It was on leaving Blacksod and heading south for Galway that we had an unusual experience. I was relieving No.1 on the bridge as Achill Head came abeam some four miles off. It was still blowing hard from the west and a big swell was coming in from the south west. I was looking at the chart when Maclean said: ‘Look at that – Port 30!’ There appeared to be a depression in the sea a few cables ahead and to port. It did not look like a whirlpool, but the water was not breaking over quite a wide area. We only saw it as the ship rose on a swell and after a few minutes we could not see it any more and turned back to our proper course. The skipper, who we called, came up too late see it, and was sceptical – as everyone else has been who I have warned to look out for ‘a ‘hole in the sea’ off Achill Head!
We were involved in one engagement with Sinn Féin. This was after the truce, when Irish were murdering Irish. We had occasionally delivered mail to a member of the new Senate who lived on the shore of the Kenmare River. We anchored off and sent in our dinghy with outboard, with an officer and one seaman. I was still on the bridge when the dinghy was on its way in. There was the sound of shots and I saw them splashing in the water round the dinghy, which Maclean quickly turned round and headed back. As the shots went on, I aimed the twin Lewis gun mounting on the bridge wing into the trees above the boat and let loose one burst. That stopped whoever was shooting.
We thought we might try to parley with our attackers and moved the ship opposite an evacuated coastguard station, which we had reason to believe was their headquarters. The men were at tea and the Captain, First Lieutenant, Chief Engineer and myself were having a cupper in the ward-room discussing what to do next. Suddenly there was a noise like hailstones on a corrugated iron roof. Our friends had opened up on us with a machine gun. I got up to the bridge, but we were out of effective Lewis gun range, and so I dropped over the front of the bridge to the forward gun platform where I found a stoker petty officer sheltering in the gun shield. The gun had been left with a shell in the breach. I finished loading, brought it to the ready, took gun-layer and directed the SPO who took trainer, and we put a shell through the front door of the Coastguard Station – a good shot. What effect it had apart from stopping whoever was shooting at us, we never heard. Our only casualty was the Chief who got a splinter off one of the guard rail stanchions in his trouser leg as he dived for the engine-room ladder from the ward-room. This drew blood but only just. We reported this ‘battle’ to Queenstown and were told not to try to deliver the senator’s mail.
At Queenstown we were able to use the Royal Cork Yacht Club, which had a lively bar and served a good dinner reasonably cheaply. There was one of the old-fashioned scales outside the dining room, the sort like an armchair with a rocking arm on which one adjusted weights until it balanced. One day an elderly member was found mumbling as he rose from the scales after a good dinner: ‘Most extraordinary phenomenon – most extraordinary phenomenon.’ On enquiry he said that he had weighed 2 oz. less after his dinner than he had done before it.
At Portland, the seven sweepers of the flotilla, or those of them that were not off Ireland, lay alongside each other at the loading jetty, and went out of harbour frequently for sweeping exercises. There was great rivalry between the ships to put up the smartest performance passing sweep-wires and manoeuvring. Badminton was usually near the top of the league, and this may have led to her choice to accompany senior officer’s ship Sherborne up to the west of Scotland for special trials. We made our main base at Oban but spent most of our time anchored at Kyle of Loch Alsh at night and doing trials with the new ‘Oropera’ sweep in Raasay Sound or Inner Sound inside Skye by day. It was a lovely late summer and early autumn and a very pleasant interlude.
CHAPTER 5
Flying Officer F.C. Penny
Details
The following details are taken from a memoir held in the Imperial War Museum in London. Penny transferred from the Australian Imperial Forces to the Royal Flying Corps in 1916. He served as a pilot and observer with the No.12 (Artillery Observation) Squadron in France in 1917, and with the No.36 (Night Flying) Squadron in England in 1918, and with the No.141 Squadron in Ireland in 1919. He was demoblished and returned to Australia after his service in Ireland.
NOW THAT THE War was over, we all wondered what the Air Board had in store for us in the immediate future, but having flown Bristol Fighters for many hours, I was posted to the famous 141 Bristol Fighter Squadron, then stationed at Biggin Hill in Kent. 141 was commanded by Major B.E. Baker, who had an outstanding record in a Fighter Unit in France. In the Second World War he became Air Marshal Sir Brian Baker. He was not a strong disciplinarian on the ground, but one who required every one of his pilots to be 100 percent efficient in every phase of flying. He was affectionately known as B.E. Biggin Hill is reasonably near to London and opportunity was taken by most of us to visit the city at frequent intervals after our flying and other duties had been concluded for the day. After spending a few happy weeks at Biggin Hill, 141 was ordered to proceed to Ireland as a complete unit and I went with them. Administrative and other personnel proceeded to their new destination via Holyhead and thence by boat to Dublin. All pilots flew the Bristol Fighters first to Castle Bromwich near Birmingham, thence to Liverpool and from there across the Irish Channel to Tallaght aerodrome located about seven miles from Dublin.
When we arrived in Tallaght the aerodrome was occupied by an English regiment under the command of Major the Hon Oliver Twistleton Wykeham-Fiennes. This unit was occupying the Officers’ Mess and all other quarters and our C/O Major Baker wished to occupy the whole aerodrome and quarters for his officers and men. (We were temporarily housed at various hotels in Dublin.) I well remember the acrimonious discussion which took place between the two majors. Our major won!
I was accommodated at the Shelbourne Hotel in St Stephen’s Green. Although outwardly we were treated with great respect there was an underlying current of hostility against anything English, especially those who were in British uniforms. This was the time of the ‘troubles’, the Black and Tan, Sinn Féin era. Our aircraft meanwhile had been placed in hangars at Tallaght under strict guard day and night. After a few days in Dublin we took up our quarters at the airfield, established messes for officers, other ranks and WRAFs. We received warning that an attempt would be made to destroy our aircraft so we decided to place the aerodrome hangers and all living-quarters ‘out of bounds’ to all but squadron personnel. Guards were placed at strategic intervals with orders to fire if any intruder failed to halt. The first night this order was put into operation another officer and myselfwere leaving the mess when we heard a shot being fired in the vicinity of the hangars. We rushed to the scene to find that one of our guards had fired a shot at a civilian who had failed to halt after being given the necessary warning. It was a simple story of misunderstanding. At one end of the aerodrome there was a quarry and the intruder was the night watchman who every night had been accustomed to walking across the airfield to take up his night duties. He carried a lantern and the guard, seeing the light, ordered the person carrying it to halt. The man took no notice, so a shot was fired, the lantern dropped and the poor innocent watchman ran across the airfield, breaking all records. He was caught, and my fellow officer and I interviewed a very frightened and subdued Irishman who was only doing what he was accustomed to do for many months past. We accepted his explanation and think he understood the reason for the order, which had been imposed.
Our presence in Ireland was for the purpose of keeping peace and good order in Dublin and surrounding areas. Information was received to the effect that numbers of Sinn Féin or IRA troops were undergoing military training in the Wicklow Mountains, which at their highest peak reached 4,000 feet. With our Bristol fighters we searched the mountain sides and glens but rarely found anything of significance to report. One important event happened about this time. Attempts were being made to cross the Atlantic from west to east with no success, until John Alcock and Arthur Whitten Brown, in a Vickers Vi
my, made their successful attempt, but running short of fuel they were forced to land at Clifden on the west coast of Ireland. We had been advised previously of this attempt and were ready to assist if it became necessary. On being advised of the mishap the C/O with another officer and myself ordered one of our best transport vehicles to be made available so we could proceed at once to the scene. When we arrived we found that the Vimy had ‘landed’ in a bog area and had come to rest on its nose and wheels. Little damage had been done to the aircraft itself, so with the use of gear such as ropes, spades, shovels, etc., which we had brought along and with the very valuable assistance of dozens of Irish villagers, we were able to get the machine on to an even keel and by towing, pulling and shoving we moved it to a position where in the opinion of Capt Alcock he could take off. Only sufficient petrol was put in the tanks for the flight to England where they arrived safely. They received a wonderful welcome on the completion of this most meritorious flight, the first west to east flight from the United States. They received a well-deserved knighthood and I think a prize of £10,000. We were very happy to have been of some assistance to these very brave airmen whose flight was a momentous event in aviation history.
On a number of occasions we had as our guests to dinner in the mess a few of the senior Black and Tan officers, one of whom lived with his wife in a small cottage near the aerodrome. This particular officer returned to the cottage about midnight one night after dining with us, and at 1.00 a.m. there was a knock at his door and when he opened it he was shot with a revolver and died almost immediately. His wife reported the incident to us but did not know the identity of her husband’s assailant. Such was the intense dislike of the Black and Tans by the Sinn Féin movement. We were all greatly shocked by this incident.
Following on this, our CO decided to stage a demonstration in the village square at Tallaght, which had a population of approximately 500. We had an excellent brass band and about fifty of us, all officers, marched to the accompaniment of patriotic airs along the half mile of road leading to the centre of the village, where we formed up in a circle with the band in the centre. The band began such well known tunes as ‘Rule Britannia’, ‘There’ll always be an England’ and similar songs for about half an hour. Naturally a large crowd gathered, not looking terribly happy though. We rounded of the little demonstration with the band playing the National Anthem, during which, of course, all officers stood at the salute. Civilians usually taking off their hats for same, not so the villagers. To put it mildly, this greatly displeased our CO. One has to remember at this juncture that we were all under quite an emotional strain because of the murder of a loyal man who was doing his duty. Those who had not removed their hats soon had them removed by the CO who pulled them off and stood on them. This action was naturally resented, by the ‘locals’. We then formed up and marched back to our quarters. This incident brought a severe reprimand from headquaters, and rightly so, I suppose, but there had been some provocation.
In Dublin itself many minor incidents were taking place, culminating in an organised march of some 20-30,000 rebellious Irishmen, who had assembled in Phoenix Park before marching along one side of the Park to O’Connell Street, which is the main street, over the Liffey River. When they reached the Post Office, which had been completely destroyed in the 1916 rebellion and was in the process of being re-built, they tore down the scaffolding breaking it into small pieces, thus arming themselves with a weapon, which could be easily carried and used. Stones and iron bars were also carried, in fact anything they could lay their hands on which could be used as a weapon. We had been advised of this intended march and were asked to assist the Dublin Metropolitan Police. We were each issued with a revolver with orders to use them only if our lives or those of the police were endangered. We arrived at the O’Connell Bridge to find a solid line of police standing shoulder to shoulder across the Bridge. They were armed with batons only. I reported to the police officer in charge, who appreciated the assistance offered, but he asked us not to take part unless it was absolutely necessary. The Dublin Metropolitan Police were an imposing body of men, none under six feet high. They waited there in line whilst the rebels came forward in a solid body, shouting most uncomplimentary remarks against the police, who, though Irishmen themselves were daring to oppose them in order to preserve some peace and order. The officers in charge remained perfectly still, until sticks and stones began to fly, when the pre-arranged signal of one blast of the ‘chief ’s’ whistle was given and one command ‘forward’. The police moved forward in the solid line using their batons with great effect. I do not remember ever seeing before or since a more disciplined movement than this one. So effective was it that in a matter of minutes the on-coming crowd turned and ran, leaving their weapons strewn along the street. I know that many Irish families we got to know very well deplored this kind of demonstration as it did the cause no good whatsoever and only tended to intensify the feeling that existed between those who felt that the presence of the English in Southern Ireland was justified, and those who would go to any lengths to get rid of them.
Frequently we gave demonstrations of close formation flying, usually over Dublin itself, sometimes with one flight and occasionally with the whole squadron. Our CO, who was such an excellent pilot, with two or more experienced pilots, often took off in tight formation with wing tips overlapping and flew very low over the streets of the city.
I think it was Empire Day or the King’s birthday that we decided to use the whole squadron for a close formation flight in a ‘special’ display. I had not done very much close formation flying or not as close as our CO desired. We took off from Tallaght with the CO’s flight leading, and kept in this close order as we flew over the city, finally turning to fly at almost roof top level, up O’Connell Street over the Liffey. Just what these displays were intended to prove, I know not, but we enjoyed flying our Bristol Fighters and we had a lot of fun. On one occasion I had to fly to Curragh an old established army camp, situated about 40 miles west of Dublin. Apparently the troops’ pay had gone astray and some arrangements were made with a bank in Dublin to transfer money to the Curragh bank, and because of the time factor, this had to be taken by air. With my observer Lieut. Harry Boniface (Bonny), we took off in rather adverse weather conditions, but landed safely at Curragh, handed over the money to the Army Adjutant and took off for our return flight. A fairly strong north wind had risen and dense fog covered the route back to Tallaght. Both Bonny and I had received invitations to play tennis in the afternoon with some of our Irish friends and naturally we were anxious to get back as soon as possible. We could see neither the sky nor the ground and had to proceed entirely by compass. I had no accurate means of determining my ‘drift’ which I felt was taking me too far southward. After flying for some time and not knowing my exact position I turned due north and a few minutes later found myself in this thick fog facing one of the highest peaks in the Wicklow mountains. Knowing that the maximum height was not above 4,000 feet I made a sharp turn full throttle and quickly ascended to 4,500 feet, only to find that as far as I could see north, south, east or west, there was a complete ground cover of heavy fog. We were in the bright sunshine above but not even a small gap appeared which would enable us to see the ground below. I continued to fly north, both Bonny and I closely watching for a break in the cloud cover. After flying for about twenty minutes we saw immediately below us the centre circle of our aerodrome at Tallaght. With full throttle I dived through this gap in the clouds closely watching my altimetre for I had no means of knowing how high the clouds were above the ground level of our airfield.
On breaking through I found that I had about 300 feet clearance which was sufficient for me to locate my position and ultimately make a safe landing – very thankful to be on Terra Firma . Bonny and I, although a little late, were able to keep our tennis appointment. By today’s standard, with up-to-date sophisticated instruments, this would not have been regarded as a hazardous flight, but all we had was an altimetre,
compass, rev-counter and speedometre, no turn and bank indicator or other helpful instruments, such as those in modern aircraft. This incident firmed the close friendship that I had with Bonny and we had many happy times together in our off duty hours.
After the War he elected to stay in the RAF, became a pilot and spent some years in India. In the Second World War he was Adjutant at Hucknall, Notts. and figured prominently in the book, The One That Got Away by Kendall Burt and James Lessor, which related to a German pilot Franz von Werra, forced down in Notts, who eventually escaped to the USA and then Canada. My wife and I (especially my wife!) carried out regular correspondence with Bonny and his wife Ann, who later lived at Over Wallop in Hants. In later years when on a visit to England in 1947 and again with my wife in 1952, we spent many happy hours talking of our shared experiences in 141 squadron in Ireland.
Another firm friendship formed amongst the officers of 141 squadron was with Wireless Officer Lieut. F.S. Mockford (Stan), an outstanding authority on radio. He began his long and varied career in wireless and radio in 1915 whilst serving in the RFC and afterwards as an Air Ministry Official from 1919-1930. He made a great contribution in wireless and radio in Civil Aviation and was first examiner of candidates for an Air Operator’s Licence. He devised the first phonetic alphabet and introduced the distress call MAYDAY. In 1930 he joined the Marconi Company and in 1935 became Manager of the company’s aircraft department. He was also interested in the possibilities of radio as a means of air to ground communication and vice-versa, and was responsible for the technique and introduction of this system to civil Aviation and the RAF. Those who fly today realise the value of this method of communication without which flying would be a far more hazardous occupation. Our friendship with the Mockford family who lived at Chelmsford, Essex, was a lasting one and on our various visits to England we enjoyed their hospitality, myself on a business trip in 1947, my wife in 1949, and together in 1952 and 1960. Stan and his wife Win intended visiting us in Australia in 1961 when he retired and when we said our ‘goodbyes’ at Tilbury where they had driven us and had lunch with us on the ship, little we thought that we would not meet again. A serious illness overtook Stan and after surgery he died the following year in April. Many other friendships were made amongst the officers of 141 squadron, but these two, Bonny and Stan, were the best.
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