Adventures with Radar - the Beginning

The story of radar through the eyes of Rear Admiral Stuart Paddon from St. Thomas, Ontario as he recounts his wartime service at the sharp end of this emerging technology.

A Canadian in the Royal Navy

When the war was declared in 1939, I was in Noranda, Quebec, in a gold and copper mine. I came back from there in September to complete my final year in Physics at the University of Western Ontario. We had just started the University year when we were approached by the head of the Physics department to see if we were agreeable to having our syllabus altered to give emphasis to electronics. If you recall in those days electronics, certainly at Western, was a post-grad course, not an undergrad course. We agreed.

The 'Science' building at the University of Western Ontario in London under construction in 1924.

RAF Scoops Electronic Talent RN Looks to Canada

This request had really originated with the Royal Navy, who had been unable to find any electronic talent at home because, I gather, all of it had been bought up by the RAF. The RN appealed to the Royal Canadian Navy, who in turn approached the National Research Council. Things proceeded as one might expect, until somewhere about February 1940. I then met the first naval officer I had ever seen, one Lieutenant-Commander Finch-Noyes. He made it known to us that in a relatively short time we would be proceeding to service with the Royal Navy in certain not very clear duties. There appeared to be a great deal of secrecy involved. We attested the 24th of April and I became an acting Sub-Lieutenant, in the RCNVR [Royal Canadian Navy Voluntary Reserve].

The Adventure Begins

We crossed the Atlantic in a Castle Class Ship and arrived in Portsmouth in May 1940.
 
As far as I know, we were the first group of Canadians to hit the Portsmouth Royal Naval Barracks. Then, radar was not called radar, it was called RDF [Radio Direction Finding]. The term radar did not come into play until the Americans got involved. In any case we had a very short course to acquaint us with the principles of radar, which term I will use.
 
By the end of June, people then began to disperse to various ships. I was informed that I would be going to HMS Prince of Wales, but she was not to be commissioned until January 1941 and there would be no requirement for me to stand by the ship much before November 1940.

Working on the Cutting Edge of Radar

The Prince of Wales was the first ship to get a multiple suite of radar. Up until this time, ships carried one radar, now I was to get ten as follows:

• one type 281 radar, air warning principally with a capability for surface detection;
• nine gunnery radars, type 284 to control the main 14-inch armament;
• four 285s to control the HA.LA 5.25 directors; and
• four 282s for mounting on the pompom directors.

Only One had been to Sea

During the ensuing period, I received 30 personnel, only one of whom had been to sea before. I was the only technician. There were no technicians trained at that time in the Royal Navy for radar duties. Needless to say, I found myself with my head inside a radar set almost continuously with maybe 40% of the sets not functioning at any one moment. Right from the outset I decided the type 281 would receive top priority. I didn’t receive much direction because in those days nobody really knew much about radar and you found two things happen: one, you had to convince somebody it was worth carrying and when that was achieved, you had to convince them that it couldn’t tell you what kind of cigarettes a pilot was smoking when he was flying an aircraft.

The Prince of Wales was a Showpiece

The ship commissioned about the 15th of January 1941. Two or three days before the ship was to commission we were attacked and so much damage was done to the harbour basin where the ship was anchored that we had difficulty getting her clear of the basin. We sailed to Scapa Flow carrying with us some fifty dockyard maties; I had one civilian scientist from HM Signal School as my specialist aboard ship. The ship, being what it was, a showpiece, there were trials officers of every description from all quarters and all branches inundating the wardroom at all times. One could not be sure who was a ship’s officer and who was not a ship’s officer.

To illustrate this, one day at lunch time I sat down beside a Commander (remember I was a young Sub-Lieutenant) and said to him, “Good morning, sir. Are you up for the trials?” He replied, “No. I’m your new Executive Officer. Who are you?” I answered, “My name’s Paddon, sir. I’m the RDF officer.” He said, “Well, I expect we’ll get to know one another”.
 
This happened even quicker that he might have thought, because that night an engineer Sub-Lieutenant by the name of Tim Healey, who used to play rugger for the Navy, and I decided we would test out the new Executive Officer.

Boys will be Boys

In the anteroom, as distinct to the wardroom, we set up two chairs, one with its seat vertical and one in its normal position. I went to the far end of the wardroom and hurtled down the course, feet first over the first chair, caught the second one with my bottom in the seat causing it to end up in the upright position with me seated in it. This had the desired effect.

They used to call him Tarzan

Our Executive Officer stood up, walked over, took off his monkey jacket, arranged these two chairs in such a way that they were both in their normal position about four to six feet apart. He went to the end of the anteroom. He made a flip in the air off the first one and landed seated in the second one, picked up his jacket, walked out of the anteroom saying, “They used to call me ‘Tarzan’.”
 
Needless to say, the EO sold himself completely to us on his first testing. Unfortunately, he was later lost when the ship was sunk. But he was one of the finest naval officers I have ever had the pleasure of serving with because he did everything in just the right proportions.