Virtual
War Memorial
Australia

My father, Ross Whittaker, joined the RAAF in World War 2 as a 20 year old in 1942 just after his birthday, spurred by the Imperial Japanese Navy dropping bombs on Darwin that year.

He was a farmer from Maitland South Australia, and therefore was not expected to fight but left his family to risk his life in the AirForce. In preparing for his new role he went to the local Post Master to learn morse code where he met my mother - the post master’s daughter. It was to be three more years before their lifelong romance blossomed.

In his words “ There was an adventurous group who signed up to the Australian Imperial Forces in early World War 2, but there were many more of us who did not think it was our show, until the Japanese took a hand. It then quickly became obvious that they thought our little island could be a good place to include in their Asian Co-Prosperity Sphere. We did not like this idea and we enlisted in our thousands to try and do our bit to stop them….Our group was sent to England. So much for fighting the Japanese”.

I think it was this rather wry, humorous approach to life that helped him through the next few years and life afterwards.
After training he was sent to Britain in 1943 on an American troop ship. At this stage his pay was about 7 pounds a fortnight and later went up to about 10 pounds a fortnight.

He arrived in Scotland at a place called West Freugh - but renamed it as Wet Through. He wasn’t used to the damp coming from South Australia.

His time in Britain seemed to be a mix of training, dancing, trips to various country estates and long periods of boredom. His terror came later.

He received training and in early 1944, his crew were given a brand new Wellington Mark 10 to fly to Morocco and Spain and then to Foggia in Italy. He was indignant because their state of the art plane was then commandeered by higher ranking officers.

HIs crew then started on a series of sorties into Bulgaria and Yugoslavia. Budapest in April 1944 to bomb an aircraft factory was his last as a bombaimer. The plane was shot down over Hungary with a loss of life of two of the five crew. It was his first and only time using a parachute. He spenthis time on the way down terrified and regretting that he had opened the parachute so quickly.

In his words “ I was still in the bomber stream and I could hear aircraft all around but couldn’t see them and they all sounded as if they were heading at me”.

He said “All airmen of the propeller era had an irrational fear of propellers because if one hit you, you would merely be mincemeat”

He landed safely , and using a tiny map decided to try and walk to Yugoslavia (which he didnt realise was 150 miles away), He was captured by a farmer a day and a half later and handed over to the Hungarian Air Force where he was beaten, and tortured until he gave them the maiden name of his mother. He didn’t understand that but in hindsight it seems that it would have been to find out if he was Jewish. He also told them he was from Adelaide, Australia but by that time he had sustained a huge beating with rabbit punches, klcks and open handed haymakers galore and been strung up by his wrists, behind his back. But no broken bones.

Eventually he was handed over to the nazis and shifted between various camps until he ended up in Sagan Luft 3 (famous for the earlier Great Escape) in Poland. Because of his rank, Warrant Officer, he was assigned to be an orderly for the Officers.

He says “Life was not all that unpleasant apart from the fact that we were shut up in a camp with little to do but kill time. The Germans did not supply enough food, but when we got a full Red Cross parcel courtesy American Red Cross per week we were not very hungry and did not lose much more weight.” He remembered the Red Cross for the rest of his life and in his diary noted the contents of those Red Cross parcels.

However he noted wryly in his diary that

“There were only a few things wrong with our brews here, apart from a lack of sugar, milk, tea, coffee or cocoa , otherwise they would be really good. “

His diary also contained some sardonic jokes along the following lines

” Darling in your letter you asked for slippers - what colour would you like?”

“Darling I have just had a baby but don’t worry the American officer is sending you cigarettes”

He was incarcerated for 13 months in total although the last few months were very unpleasant in many ways. One was that the Sagan Luft 3 was abandoned by the Germans who took the prisoners on a forced march to Bergen as the Russians were coming, it was cold, wet with plenty of mud and not enough warm clothing or blankets during the spring thaw. They were there a couple of months before going back on the road as the British were coming. The allies had been dropping leaflets that anyone who mistreated prisoners of wars, would be dealt with, and so the German soldiers did not follow Hitler’s orders and shoot the prisoners.

My father was in a group of nine men who managed to forage for food and firewood and bargain cigarettes for eggs and other supplies. His skills from the farm came in handy, as he was able to liberate a vehicle to travel in while looking for their compatriots. They met up with an allied tank and then were moved by an army truck to an airfield the day before Victory in Europe Day and flown back to England the day after.  They came by ship back to Sydney and were put on a troop train.

In his words
“ I arrived back in Maitland about a week before the Victory in the Pacific Day and I duly celebrated that event at a dance at the Maitland Town Hall. For me the war really was over as the German Intelligence Officer had said to me back in the Budapest Goal.”   

He never wanted to travel again.

He married my mother in September 1946 and she spent the first two years cooking him breakfast to fatten him up - He then worked up the courage to tell her he didn’t like a cooked breakfast.

Naturally, all of this means that ANZAC Day means a great deal to my family and the RSL and Legacy were important all his life. In his last months I asked him what was the most important thing in life. Without hesitation he answered ‘Freedom’. That is what we want, the freedom to go about our daily lives without fear. He held no animosity to the German or Japanese people for a war over which most of them had no say. He did keep a journal and letters which I discovered after he died in 2018.

I was born after the World War 2 at a time when life was good. Good seasons on the farm and a happy family life with many positives made me unaware of the challenges my father had faced in his overseas service. My only knowledge of the war was the rather odd lump on my father’s face and the leather coat and flying helmet which hung unused in the laundry; the photos of him in uniform; the affection he showed towards my Uncle Jackwho was the same age and who served in the Australian Navy as an Able Seaman. My Uncle was quick with a joke too at times of trauma.

Dad never spoke of his experiences to me until he was in his eighties. What I knew of the time he spent as a prisoner of war was limited to protect me from the terror of the time he spent as a prisoner, pining for freedom. The freedom that still mattered so much to him in his final stage of life.