by Colin Downes
Squadron Leader James MacLachlan, DSO, DFC, was another example of an indomitable spirit after the loss of his left arm while in combat with Bf-109s over Malta in 1941. A short list of unforgettable characters I met while flying in the RAF would certainly include James MacLachlan, together with Graham Pearson, for their approach to operations that in the Royal Navy would be described as the ‘Nelson Touch’. Douglas Bader would also figure on this list for his unquenchable determination and personal courage. My list would also include my boss on 41 Squadron, Dusty Miller, for his exceptional leadership; and it would probably conclude with an American, Lonnie Moore, while in Korea; for his dedicated combative attitude with exceptional piloting ability.
Although we still waited re-equipping with the DH Hornet, the Mustangs returned to US control under the Lend-Lease Agreement. The total production of the North American P-51 Mustang was approximately 15,000 aircraft built either in Los Angeles, California, or in Dallas, Texas. As a temporary measure we became a Spitfire IX squadron, equipped from a squadron converting to the Spitfire XIV. With the advent of the Spitfire IX some of the drawbacks associated with previous models were remedied with the addition of a second radiator under the left wing, which removed the engine overheating problems associated with lengthy taxiing. A Merlin 61 engine with a four bladed propeller replaced the three bladed propeller and increased the power to 1,650 hp, the top speed to 408 mph, the rate of climb to 4,800 ft/min, and the service ceiling to 43,000 feet. Although the Merlin Spitfire IX was nicer to fly than the more powerful Griffon engine Spitfire XIV, whose propeller revolved in the opposite direction to a Merlin Spitfire, it could not compare with the Spitfire XIV in climb performance and its maximum speed of around 450 mph. The Spitfire V was the most numerous of the variants, but from a pilot’s viewpoint the Spitfire IX was the ultimate and by far the nicest Spitfire to fly ever built. No other Spitfire could compare with it in terms of manoeuvrability and the sheer joy of flying. In returning to the Spitfire I now found myself criticizing the aircraft in comparison with the Mustang. After a while at Horsham St Faith we moved north to a pre-war bomber base at Linton-on-Ouse in Yorkshire. The Hornets started to arrive together with a couple of Mosquitoes for the twin-engine conversion. The Hornets were fast and at their best at low level. However, there were many problems and my impression was that despite the confidence and safety aspects of having two engines in the Hornet, the Mustang would have served us better on Tiger Force had we escorted the bombers to Japan. When the Hornets eventually arrived in the Far East they experienced problems with engine over-heating, together with airframe problems associated with the wood and glue construction under the tropical conditions. Had the war continued into 1946, the continued development of the P-51D would have resulted in a much lighter P-51F or Mustang V with a more powerful US built Packard Merlin 100 of 2,218 hp, a modified leading edge to the wing, a modified landing gear, and a longer cockpit canopy resulted in a slightly different appearance to the aircraft. The P-51 F or Mustang V had a design speed of close to 500 mph, with a greatly improved rate of climb, and a range of 1,200 miles. It would certainly run rings around any other propeller aircraft at the time, although still inferior to the jet fighters starting to emerge. Further developments of the Mustang resulted in the Twin Mustang P-82 with a range of 4,000 miles that saw service as a ground attack and night fighter during the Korean War.
It was about this time I thought it might be fun to do the Air-Sea Rescue course at Calshot in the Solent. This was an old flying-boat base in a unique situation overlooking Southampton Water. It became famous as the base for the pre-war RAF High Speed Flight during the Schneider Trophy races. It was at that time a base for the Air-Sea Rescue Service operating in the English Channel, with a squadron of pre-war Supermarine Walrus amphibians and its wartime replacement, the Sea Otter. The Walrus was an amphibian biplane powered by a pusher 775 hp Bristol Pegasus engine, with a speed of 135 mph and a range of 600 miles. The Sea Otter differed from the Walrus with a conventional propeller powered by a Bristol Mercury engine of 800 hp. Each aircraft carried a crew of three or four and both handled like a big, heavy Tiger Moth. There was also a squadron of high-speed RAF Thorneycraft rescue launches. We travelled from the mess to the hangers and slipway by a small gauge railway that ran the mile long length of the Calshot Spit.
We started with lectures by an unfortunate flight lieutenant we called ‘Captain Cuttle’, whose task it was to acquaint a bunch of airlubbers with matters nautical. There is of course an affinity between water and air, but this was not apparent as aircrew from Bomber, Fighter and Coastal commands struggled with rules of the sea, ship’s rigging, and the various types of rope and knots. Our task was first to learn how to survive in a fragile emergency dinghy on an angry and unforgiving sea, and then to handle and sail the airborne lifeboat. The Airborne Lifeboat Mk 1A owed much of its wartime design and development to Uffa Fox, the celebrated designer of many planing dinghies and, later in 1947, the famous International Flying Fifteen planing keelboat. The lifeboat had a length of 23½ ft, a beam of 5½ ft, a draught of 1 ft, and a weight of 1,600 lb. The construction was of mahogany frames with a mahogany chine hull. On contact with the water the three parachutes attached amidships released, as two rockets in the bow fired two drogue sea anchors, and two rockets amidships fired lifelines. The lifeboat was equipped with a small Bermuda type foresail and mainsail with a drop rudder and centreboard. In addition to the survival gear, rations, signalling flares and rockets, the lifeboat carried oars and two small 4 hp Britannia outboard motors giving the lifeboat a theoretical range of 100 miles. It also carried an emergency radio, and as our floatation waistcoats were named after a famous film star because of its generous chest measurement so too the emergency radio, which was shaped to be held between the knees and cranked by hand to provide the electrical power, was also referred to in the feminine gender. The airborne lifeboat with its large floatation chambers fore and aft, small centreboard and small Bermuda sloop rig, experienced considerable leeway in the slightest breeze and handled like a Thames barge under jury rig. As I had some sailing experience I had an advantage over some of my other airborne colleagues who found its handling and the terminology involved a new experience. After a series of lectures, Captain Cuttle had his just revenge when he had us dumped into dinghies set adrift in the Solent. The airborne lifeboats had a frustrating inability to sail upwind as we tried to progress against wind and tide in broad reaches. However, they did provide a considerably better survivability factor than the aircraft dinghies. In the days before immersion suits it was cold and very wet work and we were grateful not to be in the Merchant Navy sailing the Atlantic convoys. The only consolation resulting from battling the elements in the Solent was the regular issue of the Royal Navy rum ration. The Bomber Command aircraft dinghies carried rum among the emergency rations, but in Fighter Command we had to make do with some nourishing Horlicks Malted Milk tablets.
The pilots on the course had an opportunity to fly and I had several flights with the Walrus and the Sea Otter. The latter was a bit more powerful but the Walrus handled better. As a result I had a great deal of respect for the air-sea rescue pilots. We taxied from the hanger to the slipway and slid down into the water and as the nose of the aircraft plunged into the waves I saw green water through the windscreen and water poured in through gaps in the cockpit canopy. We were usually quite wet by the time we got airborne. We opened the throttle and ploughed through the waves while rocking the elevators back and forth to unstick the hull and get the aircraft onto the step to get airborne. Once airborne the aircraft was cold and draughty and the noise made conversation difficult. The slow wallowing and noisy Sea Otter was in very marked contrast to my sleek, fast, comfortable, manoeuvrable and beautiful Mustang. However, the Walrus and Sea Otter provided a valiant and invaluable service to the aircrew of Bomber, Fighter and Coastal commands, saving many lives in the process. Getting the aircraft back to the slipway was quite an experience as when the aircraft touched
down on anything but a flat calm sea the impact of the waves against the riveted hull made it feel and sound as if the hull keel had parted company, and once again we had a salt water shower. We taxied to the slipway, lowered the wheels and were hauled up the slipway as water drained out of the hull. In contrast to getting wet on our nautical exercises, our flying duties did not entitle us to the rum ration. My first attempt at a take-off was interesting as due to the distraction of the salt water shower I just opened up the power and no matter how I tried to get the aircraft up on the step we just seemed to dig deeper into the waves. After ploughing down the Solent for a while I asked my instructor, ‘Are we ever going to get this sea-pig airborne?’ He replied, ‘Not until we raise the wheels!’ This performance no doubt confirmed his view of fighter pilots. One of my instructors won a well-deserved DFC in a Walrus by landing to pick up a bomber crew within range of the German guns on the French coast. Despite the rough seas, the crew managed to get the bomber crew aboard but with the rough sea and extra weight the pilot could not take-off and he taxied back towards the English coast being fired at from the shore and chased by a German E-boat, until it was driven off by some RAF fighters. The bomber crew were eventually off-loaded into an RAF rescue launch and the Walrus was able to take-off and return to Calshot. Our course finale and graduation was the live drop of an airborne lifeboat by a Warwick aircraft that we sailed back to Calshot. It was a thoroughly interesting and enjoyable course for most of us, especially me, and we gratefully acknowledged our appreciation and thanks to the long suffering Captain Cuttle and his crew. The experience certainly stood me in good stead later on when I was involved in some ocean sailing races. An additional good aspect of the course was the provision of some ex-Luftwaffe sailing boats as war reparations for leisure sailing. These were later presented to the RAF Yacht Club in the Hamble River, where I sailed them again after joining the club.
Yorkshire is one of my favourite counties and Linton-on-Ouse was a comfortable pre-war base conveniently sited between York Minster and Harrogate; so I enjoyed my stay in Yorkshire. The living conditions and the flying were good as we converted onto the Hornet without any problems. I enjoyed flying the aircraft and the Mosquito was also nice to fly but not to the same extent as the Hornet with its greater power-to-weight ratio. The de Havilland Mosquito was one of the fastest and most versatile aircraft of the Second World War, and it was used in a variety of roles as an all-weather fighter, an attack fighter-bomber, a tactical bomber, a pathfinder bomber, a conversion trainer, and for photographic reconnaissance. My experience of the aircraft was limited to the trainer version in flying the Mk III, manufactured in Britain, and the Mk XXIV, manufactured in Canada. The various marks of Mosquito handled quite differently depending on their respective roles, and this also applied to the country of manufacture. The Canadian built aircraft were heavier both in structure and in their handling characteristics. The Mosquito cockpit was cramped for the crew of two, resulting in considerable problems when endeavouring to bale out of the aircraft through the entry hatch under G conditions, or evacuating the aircraft through the canopy hatch after ditching. The pilot’s field of view over the nose was good, although restricted to the side by the Merlin engines and to the rear where the high speed of the Mosquito offered some protection. One particularly irksome design feature in the cockpit was the location of the fuel cocks behind the seat. The Mosquito with its Merlin engines inherited some overheating problems from the early marks of the Spitfire while stationary or taxiing. During take-off there was a marked swing to the left and the aircraft had a high critical safety airspeed of 200 mph before climbing away in order to maintain directional control in the event of a single engine failure on take-off. The small rudder area and low slung engines produced some loss of directional control with heavy rudder loads when manoeuvring at low airspeeds. The aileron control could vary from light to heavy depending on the version and mark of Mosquito. Although aerobatics were possible these were normally limited to rolls, but precise slow rolls were not easy as the aircraft tended to lose airspeed and fall out of the manoeuvre when inverted. Consequently, it was more usual to barrel-roll the Mosquito to maintain height and airspeed. Stalling was straight forward but spinning was avoided due to the lack of rudder effect at low airspeeds. Generally the Mosquito handled well with few flying problems, although flying with one engine caused heavy rudder loads, especially when manoeuvring at low airspeeds; and engine failures while flying the Mosquito were not uncommon. It was particularly important when carrying out a single engine approach and landing that the airspeed did not fall below 160 mph when below 1,000 feet until committed to the landing. It was impossible to overshoot the Mosquito on one engine without sufficient height to build up to safety airspeed in excess of 160 mph, and ignoring this crucial factor resulted in many fatalities with these handling characteristics of the aircraft. Although the Mosquito was considered to be a ‘pilot’s airplane’, with its diverse demands it could be unforgiving but, pilots liked it and it was a very remarkable aircraft.
There were less problems flying the Hornet Mk. 1, it being a scaled down version of the Mosquito with a greater power to weight ratio and a lower wing loading. The layout of the cockpit of the Hornet was an improvement on the Mosquito from a pilot’s viewpoint, although still in typical British fashion it was compact to the extent of being a snug fit. It had excellent all-round visibility apart from some downward restriction of view from the large under slung Merlin engines. The Hornet handled very well from take-off to landing. The contra-rotating Merlin engines ensured that there was no engine torque induced swing on take-off. The rate of climb was excellent and the single engine performance was very good presenting few problems, apart from care required during asymmetric low speed handling due to the small rudder design inherited from the Mosquito. Stalling the aircraft was straightforward, although the small rudder area restricted spinning on the aircraft. The provision of a dorsal fin extension with modification to improve the elevator control arrived on the Hornet Mk. 3. Aerobatics were a delight and one pilot on the wing added a signature manoeuvre to his demonstration aerobatics display with a high speed low level pass with both engines stopped and the propellers feathered. He then pulled the aircraft up into a climbing roll before restarting one engine, unfeathering the propeller and finishing his display with a single engine approach and landing. This manoeuvre certainly drew attention and exhibited an implicit faith in the de Havilland Hornet’s reliability in restarting an engine in flight. Operationally, if taken out of its main low level strike role the Hornet’s handling performance deteriorated with altitude and it was not suited to a high altitude escort and air combat role.
I was by now a flight lieutenant and no longer flew the wingman positions but led sections and occasional flights. Nearby we had some rough shooting available, and not far to the west lay James Herriot country and the delightful Yorkshire Dales where the upper reaches of the Wharfe and the Skirfare passed through an area of magical beauty as the rivers flowed through limestone valleys cut by glaciers. On cloudless days of summer it was a naturalist’s nirvana as the wild brown trout tested the dry fly angler to the utmost, but in winter it was quite another matter. So it was with some surprise and annoyance that one day in 1946 my flying instructor’s ‘A’ category rating caught up with me as my card popped out of some dusty file in an Air Ministry ‘P’ Staff office for a flying instructor at Oxford University Air Squadron. I had cursed this diversion in my flying career, for, although I had achieved my ambition to get on fighters, it had retarded any hopes I might have had of being a distinguished fighter pilot by arriving on a fighter squadron near the end of the war. Added to this was the fact that the war ended before I had acquired any seniority of rank. I protested the posting but to no avail and I left the inspiring moors and dales of Yorkshire for the dreaming spires of Oxford. I now had the rare experience of flying with both Cambridge and Oxford University Air Squadrons. To misquote Shaw A nice sort of place Oxford, for people that lik
e that sort of place. They teach you to be a gentleman there. At Cambridge they teach you to be an engineer or such like!
For the next two years I was away from fighters and although I missed the flying there were compensations as I readjusted to flying the Tiger Moth again, with some additional flying on Harvards and twin-engine Oxfords during the summer camp. Although annoyed at being taken off fighters, I enjoyed my time at Oxford as many members of the squadron were experienced RAF pilots from the war. I met up with an old friend from my Spitfire days studying forestry who while I joined a Mustang squadron he joined a Spitfire IX squadron. On his first operational mission on the squadron flying wingman on a large fighter sweep over France they were intercepted by a large formation of ME-109Gs and in the confusion of the dog fight, while trying to look in all directions at once and at the same time follow his leader, he failed to see an ME-109 heading straight at him. The German pilot was also a new hand and presumably looking everywhere but ahead of his aircraft and the result was a head-on collision. He did not know much about the collision recalling only a big bang and the jarring impact. The next thing he recalled was dangling from his parachute with a broken arm and leg. He landed in a field and passed out to wake up in a Luftwaffe hospital. He noticed another injured German pilot in the bed next to him who turned out to be the ME-109 pilot he had collided with, and whose experience and injuries were similar. They became quite good ward mates and he said the Germans treated him well while he was in the Luftwaffe hospital. The two tyro fighter pilots used to take walks on their crutches together and have races along the hospital ward. When the Germans decided he could walk without his crutches they transferred him to Dulag Luft for interrogation, and from there he moved to Stulag Luft III before being transferred to a POW camp in Poland. In the prison camp anyone volunteering for camp fatigues was castigated by his fellow prisoners as a collaborator. He found that the German guards called for prisoners to collect their laundry and take it to a nearby concentration camp for women who would do the washing. The Germans issued bars of soap for the washing and he made sure that he obtained a double ration. Soap being a very desirable commodity in the camp his extra supply made him popular with the Polish inmates. In addition, being young and reasonably good looking, he found himself in demand and thus able to be selective. Taking advantage of the situation he negotiated favours in return for his extra bars of soap, as well as ensuring a good service for his own laundry. Some of his fellow POWs could not figure out why he often had a smile on his face when returning to the camp. His explanation to the escape committee for his apparent collaboration was that he was planning to use his exit pass out of the camp as a means to escape. The committee accepted his explanation but before having to report back on the extent of his plans the Russian advance threatened the camp and the Germans marched the prisoners-of-war westwards into Germany until the advancing British troops rescued them.