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 speed of sound at sea level is around 760 mph at a standard temperature of 59°F. The higher the temperatures at sea level the higher the speed of sound to around 790 mph at 105°F. The speed of sound reduces with an increase in altitude and a reduction in temperature, until at 35,000 feet the equivalent air speed is less than half that at sea level. To achieve a speed of Mach One in the F-86, the speed of sound at that altitude, it was necessary to dive the F-86 steeply from above 35,000 feet, and with its swept wing design the aircraft passed quickly through Mach 0.96 into the compressibility area of transonic flight. A slight pitch-up and vibration occurred as the F-86 passed through this envelope before going sonic and the control returned to normal. A maximum speed of around Mach 1.01 was reached but as the altitude decreased and the critical Mach number increased the aircraft returned to subsonic speed. The compressibility or shock waves forming on the aircraft as the airflow became supersonic and broke away, set up abrupt changes of air pressure that created the sonic boom or bang, much in the same way that pressure changes from a whip lash produces a crack and a lightning bolt a clap of thunder. The sonic boom created by the aircraft will follow the aircraft’s flight path along the ground, and it was customary for pilots to aim this at some specific target area. As a result the base at Nellis and the town of Las Vegas were subjected to many such booms during the day until complaints from hospitals and irate owners of broken windows resulted in the issue of orders directing all pilots to aim their sonic booms at the open desert area.

  Flying the F-86 was, of course, the fastest I had flown in level or vertical flight at the time and the F-86 was for me the ultimate fighter and it continued to be for some time afterwards. The aircraft was a stable and controllable platform in both air-air and air-ground gunnery. During the course we carried out air-air combat with camera guns and realistic missions against targets involving guns, rockets, napalm and bombs. The desert provided unlimited space for the appropriate tactical weapons ranges and in the process I spread a lot of ordnance around the desert to the north of Las Vegas. I became accustomed to the use of the radio compass by which all USAF pilots navigated and it certainly made navigation over the featureless desert much easier. This was a navigation aid absent from the RAF fighters until the introduction of DME, measuring the distance and vector to a base beacon. During my navigation exercises I added two more unauthorized firsts to my flying compendium. The first was in registering a minus altitude by flying an F-86 at 100 feet over Death Valley that lay 200 feet below sea level. This would stand as the lowest point of my low flying until I landed with a Herald alongside the Dead Sea in Israel at 1,200 feet below sea level. The other was a truly awe inspiring experience when I flew down part of the Grand Canyon on the Nevada – Colorado border above Lake Mead with the canyon walls towering hundreds of feet above, hemming in my F-86 as I flew at 300 knots 100 feet above the river.

  It was a relief to drive into Las Vegas of an evening to sample some of the many attractions of that truly unique oasis in the desert. Despite the fact that we were on the flight line by 5.00 am, the temptations were too great as the hotel casinos offered many allurements of food, drink and entertainment at surprisingly low prices. The hotels also provided top class shows with world renowned artistes, and the legs of the equally renowned show girls had to be the best, and longest, in the entertainment business. For some of us there was the temptation of the gaming tables but with our rates of pay we were fairly immune to any dreams of avarice. Similarly, any thoughts regarding those long-stemmed and unadorned American beauties quickly evaporated when it became evident that mink coats and sports convertibles did not figure in our conversations. However, it was all a new experience of entertainment on the large scale and a very enjoyable experience as many of us appeared bleary eyed on the flight line the following morning. The words of advice from Mr O’Neal, my voluble Irish-American instructor of my Clewiston flight days, when faced with the hedonistic temptations of Miami would echo back to me during our stay at Las Vegas; perhaps they helped, but the selection of full emergency oxygen when boarding my aircraft prior to our first flight of the day probably helped more.

  One young 2nd lieutenant on an adjacent F-80 course to us was very attracted to the bright neon of Las Vegas and surprisingly did not have his wings singed. His passion was the dice game of craps at which he was either very knowledgeable or extremely lucky, and probably both. In a short period of time he successfully parlayed a modest stake into some $6,000, a not inconsequential sum in 1953. This was just enough for him to realize his dream of owning a red Cadillac convertible. He turned up at the flight line with his pride and joy and parked it next to the squadron offices, to show the car off to his envious fellow students. This was strictly contrary to base regulations as no private cars were allowed on the operational area of the base let alone the flight line. An F-80 after completing a weapons sortie taxied into the squadron dispersal with one of its 3-inch rockets still on the rocket rail under the wing, and as the aircraft swung into the parking bay the rocket released and firing up headed for the squadron building about three feet off the ground. The rocket had a solid practice head with no explosives but in other respects it was a standard rocket and on entering the building it passed through the main administrative office with several clerks present, collecting one typewriter in the process, before passing through the building and exiting where the lieutenant had parked his car. The rocket hit the Cadillac head-on and passed through the V-8 engine block, the front and back seats and came to rest halfway through the spare wheel in the trunk of the car. Miraculously nobody was hurt but the Cadillac was a write-off having been drilled from end to end. The unfortunate lieutenant was unable to claim on his insurance as the car was parked illegally in a prohibited area. The loss of the car may have saved the lieutenant from a reprimand, although I do not imagine this was much consolation to him under the circumstances. Although very young he showed a true gambler’s philosophy when I commiserated with him on his loss. With a certain savoir faire he shrugged his shoulders and said ‘Yeah, well as they say you win some and you lose some. I’ll make it back and those SOBs can eat their hearts out watching me cruise ‘The Strip’ in my next one’!

  Las Vegas

  In Nevada did a gleeful Satan

  Some Neon Pleasure Domes decree;

  And Silver like a mighty torrent ran

  Through coffers too numerous to scan,

  Onto that vast and waterless sea:

  From the many casinos built on sand

  That makes up this exotic wonderland.

  After a thoroughly enjoyable stay in Nevada we headed for Los Angeles to visit the North American Aircraft factory at Longbeach, home of the P-51 Mustang in the forties and the F-86 Sabre in the fifties. We also visited the Douglas Aircraft factory and both were a revelation after visiting British aircraft factories. I understood how the P-51 Mustang was so superior in build quality compared with the Spitfire, together with the American ability to produce such vast quantities of well-built aircraft. While at the North American plant I saw the prototype of the F-100 Super Sabre; a third generation jet fighter developed from the F-86 Sabre and the first production aircraft of the 100 Series of fighters to fly supersonic in level flight. A short leave followed in the Los Angeles area and invitations came from the entertainment world of Hollywood where the British colony of actors headed by Deborah Carr and her husband Tony Barclay, an ex-Battle of Britain pilot, took an interest in us. I visited some of the film studios, one of which was endeavouring to make a film with Marilyn Monroe before she was replaced by Kim Novak. The Australian actor Peter Finch took me to a very weird party given by Vivien Leigh at David Niven’s house, with many British expatriates present including Joan Fontaine. Such generous hospitality was both entertaining and enjoyable if a little revealing at times, and part of any long standing illusion of Hollywood was shattered in the process. Particularly while having a drink with David Niven, who perhaps revealed more than he should have of his early da
ys in Hollywood.

  Three very enjoyable lunches and a round of golf provided lasting memories of my stay in Hollywood and San Francisco. When visiting the film studios in Hollywood I met an attractive girl who was the personal assistant to Cary Grant, and she introduced me to the film star. Whether it was because I was a compatriot or off to the war in Korea I do not know, but Cary Grant was extremely friendly and hospitable. I found him very pleasant and entertaining; in fact exactly as he appeared in his films. He invited me to lunch with him and his secretary at his favourite steak restaurant. It was a small and unpretentious restaurant that claimed to serve the best steaks in the world, a claim readily confirmed by Cary Grant as a regular customer. The restaurateur obtained his beef exclusively from a free-range ranch in Kansas. The meat travelled from the abattoir to the restaurant by truck, keeping it chilled but not frozen; it was then hung at a constant temperature to age and tenderise naturally before serving. The result was certainly the best steak that I had eaten. Cary Grant was an excellent host, entertaining us with many amusing and revealing anecdotes. I was so impressed by my meal that I was determined to repeat it before I left Hollywood, as I anticipated it would be some time before I was likely to have the opportunity of a good steak before returning to Europe. I invited Cary Grant’s secretary to lunch with me and at first she demurred. I then pitched the ‘off to war’ routine and she agreed warning me that the restaurant was very expensive. However, I assessed the opportunity merited any liquidity problems that might result. I was not disappointed and we had another superb meal accompanied by a very acceptable Californian cabernet. This was just as well in helping to anaesthetise the shock of the reckoning. My companion had not exaggerated, but then, perfection does not come cheap; and as it turned out this was one of my better investments.

  Before leaving Hollywood I decided to try out the famous Brown Derby restaurant. I was with Tom Sawyer, one of the pilots in our group and we were in uniform waiting in line for a table when the maitre d’ approached me to ask if we would like to join Miss Dinah Shore at her table for lunch. Miss Shore happened to be one of my favourite singers at the time and I readily agreed. She was lunching with her agent and there was probably an ulterior motive for the invitation as a photographer joined us shortly afterwards to take photographs. Despite this, we had a most enjoyable meal as Dinah Shore was not only very attractive but very pleasant and genuine company as we talked about the war in Europe when she entertained the troops. At the time Miss Shore had a TV programme sponsored by Chevrolet and she jokingly prevailed on us only to drive a Chevrolet while in the States. As it happened I did rent a Chevrolet convertible while in San Francisco, where we moved for processing to Japan and Korea from Camp Stoneman. I rented a small studio apartment on Nob Hill and thoroughly enjoyed a short but busy time exploring the Bay area. On one occasion I drove down the coast to Carmel to play golf with three of the RAF pilots: Max Higson, Tom Sawyer and John Chick at the famous Pebble Beach course. Fortunately, while investigating a teeing-off time and the cost of a round, a charming lady approached me inviting us to be her guests. This was another example of the wonderful and generous hospitality extended to us while we were in California. I remember I lost at least one ball to the Pacific, so the golf may not have been that good but the location was and it was certainly a memorable day. We topped off the trip on the way back by calling in on Steinbeck’s Cannery Row in Monterey. All in all it was a busy and hectic month before my departure to Japan. I deliberately delayed my note of thanks to our charming and generous benefactor in Pebble Beach until I arrived at Kimpo, as I felt sure she would appreciate it more coming from the war in Korea than from San Francisco. I also had a short but enjoyable stay in Sausilito, an artists’ colony across San Francisco Bay, but this was of a more personal nature – Just one of those things. With all this going on it was with many regrets I boarded a Douglas DC-4 for Honolulu, promising myself that one day I would return to San Francisco. However, it would be many years before I could do so and when I did, it just did not seem to be the same; or perhaps it was I that was not the same.

  The flight to Honolulu took twelve hours and my first impression of the famous Waikiki Beach was a disappointment as I expected it to be, like everything else in the United States, so much bigger. It certainly looked very different in 1953 than it does today with no high rise buildings and only a few beach houses with just three hotels on the beach, one white, one brown and one pink. Another twelve-hour flight brought us to Wake Island for a refuelling stop before the final twelve-hour flight to Tokyo. Our stay in Tokyo at the Daichi Hotel, near the Imperial Palace and the previous headquarters of General Douglas MacArthur, was unmemorable apart from an introduction to Tokyo nightlife and the Japanese style of entertaining in days before it became prohibitively expensive. After a short stay in Tokyo our orders came to proceed to Korea, with six of us to join the 4th Fighter Group at K-14 Kimpo and the other six to join the 51st Fighter Group at K-13 Suwon. All the airfields in Korea, as is the military custom, were designated and called by a K number, with the two fighter interceptor groups based near Seoul at Kimpo and Suwon. We left the main transport air base of Tachikawa near Tokyo aboard a Douglas C-47 Dakota. This twin-engine transport was the tried, trusted and reliable workhorse of the Second World War as troop carrier, freighter and glider tug. As a troop carrier it would carry thirty troops on benches lining the sides of the cabin, and in civilian trim as the DC-3 the aircraft carried twenty-eight passenger seats. As we sat on the benches facing one another I reflected on an Indian Air Force Flight Lieutenant friend flying Dakotas during the period of the partition of India in 1947. As a result of the massacres taking place between the Hindus and Moslems there was a general state of panic as Hindus in the new state of Pakistan tried to get back into India, and the Moslems in India tried to get into Pakistan. My friend told me that his squadron had the task of flying back and forth across the border with their aircraft packed with refugees. No luggage was allowed on board and the cabin was stripped bare with the unfortunate refugees packed like sardines in a tin but without a key. The overloaded Dakota staggered into the air with just enough fuel for a round trip of 200 miles. Unofficially, there were no air fares involved but much gold and jewellery changed hands in establishing priorities, and no doubt the impecunious had to make do with shank’s pony. My friend told me that his record for the number of refugees packed into his Dakota was 118, and looking at ourselves half filling the aircraft this seemed not only inconceivable but physically impossible. I wondered if this was an activity noteworthy enough for entry into the Guinness Book of Records, as it seemed a more significant achievement than the number of students packed into a telephone booth or a mini motor car, not that the FAA or CAA would sanction such an undertaking. Following the Indian transmigration my friend retired from the air force and moved to Nepal where he joined Royal Nepal Airline as senior pilot. He later became the personal pilot to the King and commander of the Royal Flight with the rank of full colonel. We were to meet again in the seventies when I was involved in the sale of HS-748 aircraft to the airline and the Royal Flight. The aircraft ordered for the Royal Flight had to fulfil a military role and consequently the cargo door was modified for the dropping of supplies and paratroops. Following the delivery of the aircraft to Nepal, my friend was demonstrating to the King and his cabinet the dropping of paratroops using the current Dakota aircraft and I was scheduled to accompany him on the drop. At the last moment he asked if I minded stepping down so that his son could fly with him in the co-pilot’s seat. I watched the paratroops drop without incident into a valley and the Dakota returned to make a low pass down the valley. My friend did not see some high tension cables strung across the valley until the last moment. He banked the Dakota and pulled up in an effort to avoid them but a wing tip hit the cable, cart wheeling the aircraft into the ground with the loss of my friend, his son and two dispatchers.

  Very little was seen during the flight to Korea until scattered clouds allowed a glimp
se of a bare and inhospitable land of craggy, treeless mountains in varying shades of brown, capped by sugar icing. Approaching the K-14 airfield on the south side of the Han River a few miles west of Seoul, the aircraft passed over a wide estuary with many dark brown islets breaking the light brown coloured water of the estuary. The airfield came into view surrounded by the flat brown paddy fields. We landed on the single macadam airstrip surrounded on both sides by the aircraft revetment areas for the multitude of aircraft operating out of K-14. The 4th Fighter Interceptor Wing with its F-86 aircraft operated from the north side of the airfield with the 67th Tactical Reconnaissance Wing (TRW) operating F-80 and A-26 aircraft, together with the Meteor VIIIs of 77 RAAF Squadron, on the south side of the east-west runway. This was ‘The Chosen – Land of the Morning Calm’, and it would be my home for the next nine months. Kimpo airfield was an ex-Japanese fighter base during the Second World War and was set in the midst of what was then entirely a rural and farming landscape. To the east low hills merged into the mountain range south of Seoul, and 3 miles to the north of the airfield the Han River ran north-west from Seoul before joining the Imjin River, which formed the western extremity of the front line. The two rivers formed an estuary 2 miles wide with extensive mud flats on an ever widening outflow into the Yellow Sea some 20 miles to the west. Millions of geese and duck could be seen on the mud flats during the day before they flew onto the paddy fields in the evening. The rice paddy fields surrounding the airfield stretched 10 mil es to the west and south to the port of Inchon. Odours, when sweet violets sicken, live within the sense they quicken.