Most readers. I am sure, -will know that 'Erk' was the RAF's colloquialism for 'ground crew airman' and perhaps 'airwoman' although I can't recall ever hearing a WAAF or WD referred to as an 'erk.' Irrespective of its rather vulgar sound, it was in no sense a derogatory expression; it was used only when 'referring to' personnel, never in 'addressing' them, just as 'Tommy' was used with reference to a British soldier, 'Tar' for a sailor, or 'Doughboy' for an American infantryman of the First World War. It could be said Rolls-Royce and Bristol engines powered the aircraft. but the Elks powered the Air Force.

My experience was totally with single-engine squadrons, but even they required a considerable force of ground personnel, and we daily put our lives in their hands. We had unquestioning faith in the reliability of our crews; from the WAAF who packed our parachute, the fitter who made sure the engine was in top shape and the fuel tanks full, the rigger who double checked that he had secured our seat after removing it for cleaning the cockpit floor, the armourers who cleaned, loaded and cocked our guns, the radio man who made sure the correct crystals were installed, and whoever it was who checked that the oxygen bottle was full.

Unlike the heavies with their on-board engineer - who could diagnose a faulty engine while in the air-we had no means of taking our fitter with us to locate a real or perceived problem; most of which did not show up with a ground run up. At times like these, the crewman had to become the family doctor; trying to diagnose a problem from the patients' usually inaccurate description of the symptoms. While I am sure I tried their patience on more than one occasion, they persevered until the problem was solved to my satisfaction.

We grumbled when we were called out at three or four in the morning to be ready for an operation at first light. not thinking of our ground crews who would have been called out an hour earlier and who had been readying the aircraft without breakfast. When we returned - often at last light - they would be waiting, and while we headed off for the debriefing and the bar, they would spend the next hour refuelling and checking all the machines.

It was not until long after the hostilities had ended that I began to appreciate the efforts our crews had put into their jobs, and how little appreciation we, (least I), had expressed at the time. About the only thanks we extended to them was to buy them a drink if we met them in a pub, or to help maximize their leave time by flying them as close as possible to their destination in the Tiger Moth or Auster.

"Yes," you may say "this may be true, but - referring to your heading - surely the aircraft were not THEIRS!”. You better believe it! While we referred to the aircraft as 'my,' (or 'our' when sharing with another pilot), the Erks believed the machines were 'theirs’ and we were only fortunate in being allowed to fly them. And they had a point. After all, we spent only a very limited amount of time in the aircraft, whereas they devoted most of their days to working on them. If ever in doubt about whose aircraft it was, all you had to do was watch their face as 'their' particular machine was being handled, or manhandled, by a pilot. You could sec them cringe when a ham-fisted pilot abused the engine, made a rough landing or misused the brakes when taxiing. And when their machine failed to return, the long face was not for the pilot (unless he happened to be a particularly popular one), it was for the loss of a machine which they had fine tuned and honed to perfection over a period of time, and for which they had often shed blood. (Even with the cowlings removed the Merlin in a Spitfire was very hard on knuckles.) Now they were faced with a replacement from a Maintenance Unit, repainted to   took new, but with the logs probably showing it had been pranged at least once.

My few words are quite inadequate to properly recognize the contribution of our Erks, many of whom served continuously until the very end of the war, sometimes under fire. Hats off to the Erks - the unsung heroes of the Second World War, without whom there could have been no BCATP, the Battle of Britain could well have ended differently, the valorous defence of Malta might not have been possible, and Bomber Harris's campaign would likely have been impossible to maintain.

Bill McRae
This article first appeared in The Observair, the Ottawa Chapter CAHS newsletter, January 2003.

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