On evening or night watch, rather than dash 50 yards to a heated toilet block when nature called, we 'let fly' from the steps of our command and control wagon. Within a very few days a mound of yellow ice built up. The practice had to cease forthwith because the mound was so slippery it became a hazard. Even so, it stood there, occasionally being added to, for several weeks until the first thaw came. Then an unfortunate Erk, as punishment for some misdemeanour or other, had to break it up and shovel it away.
When we fetched mugs of tea from the NAAFI wagon we had no tray so used a biscuit tin lid instead. There were times when it was so cold that the spilt slops of hot tea in the bottom of the lid froze to slush before we got the drinks back to our vehicles.
As February gave way to March the weather lessened in intensity. Any snow that fell was wet rather than powdery. This wet snow stuck to everything, vertical surfaces as well. Then came the first thaw when the thermometer rose above freezing for a few hours. It was then that the camp snow ploughs were put into good use. Wet, sticky, filthy slush trod into everywhere and melted in any heated space to form pools of dirty water. We had to be extremely watchful that none got near any of the electrics in our Ops vehicles.
When the short German spring arrived and temperatures rose markedly, the ice in the substrate of the German roads swelled as it thawed. This expansion broke up road surfaces and made them extremely hazardous to traffic. Many were the 'Frostschaden' signs warning motorists of the dangers until the local authority road repair teams dealt with the problem - only for it all to happen again next winter.
Summers could be very hot. Temperatures of 100°F were not unknown. By the time summer came I was fully qualified and therefore had to take my turn on the night watch rota. This was a particularly strenuous regime, especially during the very hot weather. On those days, when sleep was most needed between watches, I was kept awake by the heat, with sweat pouring off my back into the bed and light coming in through the thin curtains. Noises outside didn't help either. I rested rather than slept soundly and became fatigued by the end of the week. The batwomen, with the best of intentions, kept as quiet as possible as they went about their duties, but Frau Höhn, the little hunchbacked chatterbox, bless her heart, always seemed to be standing outside my door whispering in a stage whisper "Psssst, Misser Zinner schläft!" (Mr Senar is asleep). This, unless I was already asleep, usually had the opposite effect. I took to drinking glasses of salt water to replace that lost in sweat. Married Officers, of course, fared much better in their own homes.
On duty, in shirt sleeve order, conditions in the Ops vehicles were worse than outdoors because of the heat generated by all the thermionic valves in the equipment racks. Our rest vehicle was easier to heat in winter than to keep cool in summer. To make matters worse, everywhere seemed to be infested with whitetailed flies. These were the size of largish house-flies but had white tails in the manner of blue-bottles. We may have forgiven them if they had flown like flies but the little buggers preferred to walk, particularly on bare human skin. Trying to concentrate on the control of a pair of fast jets in this heat, and with these pestilential critters crawling all over us, was not the easiest or pleasantest of occupations. We cursed like mad but somehow kept the R/T conversations 'standard'. In the Leyland Hippo these flies would increase in numbers to the point when the Duty Watch Officer (sometimes me) would detail anyone not immediately occupied to go on a fly swatting spree to try and temporarily reduce their numbers. We didn't have DDT or aerosol sprays in those days, so we had to do the best we could. Even the MO, Flt.Lt. 'Doc' Pottinger, couldn't help us with any chemical potions in spite of our pleas to him for help.
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