A Very Unusual Air War

by Gill Griffin

  17 December: A long trip to South Wales in a little trainer with open cockpits in mid-December. Brrr! Bitterly cold.

  18 December: That night six of us fighter boys from 602 Squadron, 3 officers and 3 NCOs were invited to the Christmas dinner and dance of the East London Brewery Company. We were collected from Kenley by taxi and taken to the venue somewhere off the Old Kent Road. I spent most of the evening with a very pretty, very young lady. She was carefully watched over by her mum and dad! At the end of the evening we were invited upstairs to the Directors’ boardroom for a nightcap and farewell drink. I have little recollection of being loaded into the taxi and returned to Kenley, each of us clutching a bottle of champagne. Some time in the night I awoke hanging on to the rocking bed; feeling thirsty, I drank the champagne and remembered nothing more until mid-day.

  24 December: Estelle made the journey to Kenley by train early in the afternoon. Sgt Parker, the Link trainer instructor, had a house nearby and he and his wife had kindly offered us a bed for the night. We had been invited to a dance in the main building at Croydon Airport. With Sgt Des O’Connor and S/Ldr Reg Grant (C/O of 452 Sqdn), Estelle and I travelled the short distance to Croydon by train. Also in our carriage were three or four soldiers, all out for trouble; the usual complaint: ‘Where were the Air Force planes at Dunkirk?’ Reg silenced them with the remark that his brother was there and was shot down and killed. The following day I was back on duty and Estelle spent what she described as the most miserable Christmas Day of her life, in the train back to Slough, where she was still living with my sister.

  25 December: I had said a rather sad goodbye to Estelle at the Parkers’ that Christmas morning, leaving Sergeant Parker to drive her to Whiteleaf station. Before returning on duty at Kenley, the best I could do for Estelle was a few circles and a slow roll or two over what I thought was her train. Then back to earth to continue the Christmas Day activities. At lunchtime it was the custom (I believe in all the services) for the officers and senior NCOs to wait on the ground staff by serving their Christmas lunch. It was a good excuse for a booze-up.

  29 December: Minesweeping. The weather was absolutely awful and throughout the patrol we saw no sign of ships. Despite the weather, we were kept at Martlesham in a full state of readiness until January 2nd. The duty note above tells only half the story. We were told that our operation was most important, as a major convoy was to pass through the Channel. The path to be taken by the ships was to be swept clear of mines. After the patrol on the 29th, in appalling weather, we were told that the convoy was postponed, pending an improvement but we were to remain at Martlesham ready for immediate action. On the morning of the 30th we were again ordered off but ‘scrubbed’ as no ships had appeared. We stayed grounded for another three days, fed up and frustrated.

  602 was basically a Scottish squadron and something like 75% of the pilots were Scots. Back at Kenley parties and dances had been organised to celebrate Hogmanay and wives and girlfriends were there to join in the celebrations. All pleas to ‘go back just for the night’ fell on deaf ears but we were allowed transport into Ipswich that evening. The New Zealanders of 485 Squadron joined in the celebrations and we all got somewhat ‘tanked up’. We were ordered out of the chosen pub at closing time and two very brave Special Constables arrived to enforce the order. They were kept in a revolving door until we were ready to leave! I have no memory of the return to Martlesham but found myself there the following morning.

  At the crack of dawn, with the pilots of 485 Squadron, we were ordered to form up on the parade ground by an irate Station Commander. When the RAF standard was raised on the parade ground flagstaff it was found that some of the chaps had found, in the station theatre, a large green papier-mâché parrot and substituted it for the standard and there it flew proudly for all to see. The Station Commander was not amused. In addition, a formal complaint had been received from the Ipswich police, demanding that the ringleaders of the assault on two of his Specials should be handed over. This request, at the time, was ignored and the next day we all flew back to Kenley. The police agreed to quash any further action, on condition that they received a formal apology. Our two Squadron commanders, Al Deere and ‘Hawkeye’ Billy Wells, both highly decorated New Zealanders, flew over and their personal apologies were accepted. We heard nothing more about the convoy or the mine-sweeping operation, so I presume that some other squadrons provided the cover.

  Summary for:- December 1941 1 Spitfire 16–55

  Unit:- 602 Squadron 2 Magister 4–25

  Date:- 2/1/42

  Signature:- H.L. Thorne

  Norman C. Macqueen F/Lt A.C. Deere S/Ldr

  O/C A Flight O/C 602 Squadron

  Popularly known as ‘Queenie’

  Through the autumn and winter months operational activity was greatly reduced but we filled in our time with other occupations. Pushed by Group Captain Beamish, the Station Commander, we made more regular visits to the Link trainer. Like most pilots, we heartily disliked this machine; the Link of those days moved jerkily and bore little resemblance to a real aeroplane. However, they certainly made an improvement to one’s instrument flying, something that was really necessary in view of the frequent periods of bad weather. They were a far cry from the modern F16 simulator that I ‘flew’ many years later at Luke American Air Force base near Phoenix, Arizona, courtesy of the USAF. Our turn at Redhill in January and February 1942 saved us from further punishment.

  It was fully expected that the Luftwaffe would resume its efforts to defeat the RAF in the spring of 1942 and that, as in Belgium, the German ‘crack’ parachute troops would spearhead an invasion. It was decided that all aircrew serving in the south of England should be taught the rudiments of unarmed combat. At Kenley our instructors were the tough NCOs from the Guards depot at nearby Caterham. They were great fellows who had been in the thick of the fighting in France. I think they let us down lightly but we all agreed that it was great fun while it lasted, despite a few bumps and bruises.

  Another activity during the winter months was making frequent visits to the UVR (ultra violet ray) room. We used to strip down to our underpants and wear dark glasses. I seem to remember that sessions were restricted to 30 minutes. I also clearly remember the strong ozone smell. It was a great pity that the sessions were restricted to men only.

  YEAR 1940 AIRCRAFT Pilot or 1st Pilot 2nd Pilot, Pupil or Pass. DUTY (Including Results and Remarks) Flying Time Passenger

  MONTH DATE Type No. Dual Solo

  January 2nd Spitfire W3956 Self Return to Martlesham –50

  4th Spitfire P8799 Self Formation and cine gun practice 1–30

  12th Spitfire W3956 Self Formation –45

  14th Spitfire AD515 Self To Redhill –20

  26th Spitfire W3641 Self To Redhill –10

  27th Spitfire W3756 Self Practice formation 1–00

  29th Spitfire BL288 Self To Leysdown for gunnery practice, air to ground 1–15

  30th Spitfire BL288 Self Practice formation –45

  14 January: The Kenley Wing comprised three squadrons: 602 City of Glasgow AAF (Auxiliary Air Force), originally all Scottish personnel, later mainly from Scotland but with chaps like me from other countries to fill the gaps; 452 Squadron, all Australians with the exception of one flight commander; and 485, all young men from New Zealand. Two squadrons were based at Kenley and the third at the small grass airfield at Redhill. The units were rotated and in January and February it was our turn at Redhill.

  There were no living quarters at Redhill so, as at Kenley, the NCOs were in a commandeered house outside the airfield boundary. It was somewhat primitive with just toilet facilities. It was extremely cold during our stay. At the airfield there was a mess hut, with dining room, lounge area and a well-stocked bar. The latter was well patronised during the severe weather during our stay. Heavy snow made flying impossible although by united efforts we did manage to clear a runway.

  Summary for:- January 1942 Spitfire 6–35

  Unit:- 602 Sq
uadron

  Date:- 31/1/42

  Signature:- H.L. Thorne

  Total time on Spitfire 196 hours 10 minutes

  Operational hours to date 68 hours 40 minutes

  John B. Niven P/O. pp F/Lt B.P. Finucane S/Ldr

  For O/C A Flight O/C 602 Squadron

  Signed F.V. Beamish. Group Captain

  O/C. RAF Station Kenley

  Johnny Niven was one of the cadets with whom I went through the final few weeks of training. Some time in the autumn of 1941 we helped him to celebrate his 21st birthday in the Sergeants’ Mess at Kenley. In what was alleged to be a Scottish custom, an empty pint pot was placed upon the bar counter. As a birthday present we were each expected to buy him a drink, all different, and empty it into the awaiting tankard. He had to drink it during the celebrations and the effect was catastrophic. He staggered outside, presumably for a breath of fresh air and started walking backwards towards the parade ground. It took two or three of us to overcome his objections and get him back to his billet. To our amazement he survived the experience without any apparent ill effect and reported for duty as usual the next morning.

  He was the first of us ‘new boys’ to be commissioned and early in the spring of 1942 he was promoted to Flight Lieutenant and appointed flight commander of ‘A’ Flight. Later in the war, as a Squadron Leader, he was awarded a DFC but shortly afterwards was shot down and I believe was badly wounded. Many years after the war we met at the Hendon RAF Museum, when he recognised me across the width of a crowded restaurant. I gave him a lift back to Aylesbury where he was staying with friends. He invited Estelle and me to pay him a visit at his home in Inverness but sadly suffered a fatal heart attack before we could take up the offer.

  Early in January another major change took place: our greatly respected commanding officer, my friend Squadron Leader Al Deere, was promoted to Wing Commander and departed to become leader of one of the other sector wings. He was replaced by Squadron Leader Brendan Paul Finucane, a dashing young Irishman, known to us all as ‘Paddy’. He had joined 452 Squadron shortly after the Battle of Britain and eventually became one of their Flight Commanders. During 1941 he had built up a reputation as a crack shot and at that time was credited with having shot down over 20 Luftwaffe aircraft, nearly all in fighter-to-fighter combat. Although only 21 years of age, he had been awarded a DSO, DFC and bar. In his time at 602, up to mid-May when I completed my tour, he scored many more victories. His confirmed kills at that time stood at 31 and a half and I was honoured to share that other half. Away from Kenley he was modest and retiring although, by reason of his record, he was always in demand by the media. He was courting a lovely young woman who lived near Kingston-on-Thames and we sometimes travelled together on the Southern Railway when I paid a visit to Slough to see my wife. On such occasions, to spare my feelings, he always wore a buttoned-up raincoat to hide his medal ribbons. He and Johnny Niven were very much responsible for developing ways of overcoming, to some extent, our problems with the FW 190s. Paddy had a number of close calls but was never shot down by an enemy fighter.

  Sadly, on 15th July 1942, having moved again to become wing leader at one of the other sector stations, he was brought down by ground fire when crossing the coast of France on a return trip. Paddy chose to attempt a landing in the Channel but his Spitfire nosed over and went straight down, like Group Captain F.V. Beamish; Paddy was never found.

  During the first two weeks of February I was attached to a tank division of the Canadian Army to foster the co-operation that was essential to later operations. These fine young men, all of whom had volunteered to join in the fight against Nazi Germany, had not then seen any action. They treated us like gods and mollycoddled us through the manoeuvres on Salisbury Plain. The weather was fine but cold and while they slept in improvised hammocks, they gave us a warm spot alongside the engine of a Bren Carrier. We returned to Redhill loaded with Passing Cloud cigarettes and other goodies. Many of these men died in the fiasco at Dieppe later that year.

  For two or three weeks of our stay at Redhill I was somewhat incapacitated by an infection and severe rash in a rather personal area. Treatment consisted of an application, night and morning, of a gentian violet preparation, which, while effective, was not a pretty sight. It was a relief that the medical staff at Redhill were male and not members of the WAAF. The rash was caused by poor laundry facilities and unclean underclothes. I stress this latter explanation!

  Towards the end of February there were some operations and, after one in particular, I witnessed a spectacular escape. Sgt John Strudwick was badly shot up and his Spitfire severely damaged. He made several attempts to land and finally crashed. He was saved because he ploughed into a snow bank.

  During the long, dark evenings of winter we received many invitations to attend events away from Kenley and Redhill. One of the Sergeant Pilots was a youngster named Paul Green, who had joined the Squadron during the autumn. Paul was a top class table tennis player and I was a fairly good exponent. On three occasions Paul and I were invited to venues in London to join in demonstration matches with the then world champions. Paul partnered Victor Barna, a Hungarian who held the world championship for many years, while I played alongside Richard Bergmann, a young Austrian who was the current world champion. This was for me a great honour and it was amazing how playing at this level lifted one’s own capability.

  We were often invited to London nightclubs and although not my cup of tea, I found it an experience which was quite enjoyable. I remember in particular the Artists’ Club and Number 1 Piccadilly. I never saw the point of attending these places and paying inflated prices for drinks and service but as we seldom had to pay, it was worth joining in. More to my liking were the 24-hour passes for visits to Slough when Estelle and I met up with old friends for drinks at the local. My brother-in-law, Percy Climer, was a policeman and one of his duties was the stewardship of the South Bucks Police Recreation Club. I spent many happy hours there for games of snooker and darts. As a result I came to know many members of the regular police force, as well as quite a few Special Constables. They made me very welcome and tended to regard me as their own fighter pilot. It was through Percy that Estelle was engaged, nominally as secretary, to the Slough CID department. Though not officially a policewoman, she frequently assisted the ‘tecs’ in their dealings with female wrong-doers.

  I got to know Mr. Tucker, the Superintendent, very well, especially after being reported for low flying! One low pass over Slough police station from North to South took me over Windsor Castle and a sharp-eyed Windsorian caught my number. Fortunately, he reported it to the police and not to the RAF, so I got away with a tongue-in-cheek telling off from the Super.

  On another evening I had a taste of fame. Then as now we maintained close links with the lads of the ATC (Air Training Corps) and often welcomed them at Kenley with introductory flights. As a result, two of us were asked to attend the headquarters of a South London squadron for a session with the press. The following morning and the same evening my picture appeared in the London papers giving the boys instruction about aero engines and combat manoeuvres. The captions over these pictures read ‘Tips from an Expert’ and described me as ‘a British fighter pilot with several German notches to his credit.’ As, at that time, I was credited with just one destroyed I came in for some ribbing from the rest of the Squadron. In fact it cost me a round of drinks in the mess.

  YEAR 1940 AIRCRAFT Pilot or 1st Pilot 2nd Pilot, Pupil or Pass. DUTY (Including Results and Remarks) Flying Time Passenger

  MONTH DATE Type No. Dual Solo

  February 16th Magister R1915 Sgt Rolt To Manston –55

  Spitfire W3898 Self Manston to Kenley –40

  18th Spitfire W3898 Self To Leysdown for air firing –30

  20th Spitfire W3898 Self Formation 1–10

  23rd Spitfire AD536 Self Practice ZZ landing –55

  24th Magister R1915 Self To Martlesham via Kenley 1–25

  GRAND TOTAL TO DATE 341 hours 45 minu
tes

  24th Magister R1915 Self From Martlesham Heath to Bircham Newton –55

  Magister R1915 Self Bircham Newton to Langham –20

  Magister R1915 Self Langham to White Waltham 1–05

  25th Magister R1915 Self White Waltham to Kenley –30

  Magister R1915 Self Kenley to Redhill –10

  28th Spitfire AD536 Self An uneventful patrol –50

  Spitfire AD536 Self Circus –10

  Spitfire AA942 Self Practice formation –20

  23 February: This was an early type of GCA (Ground Controlled Approach) to assist landing in bad weather conditions.

  24 February: My elder brother, Leslie, 13 years my senior, also volunteered in late 1941 for service in the RAF. Having been closely involved in our father’s garage repair and car hire service business at Waddesdon, Leslie was an experienced driver and mechanic. This would normally have seen him, by Murphy’s Law, become a cook but miracles do happen and he served as a driver in the MT (Motor Transport) section. All his life Les had suffered from severe asthma and we couldn’t believe it when, in February 1942, he was posted to India. All efforts to get the posting cancelled failed. So on this day, I obtained permission to fly to Bircham Newton in order to pay him a farewell visit. There I was informed that he was at nearby Langham and, having flown there, I was directed to the MT drivers’ duty room. There were several aircraftsmen sitting around the room, all of whom stood to attention when I, a Pilot Officer, entered. Leslie was sitting on the far side, deeply engrossed in a magazine and when I walked over to stand before him, he still remained in his seat. So, very sharply, I shouted ‘Thorne!’ This achieved the required response; he sprang to attention, looked me straight in the eye and greeted me with ‘You silly bugger!’ There was a shocked silence from the other occupants until they realised that I was Leslie’s younger brother. We were able to have a short chat, then he drove me out to my aeroplane for our farewell but refused the offer of a fun flight in the Maggie; he did not trust me not to subject him to a few aerobatics. We were not to meet again for four years, when he returned home in 1946.