Our Father's War
Page 5
In the meantime our C.O., hearing of the fun, had rushed out to the scene with another pilot and shot down one German machine, and damaged another one, on the way out. They picked up some survivors from a bomber the next day and presume it to be the one that Gary and I damaged, that eventually crashed. We finished the day with two confirmed victories and one machine damaged and of course the squadron was in a wild state of excitement at breaking its "duck" and the pilots concerned celebrated in traditional RAF style. I was really lucky to be there as my section was not on duty at the time; however I feel that after 18 months of flying, I have at last got something to show for my work. Fortunately we had received new machines the day before and they turned out to be first class.
I have been having a good look around England from the air lately, have done a couple of pleasure trips, it is really amazing how quickly one can get around this little country. Two weeks ago a few of us flew down to Hampshire. I had not previously seen the south of England and it was a glorious sight flying down from London to Portsmouth. The rolling downs of Surrey and Sussex are really a grand sight from the air and the wooded county of Hampshire is typical rural England. It was a gorgeous summer's day and I found that under these conditions England possesses a beauty all of its own and very different from the scenery we have in NZ. We had lunch at an aerodrome near a lovely old village, the buildings of which were covered in creepers and wild flowers, while the whole countryside was ablaze with flowers of every description running wild. I felt that this place was really England, the England of Wordsworth, and as we have so little time these days to stop and appreciate such things, I enjoyed that day immensely. We flew back from this little village on the South Coast to our Yorkshire drome in less than an hour; distance simply doesn't mean a thing in a Spitfire. I think one could fly from Auckland to Wellington easily in an hour.
Last Wednesday Gary and I flew down to see Pip, Bob and Snow. I haven't seen Pip since we landed in England and have been trying to get down there for a long time. We called in at another aerodrome en route to see some other lads who had come over with us and of course had a grand reunion with Pip and Co. It seemed such a long time since that day when we were all together at Mission Bay on final leave. So many things have happened since that day; we talked our heads off for about five hours. It is almost fantastic to hear those lads discussing their experiences on bombing raids; they seem to be quite as familiar with some of the German cities as they would be with Auckland. They will be enjoying a well earned rest from operational flying very soon and will be posted as instructors for a spell. Gary and I 'shot-up' the aerodrome when we left, that is the RAF term for doing aerobatics near the ground. They all wish to be remembered to all the fine families in our little circle.
As far as the discussion with Mr MacKay you mentioned, Dad, far too many people over here seem to be prepared to scoff at the Treaty of Versailles without worrying about whether there will be another war, or attempting to do anything about preventing such a possibility. For my own part, I will take a very vital interest in post war events as I have already seen enough of this war to know the meaning of the word and all that it entails. I feel that any repetition of this ghastly business in 25 years time would constitute a direct betrayal of the men (many of them my best friends in the RAF) who are dying over here every day, giving their lives willingly in the belief that they are giving those left behind a chance to live decent lives. Excuse the morbid tone this letter has assumed but I am afraid that I feel very bitter at times when I read the casualty lists of the R.N.Z.A.F.
I had a letter from Mr and Mrs Tattersfield the other day; they want me to go and stay with them. John and Felix are in the navy and had written to me, I will certainly go down sometime. Gary is getting married on July 19th. Well I had better close now, I am still fighting fit and enjoying life with a grand crowd of chaps. Cheerio now, best love to all, Hal
CHAPTER SIX
June - December 1941
Loss
This is a piece written after the war about the first engagement over enemy held territory in Northern France, June 23rd 1941
"Our first operation over enemy territory was carried out on 23rd June 1941. We were given a week’s notice and as we were based at Leconfield in Yorkshire, we were briefed to fly to West Malling in Kent and refuel before the sweep over France.
Dick Bullen and I had arranged leave together to commence on the above date and we requested that, as original members of the squadron, we should be included in the first flight over enemy territory. The request was granted and our leave passes were altered to take effect on June 24th. We’d planned to visit the Corn family in Stoke-on-Trent and play golf. I had spent a very pleasant leave with them previously and had promised to return. As Dick and I were the same seniority the C.O. suggested we tossed a coin to decide who would lead our section of two. I called tails successfully and flew as number three in the line astern section of four aircraft, the starboard flight of three flights of four, each in line astern. The most vulnerable spot in a squadron formation is the number four position in each of the three lines as most attacks are mounted from above and behind. In the event, my calling tails saved my life and I have always called tails ever since.
We flew to West Malling on the morning of the 23rd in squadron strength of twelve aircraft and refuelled before take off, planned for midday. I remember the briefing given by Stanford-Tuck, a well known Battle of Britain pilot. We were to fly as one squadron to patrol between Calais and Le Touquet on the French coast and act as rear cover for a sweep of bombers and fighters returning from an earlier raid inside France. I can still feel the intense excitement before take-off, no doubt this feeling was shared by the eleven other pilots as not one of them had been over enemy territory before. The sensation in the pit of the stomach experienced before later operations was still to come, as we’d only once been exposed to any real danger and had not yet witnessed the death of fellow pilots.
It was a perfect summer day with no cloud visible as we crossed the French coast in squadron formation, at 15,000 feet, and turned behind Boulogne on to a westerly course towards Le Touquet. I could see the countryside below us and was gripped by a feeling of exhilaration, tinged with a heightened awareness. The next turn on the patrol line was to port and I can clearly remember looking back to see Dick behind me, he was on the outside of the turning squadron at the end of the line of four aircraft. At that very moment a cloud of smoke appeared from his aircraft. He’d obviously received cannon shells in the petrol tank and cockpit. Simultaneously I heard a noise exactly like a stick dragged along a corrugated iron fence and felt my aircraft shudder heavily. There was a heavy bump behind me and I saw a ME 109 diving away inland.
My aircraft went into a steep dive and no matter what I did I couldn’t counteract the spin and regain control. My immediate thought was that I should bail out. I prepared to do so by unhooking the radio connection and opening the canopy. However at the last possible minute I managed to recover control and dived down to ground level to find myself over a small village a few miles inland from Le Touquet. I will always recall vividly the sight of a squad of German soldiers in grey uniforms standing in a village square as I approached at high speed. They all raised their rifles and fired at me but my speed saved me, although some holes were later found in the fuselage. My reaction was to fly as low as possible on a northerly course across the English Channel. We’d been told to fly right over the water if separated as this would make it difficult for an enemy fighter to fire at our aircraft. It’s necessary to depress the nose right on sea level to line up a target directly ahead. However I was vulnerable to an enemy fighter diving on me even at sea level.
Then I noticed that the port wing had been damaged by a shell and was cut off at the aileron, with about three feet having been lost. The effect of this was not apparent at high speed but I knew it would adversely affect my stalling speed and I had no option but to land at a higher speed than normal. Just as the White Cliffs of Dover a
ppeared ahead I observed large splashes in the sea around me and looking up I saw a Spitfire climbing away. The pilot, a Pole as it turned out, had mistaken me for an enemy aircraft, probably because of the square wing effect on my port mainplane, which had been completely changed in appearance. Unless he recognised me I was in very real danger of being shot down and there was nothing I could do about it. Suddenly he waggled his wings to indicate that he’d identified me after a second look and then flew beside me until I reached the aerodrome at Hawkinge, just behind Folkstone.
The sight of the White Cliffs is something I will never forget and that feeling of relief when I finally arrived over Hawkinge is impossible to describe. The realisation that I would not be a prisoner of war, at least on that occasion, and that I was still alive, created a feeling of gratitude and appreciation of my great good fortune in escaping death, by the merest fraction, has remained, perhaps, the most significant experience of my life.
My radio was out of action, damaged by the cannon shells that had hit the fuselage and I was not able to call up sector and advise them of my intention to land at Hawkinge. However I circled the aerodrome twice before making an approach and the fire wagon and ambulance moved out towards the perimeter on the down wind boundary area. They could see the damage to my port wing and were prepared for a crash landing if necessary. I approached at 130 m.p.h. instead of the usual 90 m.p.h. over the fence and wheeled on to the grass, cut the switches and finally stopped my bumpy run just short of the boundary fence. My Polish friend landed beside me and was the first to greet me when I stepped out of the cockpit. He apologised most profusely for firing on me over the channel and failing to identify me. I fell on to the grass and smelt it, never has anything smelt better and I just lay there for awhile enjoying the luxury of being alive. That feeling has never left me and every 23rd June at 12.20pm I’ve stopped what I was doing and just taken my thoughts back to that moment when I saw Dick Bullen die as he hit the ground and I prepared to bail out of my damaged aircraft.
An American film crew were at Hawkinge that day filming any damaged fighters or bombers returning from sweeps over France. USA were not in the war at that stage and the films were for display in America to encourage an appreciation of what was happening to RAF aircrew engaged on missions over enemy territory. They filmed the aeroplane and myself and I still have a print of the crease in the tail and where a cannon shell had entered the fuselage and been deflected by the armour plating behind my back. From time to time, if I believe I have a problem, I find that it is good therapy to take out this photo and the problem shrinks into insignificance.
I received first class treatment that afternoon. After a medical inspection to establish I had not been wounded I was looked after in the mess for two hours. My station in Yorkshire was notified that I’d landed and a special aircraft, a Blenheim light bomber, was allocated to fly me back to Leconfield. I landed there about 6pm and the squadron had just landed after re-fuelling at West Malling. They knew of my escape and of my report of Dick’s death. The remaining ten pilots chased the 109 that had fired on Dick and myself but were not able to catch him because of his speed built up in a dive. They’d seen the Spitfires go down out of control and had feared the worst for both of us. Needless to say we had a wake that night, as Dick had been a very popular member of the squadron and I, having witnessed his death, felt the effect of it more than the others.
The following day I was flown to White Waltham, an aerodrome near Maidenhead west of London, in the Blenheim that has brought me from Hawkinge. I decided to take my week’s leave as arranged and Tuska McNeil came with me in place of Dick. We took the train from London to Stoke-on-Trent and the Corn family met us and drove us to their beautiful home. They were wonderfully kind people and Tuska and I had a memorable leave. Two things stayed with me particularly and I suspect that I felt things very keenly as a result of Dick’s death. Firstly, the very large table in the dining room where Mr Corn sat at one end and his wife at the other and Tuska and I on each side. They usually had a huge vase of flowers in the middle which virtually obscured Tuska from my vision and vice versa. During a long meal, served by at least three maids for only four people, I may not see Tuska for an hour although we conversed merrily through the barrier of the foliage. And secondly, the Corn family owned a large company manufacturing porcelain ware, ceramics, bathroom and toilet equipment. The bath and W.C. in our suite had inlaid fish in the porcelain sides and old Tuska, who was a sheep farmer from the backblocks of the East Coast, had never seen anything like it before. He spent long periods with a book in the bathroom as he was entranced with the equipment that was such a contrast to the facilities at home. I still remember how amusing I found all that."
C/- NZ House, The Strand, London, July 6th
I am taking this opportunity of half an hour off to write home. I simply can't find time to write any letters these days; we seem to be on duty day and night. The weather at the moment is glorious, we have had about four weeks of continuous sunshine and the heat has been really remarkable. We recently moved down to an aerodrome in a beautiful part of Surrey and we are now only half an hour from London. The countryside around here is simply delightful and this whole county seems to abound with trees and gardens, from the air it looks like a huge park. In fact in this peaceful surrounding it is very hard to realise that there is a war on, when we have a spare moment to appreciate the countryside.
We live in a lovely home near the drome, have cars to run around in and generally live very well. We are treated like Kings these days. I had a week's leave last week and went to spend it in Staffordshire with the Corn family. I had complete rest for a week, slept all day in the sun, played an occasional round of golf and drove around the countryside. Another lad, Tuska McNeil, came with me and we enjoyed the spell immensely, they are a wonderful family and simply can't do enough for us.
I was pleased to receive your letter dated June 6th on return from my leave and learn that all is well at home. The casualty lists from Greece are certainly bad news and I should imagine that the Crete list will be worse if anything, however those boys have set an example that will be remembered forever in NZ history. I only hope that we can carry on the tradition in a worthy manner. Many of our boys have lost brothers or cousins in the East and I know that they will fight with renewed vigour and with our magnificent machines, we feel the best equipped men in the air these days.
I have had a lot of bad luck lately in losing particular friends. Bob just rang me to say that Ian Reid went down a couple of nights ago but they hope that he may have been picked up by the enemy. Pip has completed his necessary number of raids and is now back at a training school for a rest, he certainly deserves one. Bill Wells from Cambridge shot down two Germans yesterday, the only RAF score of the day. He is a really magnificent shot.
Gary was married last week. He made up his mind suddenly when we were moved as his bride was a WAAF at our last station, she is a grand girl. He is quite the settled down married man these days. However I am afraid that I don't envy him as the single life is the only one that appeals to me at present and I am sure that marriage is about the last thing that I would contemplate for a long time to come.
I am sure that I have acknowledged the Weekly News before, it is much appreciated by our boys here. Any papers from NZ are, as you can imagine, very welcome in our mess. If there are any societies or organisations at home who have no one to send cigarettes and chocolate to, don't forget to mention our own NZ squadron as we are very badly off for these things lately. The Canadian squadron receive an amazing amount of benefits from organisations in Canada. Perhaps Mr Fraser will visit us, he is in London, and he will organise something in that direction.
Well remember me to all at home and apologise for my bad correspondence these days but I simply haven't the time to write. Cheerio for now, best love to all, Hal.
C/- NZ House, The Strand, London 26th July
I had a 48 hour leave pass and went up to Oxford to see Peggy (Ed: Cousin
). We had a grand trip up the river from Reading to Oxford; the scenery in that part of England is simply beautiful. I took Peggy to lunch at Randolph Hotel in Oxford and later we went punting on the river, quite the thing to do in Oxford. The old river winds about among the colleges making a network of waterways on which you can see dozens of couples drifting along in punts.
I went out to dinner at Scotsgrove House that night and stayed the night; the Ashtons insist that I go any time. It was rather amusing, I had a tiny attaché case which I carry around in the plane. This case was seized by a very staid old butler who regarded it as my luggage and carried it up the stairs to my bedroom in a very dignified manner. When I went up later, to bathe and dress for dinner, I found a room covering about two acres containing numerous wardrobes and dressing tables. The butler had planted my two clean collars in one drawer, my handkerchiefs in another a hundred yards away, my toilet gear in another a hundred yards away and my clean socks took an hour to find. I think that I opened about 500 drawers looking for a clean collar while the dinner gong was sounding and I had visions of drinking the old colonel's bottle of Burgundy in a dirty collar. However, everything turned out all right and I enjoyed my stay at Scotsgrove, they are a fine old couple.
At the moment I am sitting in Pip's bedroom at the training station where he is working as an instructor. My weekly 48 hour leave was due yesterday so I took the little plane that we have for our private use and flew up to see old Pip. I have only seen him once this year. As you have no doubt heard by now, poor old Ian and Bob both went down recently. They had about one raid to do each before going back as instructors with commissions, it was terribly bad luck. Bob rang me the day after Ian went down and he went down, himself, a week later. Poor old Pip has been looking after their gear and feeling very miserable now he is all alone, so I dashed up here to have a night out with him.