By the Skin of my Teeth: The Memoirs of an RAF Mustang Pilot in World War II and of Flying Sabres with USAF in Korea

by Colin Downes

  The Oxford University Air Squadron had its headquarters in town with gardens backing on to the Isis, a tributary of the Thames. It was a pleasant spot and popular with the undergraduates as the mess served excellent food at very reasonable prices. Initially, we operated our aircraft from a grass airfield at Shillingford, where I had instructed during the war. Shortly after my arrival the squadron aircraft moved to Abingdon, a wartime bomber base that in 1946 became a Transport Command base operating C-47 Dakota aircraft. We flew our Tiger Moths from the grass areas of the airfield operating from one of the pre-war hangers. Scattered around the airfield in dispersal sites were many abandoned aircraft from the war including several bomber versions of the Mosquito. These aircraft remained unattended for about two years until some mechanics arrived to service the engines and the aircraft were refuelled. As the Mosquitoes became serviceable they were flown to Palestine by mercenary pilots attached to the fledgling Israeli air force. Not surprisingly some did not make it to Palestine and among those that did not complete the journey was ‘Buzz’ or ‘Screwball’ Beurling, one of the top scoring Allied fighter pilots against the Axis air forces, and Canada’s highest scoring ace of the Second World War. I met Beurling briefly when he was a gunnery instructor at the Central Gunnery School, but he was not an endearing character being unpopular with both the RAF and the RCAF. He was very much a ‘rebel without cause’ but he was a naturally talented fighter pilot with an instinctive ability at deflection shooting, although he did not have the inclination or patience to impart this skill to others. When the RCAF demobilized him after the war he was unable to adjust to civil life and after a period of ‘living rough’ offered his flying services to the Israelis in 1948. He died on a ferry flight from England to Palestine when his aircraft crashed after take-off following a transit stop at Rome International Airport.

  During the university summer break all members of the air squadron attended a mandatory two-week camp at an airfield near the coast, and I have amusing memories of both the camps I attended. Apart from taking all our Tiger Moths to camp the RAF provided a Harvard trainer and a twin engine Airspeed Oxford for advanced training during the camp. In my first year at Oxford the camp was at Shoreham-on-Sea in Sussex near the seaside resort of Brighton. Shoreham airport was a small civil grass airfield and was home to the Miles Aircraft Company and the South Coast Flying Club. During our stay the airport organized a weekend air show and flying display. I was asked to demonstrate the Tiger Moth, and an undergraduate pupil asked to fly with me during the display. As he was a member of the squadron indemnification was not required! After take-off I made a low pass with a steep turn around the spectators, before pulling up for a couple of slow rolls across the airfield. Climbing up to demonstrate a loop, I continued into a second loop, rolling out on top of the loop to put the aircraft into a spin. I delayed my recovery as long as I dared in order to make a steep dive and low pass alongside the crowd to finish the show. My rear seat passenger had remained silent during the whole display and as I prepared for a tight, side-slipping, short landing close to spectators I laughingly called out to him, ‘How did you enjoy that? I bet 50 per cent of the people down there thought we would have an accident!’ A faint voice filtered through to me from the speaking tube, ‘50 per cent of the people up here have!’

  The second summer camp was at RAF Chivenor, an RAF flying training airfield on the North Devon coast at the mouth of the River Taw, near Barnstable. On our last weekend at the camp, three ex-RAF undergraduate friends and I decided to play golf at Westward Ho, a famous links course on the south side of the Taw estuary. The weather was sunny and warm as we set off in two cars for the 40 miles drive via the towns of Barnstable and Bideford. After the golf game that my partner and I won, despite protests of cheating, we returned to Bideford for the dinner to be paid for by the losers. Bideford is an interesting small town at the junction of the Torridge and Taw rivers with a long history as a naval shipyard. We had a convivial evening and on leaving the pub at closing time, someone suggested skinny-dipping from the beach in Bideford Bay. Not for a moment did I suspect any skulduggery but while the two of us were swimming we noticed that the other two had left the beach, and arriving back at the car naked and wet we discovered they had departed taking our clothes and shoes with them. My car at the time was a rare 1937 Auburn roadster that was a potent automobile even ten years after its manufacture. It had a big straight eight cylinders Lycoming engine giving immense low-end torque that resulted in acceleration over a quarter mile that was bettered at the time only by the 1938 supercharged Cord. Regrettably, this performance was not matched by the Bendix cable operated brakes that had to be finely adjusted otherwise the Auburn could become lethal in the wet. This may be the reason for my father’s generosity in providing the more suitable alternative of a new MG. The Auburn had an interesting gear shift, similar to that on the French Delage and Delahaye: the Cotal electric ‘H’ box that could be switched off when not in use. In the event of an electrical failure there was provision for a standby manual gear shift that was inserted into the floor. This feature was to prove a significant factor in subsequent events to follow. Although the weather was fine we had a cold, draughty and uncomfortable 40 miles drive back to Chivenor. There was little traffic on the road but in passing through Bideford and Barnstable I had occasionally to stop at traffic lights and I feared that some diligent upholder of the law would see us ‘au naturel’ and charge us with indecent exposure in public. I had visions of a friendly bobby leaning over the car to say, “ello, ‘ello, wot ‘ave we ‘ere – a couple of Lord Godivas?!’ Fortunately, the only surprised reaction occurred from the service police on guard duty when we passed through the camp gate. By the time we arrived at the mess we were certainly dry but cold and shivering with goose bumps forming on goose flesh. I found my belongings in my room and while soaking in a hot bath I contemplated my revenge.

  This was to occur unintentionally on the instigator of the prank shortly after our return to Oxford. Our tormentor returned by air and I returned via London in order to visit a girl friend. I arrived in Oxford the following day to be greeted by my friend in a very agitated state to tell me that he and his wife had been awakened at five o’clock in the morning by the local police, accompanied by two detectives from the London CID, to inquire as to his whereabouts and activity over the past twenty-four hours. Although his wife was able to provide an acceptable alibi for him, he wondered but said nothing regarding any possible involvement on my part as the police did not offer any explanation when producing his service hat for identification. I had borrowed the hat after losing my own while at Chivenor. The hat was found in a stolen car used in a major robbery, and as it had his name marked clearly inside (shades of the Cumming’s affair(!)) he was implicated in the police investigation. I assumed the thieves were foiled in an attempt to steal my car for a fast getaway by the unusual gear shift arrangement and looked elsewhere. They probably took the hat to distract and divert the police after the robbery. I was impressed at the speed by which the police traced my friend through the Air Ministry to his digs in Oxford. I gave a statement to the police explaining the presence of the hat that satisfied them and they returned the hat to its rightful owner. I then sent a suitable and contrite floral apology to the wife for the shock and embarrassment she experienced. There were no further repercussions from the authorities and this seemingly casual incident brought home to both of us the wisdom of the advice Polonius gave Laertes in Hamlet, Neither a borrower nor lender be: for loan oft loses both itself and friend: and borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. Shortly after this episode my father gave me my first new car, an MG-TD, a less lethal vehicle than the Auburn.

  During my stay at Oxford I flew some trips to Vienna in the Dakota as supernumerary pilot and it was an interesting experience. This was my first visit to Vienna and I hoped to see something of this fine city, but as it was divided into four zones occupied by British, American, French and Russian troops this became difficult. Fortunat
ely, the British occupied the most interesting part of the city, with officers accommodated in the Sacher Hotel near the Opera House. The Allied troops used military script as payment in authorized places and it could not be used in the Austrian economy. The Austrian schilling became devalued with people carrying bundles of the old currency into the banks and coming out with just handfuls in exchange. We solved the problem of entertaining ourselves, and at the same time supporting the local economy, by carrying a parachute bag filled with coffee or cocoa that fetched a good price on the black market. This was of course illegal but we could only use the Austrian schillings in Vienna and they could not be exchanged for any other currency. We therefore took just enough to cover our expenses when visiting the restaurants and night clubs that were prohibitively expensive. This was the only way in which we could get out of the Officers’ Club and entertain ourselves during the couple of days we spent in Vienna. We did not really consider these transactions black market (as with penicillin in the film The Third Man) and we considered the transactions were more that of a faintly grey market. We attempted to delude ourselves that we were doing the deprived Austrians a favour, but, as the saying goes, there is no way to be half pregnant! Unfortunately, in the process of enjoying ourselves I picked up a souvenir that I could have done without during one of my Dakota trips to Vienna. I have never been airsick in my life and shortly after a trip to Vienna I started to feel quite ill while flying. I fought this off for a couple of days until one morning while shaving I saw a gaunt yellow face I did not recognize looking back at me with matching yellow eyes from the mirror. My suspicions of jaundice, or to be specifically more medically correct, infectious hepatitis became apparent when on relieving myself I saw what appeared to be Guinness. The doctor shipped me off to the RAF hospital at Wroughton where I spent a couple of weeks before being released with strict instructions to consume no alcohol for at least six months. It was interesting that the majority of the injuries in the RAF hospital were not from flying accidents but from motor cycle accidents, mess games and rugby football. One squadron leader in the psychiatric ward appeared perfectly normal to me, despite completing three tours of bomber operations including one on pathfinders. His problem arose while instructing at a bomber OTU when he became obsessed at losing sight of the airfield and would not leave the circuit. I should have thought that a rest from flying in some ground job would solve his maladjustment. However, after several days of hourly sessions with the hospital’s psychiatric staff, they diagnosed his mental ailment as stemming from being locked in a cupboard for some hours when he was a child. It seemed to me that some of the psychiatric staff could have benefited from the odd trip with Bomber Command to the Ruhr or Berlin.

  During my time on the squadron I had one flying accident that occurred while landing in a Tiger Moth. However, I was not injured and the only injury to my companion was to his pride. The CO of the squadron was Wing Commander John Embling, DSO, a pre-war graduate of the university and a very experienced bomber pilot during the war. I liked Embling but he did not do much flying during his command and one day he suggested we carry out some simulated instrument flying in preparation for an instrument rating check. He acted as safety pilot from the front seat while I carried out instrument flying under a hood covering the rear cockpit. We returned to Abingdon to change seats and I found I could not release the hood so that I was unable to see what transpired. Embling attempted to land as close to our dispersal as possible and to do so had to pass over our hanger. He certainly succeeded beyond his expectations making the closest touch down to our dispersal ever achieved on the squadron. He made a very tight power off descending turn at low speed but neglected to take into account the strong wind blowing at the time. The aircraft hit a wind shear over the hanger and we dropped like a stone from about fifty feet. We just missed landing on the hanger roof as we ploughed into the grass beside the perimeter track. The impact was very severe and fortunately there was no fire. When I extracted myself from the wreckage I saw the propeller and wheels were sheared off and the upper wings had folded down from the middle leaving the fuel tank hanging precariously over Embling’s head and held on by just one bolt from one of the wing struts. Embling remained motionless like Damocles in a state of shock and as I clambered over to him I noticed fuel from the tank dripping down on top of him. A single spark would probably have consumed both of us in flames. I asked him if he was alright and that he must get out of the cockpit quickly as there was a danger of fire but he made no reply. I called to members of the squadron who, not having far to run, had arrived on the scene before the crash crew and we got him away from the wreckage As it turned out Embling was only bruised and shaken but the accident was very embarrassing for him and I felt very sorry for him. As I was blind for the whole manoeuvre there was little I could contribute to the accident report as clearly the cause was pilot error and the less said the better other than to emphasize the strength of the wind. Embling was a very experienced pilot but at the time of the accident he was not in current flying practice on light aircraft, especially under windy conditions. He left us shortly after the accident and I heard later that he was killed while on a Meteor jet conversion course. He was a victim of the deadly ‘phantom diver’ peculiarity of the Meteor when during an approach to land if the pilot selected his wheels down with the air brakes out the aircraft rolled on its back with insufficient height in which to recover. Embling’s replacement was a Wing Commander Christopher Foxley-Norris, DSO, also a pre-war graduate of the university and a Battle of Britain fighter pilot. He commanded one of the Mosquito squadrons on the Banff strike wing while 65 Squadron was escorting them to Norway. He went on to become an Air Chief Marshal and I met him again in Singapore after I retired from the RAF when he commanded the Far East Air Force.

  Apart from my touch of Blue Danube hepatitis, I enjoyed my two years at Oxford and in 1948 in response to a request to return to a fighter squadron the Air Ministry posted me to No. 601 ‘County of London’ RAuxAF Squadron at Hendon, in the north-west London area. The ‘P’ Staff no doubt felt they had met me halfway in that I could serve a double purpose in having a flying instructor’s rating. An auxiliary squadron had three regular RAF officers on the squadron establishment with two General Duties officers and one engineer officer, with the appropriate staff all reporting to an auxiliary commanding officer. The squadron pilots and most of the engineering and administrative staff came from the auxiliary air force. My duties were to act as temporary squadron CO during the week then handing over to the auxiliary commanding officer at weekends. I took over from an ex-Battle of Britain pilot, Flight Lieutenant ‘Chips’ Carpenter, DFC. The squadron flew the Spitfire XVI, which was similar to the Spitfire IX but with a Packard Merlin 266 engine giving 1,705 hp. The aircraft had the clipped wing for low-level operation with a 75 gallon (Imp.) fuel tank installed behind the pilot. The Spitfire XVI with a full fuselage tank was unstable and unpleasant to fly, especially during mock dog fights. The Spitfire and the Mustang when flown with a full fuselage tank responded in a similar manner by tucking into a turn and for this reason for normal flying we never flew with more than 30 gallons in the rear fuselage tank. A bubble canopy replaced the sliding canopy giving much improved visibility. The aircraft armament was two 20 mm cannon and two 0.5 in Browning machine-gun. Hendon was a famous pre-war fighter base but during the war due to its small size within a built-up urban area it became an air communications base. We shared it with No. 604 ‘County of Middlesex’ RAuxAF Squadron and a communications squadron operating Avro Ansons. The runway was a short 800 yards with a high railway embankment at one end and two pre-war hangers at the other. The airfield, being surrounded by housing, was not suitable for the operation of modern fighter aircraft. At other RAuxAF airfields, such as Biggin Hill to the South, there were longer unobstructed runways suitable for operating Griffon engine Spitfire XXIIs. The Spitfire XXII was a development from the Spitfire XXI and fitted with a bubble canopy. It became the mainstay of the Royal Auxiliary Ai
r Force until re-equipped with Vampire or Meteor jet fighters. The Spitfire XXI was an inferior development of the Spitfire XIV: the best and fastest of all the Griffon Spitfires. However, we only had the more pleasant to fly Merlin Spitfire XVI, and before allowing a new pilot to take-off and land the Spitfire at Hendon, I would give him some circuits flying from the back seat of a Harvard. The new pilot would then fly the Harvard to Fighter Command’s communication airfield at Bovingdon, to the north of London, with me following in the Spitfire. The new pilot would fly some circuits in the Spitfire landing on a measured length of the runway similar to that of Hendon. If the landings were satisfactory he would fly the Spitfire back for his first landing at Hendon. A few pilots over-shot the short runway without serious consequences to the surrounding housing; but on one occasion an Anson from the communications squadron had an engine fail on take-off and it crashed into a shopping area in Edgeware killing the crew of two and three civilians.