn salute. She went forward with a grace that belied her craggy appearance, like a floating iron castle slipping through the mists of elfland.
The setting sun cast a rich scarlet-golden gleam over her as she slid forward into her berth on the Thames. Many was the ship that had travelled back and forth on this great river, but for the grand old lady, her journeys were over.
HMS Warspite had come home.
The Home Fleet was out.
Freezing wind and stinging rain whipped through the inadequate shelter of Lieutenant Jack Wilkinson’s watch station as he pulled his foul weather gear tighter in what he knew was a vain attempt to sustain some memory of warmth. The sky was a uniform leaden grey and there was only the dimmest of indications that dawn had passed some time before. The faint lights of the other ships of the fleet flickered through the wretched storm and Wilkinson shuddered momentarily at the thought of what it would be like to be on one of the destroyers in seas like this. Even the Battles would be at the mercy of the wild northern seas.
Nevertheless, it was deemed necessary by the great and mighty that the fleet sortie from Scapa Flow and the forward anchorage at Trondheim to their current location off Hammerfest for reasons as yet unknown. Perhaps another show of force for the Russians, who had been dabbling around the North Cape over the last few months with their new battlewagon. If so, thought Jack, this was one very firm statement to stay back in their own waters made with a hell of a lot of force.
No fewer than ten battleships – nine British and one Canadian - were present, along with two of the huge Malta class battle carriers and a pair of older ships, Ark Royal and Victorious, both recently returned from the Pacific. Escorting the behemoths to their icebound destination were five hulking heavy armoured cruisers, a dozen assorted light cruisers and four full flotillas of destroyers. Several of the battleships, including Jack’s own Black Prince, carried recently installed launchers amidships for Stooge anti-aircraft rockets, with the armoured cruisers sporting the new Helmover super-torpedoes. Heaven help the Soviets if they had cause to run into them.
The Soviet Northern Fleet was relatively small by comparison, comprising the new Sovetskaya Rossiya, two older dreadnoughts, the battlecruiser Sevastopol, half a dozen cruisers and eleven destroyers. For the most part, the fleet had been icebound and had not exerted an inordinate influence over the recent war. It had however been undertaking increasingly wide ranging exercises at sea of late, causing some measure of concern given the crisis currently building in the Black Sea.
A shrill screaming sound drew Jack’s eyes to the skies and he saw four dark blue Attackers cut across the sky towards the north east, closely followed by a pair of larger twin engine planes. Canberras. That must mean the RNAS lads back at Narvik are up and about early. Whatever snooping Soviet frigate or destroyer was out there was going to get a rather memorable flyover.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The three large scale deployments of the Royal Navy Home Fleet to Norwegian waters in the second half of 1946 achieved their nominal objective of deterring Soviet adventurism towards Scandinavia but in retrospect are seen as setting off a greater degree of alarm and concern in the mind of the Politburo regarding encirclement and the potential for a concerted Western attack. The RN had earlier conducted similar exercises in and around the disputed Straits in support of the Byzantines and the Kingdom of Bulgaria and successfully outlasted the Black Sea Fleet before redeploying as a warning measure off Alexandretta in the autumn as part of a concerted response to Ottoman exercises on the Syrian border.
Subsequent Soviet defectors indicated that subsequent Soviet actions in the Far East and Europe were strongly influenced by the setbacks of 1946, with the first indications coming in 1948 as part of the fabled 'Soviet Crown Jewels' (see Chapter 5)
The second half of the year also saw the departure of the last heavy elements of the British Pacific Fleet from occupation duty in Japan, with HMS Illustrious being deployed to China Station off Hong Kong and the remaining two carriers heading for Singapore. British, Canadian and American ground forces completed their pullout from Korea in mid 1947, and these factors played a part in what was to come in that region of the world in the following years.
- from Chapter 4 'Roots and Ruptures' in 'The Aftermath of the Second World War'(Elmer Selvington, Cathbad University Press, 1959)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Christmas is no time for a man to be away from hearth and home, thought Corporal George Sampson, and especially no time to be stamping around in the bloody cold here, outside of B Company HQ in Landsberg an der Warthe. The 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers were one of four British battalions deployed around the town, as part of the 28th Infantry Division’s sector of the German-Polish border, or what was now considered the border between the West and the encroaching tendrils of the Soviet Union.
Some five Western Allied divisions were based along the border zone, and all viewed the daunting task of facing the vastly numerically superior Red Army as a source of black humour; one sergeant in C Company ran a rather large book on how long they would last if hostilities kicked off and no bets had been taken for anything above two hours. Amusing as it was, it was also decidedly irrelevant, as both 2nd Lancs and the Kremlin knew that Bomber Command would be halfway to Moscow in that time.
Things were looking up, though. Word was they would be pulled out in the new year, what with the draw down of forces continuing. Their supporting squadron of Crusader tanks had been pulled out four weeks ago with no replacement; those units staying on were getting the big Centurions with their powerful 36pdr guns. He’d heard on the BBC Forces Programme that most of the Crusaders were being sold or passed on to Allied nations as aid, for what it was worth. His thoughts had turned to something far more important, far more immediate than international relations – Home.
Home.
The very word was alluring and warmed George with its very thought. He sipped at his mug of tea before inhaling deeply and gratefully from his battered Woodbine and blowing the smoke out into the cold winter night. It had been an awfully long time since George had seen Lora and the boys, far too long. He'd been in since 1938, joining up after the Vienna Crisis accelerated the rearmament process. Since then, he'd fought through the campaigns in France, Norway, Portugal and Spain, Italy and finally returned to France again two years ago before ending the war in the shattered heart of Berlin. Not many of his mates from the beginning had been with him to see the Union Jack rise jauntily above the Reichstag next to the Stars and Stripes and the French Tricolour over an ashen sky and the devastated ruins of the capital city of Hitlerism. It would have been even better had our flag been first, he thought, but the Poles had won that honour fair and square. It had been a ghostly moment when the thousands of guns had ceased fire and the Heynal had rang out over the centre of the city.
Bah, memories! George stamped his feet and pulled his greatcoat closer around his four and half foot frame. brushing the Lee Enfield battle rifle slung over his shoulder as he knocked icicles out of his long red beard.
Soon, my darling. Soon I'll be home to the hill.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
RAF Cairo, Egypt September 15th 1946
The target was open. Defenceless, seemingly. He swooped down in a terrific dive through the oppressive desert air, exhulting at his triumph. Almost there, almost perfect –
A gigantic hand fell from above and squashed the fly unceremoniously on the notched wooden surface of the table, sending a plate with a thickly cut piece of bread and copiously spread strawberry jam clattering across before coming to rest on a well thumbed issue of The Beano.
"Bugger! Bleedin‘ fly trying to get at me sarnie! Cheeky devil!“cursed Leading Aircraftman Stanley Taylor, brushing the remnants of the insect against his shorts whilst carefully inspecting his luckily rescued tea.
"It’s your own stupid fault, Stan. I keep telling you, if one of the little bastards gets in, you need to reset the bloomin‘ window amulet or go and see the duty Thaumaturgist and get him to recharge it. But no, you’d prefer to be a lazy sod and moan about it afterwards.“ sighed Leading Aircraftman Michael Browning, putting down his newspaper for the inevitable argument.
"Leave it off, Mike, you know I don’t like those bally wizarding types. Send shivers right down me spine, they do. It’s not normal, I tell ya!“
"Yes, Stan, I know, no need to start again. Honestly, though, you’d think you’d be used to them by now, even if you are from the unexplored wilds of Scoriton. Why, as I remember you telling it, your grandmother was a witch, wasn’t she“ A broad grin started to spread across Browning’s face as he warmed to his task.
"No, she bloody well wasn’t, you sod, and you know it! She had a way with herbs and plants, is all.“
"I thought she had her own broomstick and all. Didn’t she used to take you flying-„
The only thing that was flying at that point in time was Stan across the table at Michael, knocking him out of his chair with the intent to give him a thorough beasting. As they rolled around on the floor, the door of the room opened with an audible scrape.
"Ahem.“
Both men lept to their feet and briskly brushed themselves down as they came to attention before a bemused Flying Officer Edmund Pevensie.
"Dare I even ask chaps?“
"No, no need to sir. Usual rough and tumble.“ replied Browning
"Very well, stand easy. Now, there’s a spot rather important news just come through on the teletype. It seems we’re going to get some visitors. A Yank bomber is coming through on a flight through from Iceland on its way to Singers. I think they are a bit interested in our little old base here for some unknown reason.“ Pevensie smiled as he looked deliberately to the north.
"Very good, sir. B-29?“
"No, one of their big B-36s. 25 Squadron up at Alex are going to try get up and escort her in, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. I’ll be interested to get a look at one in the flesh, so to speak. The newsreels say they are almost as big as a York.“
"Big as a York, sir? Blimey, would you believe that!“ guffawed Stan as he pictured something comparable to their own eight engined bombers
"You’d be surprised what I’d believe, Taylor, very surprised. Anyway, look sharp, as things are going to get very busy very quickly around here. Oh, and the skyship is due in at 4 o’clock, so there’ll be mail and food deliveries from home, along with a new draft of replacements. Round up a few men and drive out to the main aerodrome and meet them, will you?“
"Righto sir“
"Excellent. Carry on, chaps.“ Pevensie saluted and strode off jauntily.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
April 23rd, 1946
Tube Alloys Test Site, Maralinga, South Australia
The blinding flash of a new sun lit the desert horizon, smashing the predawn stillness and warming the face of Group Captain Roger Masterson as he stood silently and in awe watching the blooming cloud of baleful red and brilliant yellow alongside the collection of scientists, airmen and soldiers. He’d seen bombs go off in his time – Tallboys, Grand Slams and even the thirty two ton Answer. This…this…this was different. The newsreels did it no justice at all.
“There we have it, gentlemen – the Mark 2 Atom Bomb. First of our own true weapons, with all that entails. Almost four times as strong as the bombs we and the Americans dropped last year on the Japanese.” The words were spoken quietly and almost reverently by a bespectacled scientist.
Shortly after, as the now familiar mushroom-shaped plume of smoke still stretched up into the brightening sky, the observers broke up and headed for the assorted vehicles that would take them back to the base camp and the airfield some thirty miles away. Masterson, having obtained the roll of film he had been sent so far for, hurried over to catch the scientist who had spoken before
“Professor Penney! One moment please!”
“Yes…Group Captain Masterson, isn’t it?”
“Yes sir. One thing – four times more powerful, you say?”
“At least. We’ll have the basic details later today, but our full report will take a little longer. When do you leave?”
“This afternoon, Professor. The Chief of the Air Staff wants the footage in time for the next meeting of the Air Council, so I’m going high priority on a Canberra.”
“Quite understandable, old chap, and far be it from me to keep Air Chief Marshal Harris waiting. We’ll wire through what we come out with.”
“Thank you, sir. Goodbye.”
“Indeed. Good morning.”
"Professor?"
"Yes?"
"One last thing. A bomb like that - it will kill anything? Living or dead?"
Penney grew pale momentarily with understanding.
Mars.
"In the case of the former, absolutely. In the case of the latter, probably."
"Right. Cheerio."
Masterson hurried away to begin his long journey to the other side of the world. This footage, judiciously shown, would be of very great use. The sight of an RAF heavy bomber successfully delivering an atomic bomb would be worth its weight in gold in the bitter battle currently underway between the Navy, Army and the Air Force.
This would do it.
And greater still than interservice rivalry were the problems currently arising far away at the edge of the Empire, far across the waves of the aether.
This had better do it.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The beginning of the end of rationing came as a welcome measure to the civilian population of the British Isles, with the increased volume of imports by sea and air providing relief from the shortages of wartime. By the end of 1947, most restrictions had been lifted as part of a general ‘bonfire of controls’, with petrol and sweets coming off in late 1948. Food aid to the newly liberated and occupied states of Europe was procured grudgingly and expensively from the substantial agricultural output of the Commonwealth nations – Canada, Rhodesia, Israel, South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, New Avalon and Prydain all benefitted from extensive British Government purchases.
The mid to late 1940s were neither a time of shining success nor great woe and austerity for Britain, but the absence of several previous major industrial competitors allowed a general consolidation of interests in a number of lucrative foreign markets, in addition to significant income from investments in the Americas.
In 1950, a number of things changed…
from ‘The Postwar British Economy’ by Dr. Colton Columbite (EA Blair Publishing, 1984)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
12th November 1946 ‘SOUND BARRIER BROKEN’ – The Times
In the latest of a series of test flights that began in May, the experimental Miles M.52 jet-plane piloted by the famed Janusz Zurakowski broke the sound barrier in level, controlled flight, topping 680 miles/hour and causing an audible sonic boom.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
15th November 1946 ‘NEW CUNARD LINER’ – Empire News
A new superliner for the Cunard Line was laid down today on the Clydebank at John Brown's. The as yet unnamed ship is expected to be completed in late 1951.
She is to be the largest superliner yet to enter service, exceeding twelve hundred feet in length and expected to displace as much as some of the largest battleships. This vessel is the first superliner to be laid down in Britain since the war. It is said that the ship will be equipped with some of the most powerful engines in the world and could well be a challenger to the Queen Mary or the Oceanic.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
All things must fade at some time. Some fade in ignominy, some fade in failure and others, all too few, go down to glory.
Her sisters had gone before her, to mixed fates – one to the scrapyard and the other to warmer waters and more tropical climes. She had returned from there a few months before, the last of her class in active service. She was an old, scarred ship and not quite as fast or dashing as in her pomp, but that is to be expected for a veteran of two bitter and hard World Wars and all the long years of warlike peace in between.
Such sights she had seen in her time, from the clashing giants and tremendous victory at Jutland to the gales and ice of the Arctic to the great battles that tore apart the Mediterranean and then finally the vast array of ship in Tokyo Bay to see the ending of the last war.
Now was a time for rest for a weary warrior, to pass the baton to her already formidable grandchildren. So it was that one final journey lay before the old lady.
Gently, ever so gently, tugs pushed her along up the river, past bridges and cranes raised in silent and solemn salute. She went forward with a grace that belied her craggy appearance, like a floating iron castle slipping through the mists of elfland.
The setting sun cast a rich scarlet-golden gleam over her as she slid forward into her berth on the Thames. Many was the ship that had travelled back and forth on this great river, but for the grand old lady, her journeys were over.
HMS Warspite had come home.
