Instructing on an O.T.U. was described, not without euphemism, as ‘a rest’; as though the inherent strain of flying, especially in company with inexperienced companions prone to error, could ever be removed entirely. Even so, there is no doubt that this pilot was, by then, in need of whatever could be offered in the way of resting.
‘Hawarden,’ he says bleakly, ‘was not very interesting. Students came through on a production belt.’
But he remembers one exception: the Canadian ‘Screwball’ Beurling, who won renown in Malta and soon became legendary the world over as a sort of aerial Daniel Boone: an unkempt, rebellious individualist with fantastic gifts of marksmanship and timing.
Beurling first came to the new instructor’s notice when he had finished his dual instruction on Miles Masters.
‘I didn’t give very much dual instruction: I’d been paid for doing that in peacetime, but in wartime I didn’t think that the extra risk warranted it!’ So much for Lacey’s opinion of the average pupil’s reliability.
The first time he led Screwball on formation training, the latter was flying Number Three, on his left. They practised gentle turns, tight formation, steeper turns, and ended with a dive over the airfield. Lacey had briefed the two pupils to break away and make individual landings after pulling out. Approaching in a shallow dive, building up a lot of speed, they crossed the airfield and he waved them away to carry out their landings. Then he went up in a steep, climbing slow roll. It was only when he was on his back that he realized that Buerling was still with him, tucked tightly in on his port; he stayed there till the roll was completed and Lacey had to call him on the R/T and order him down, or he would have remained in formation for the landing. ‘There are no two ways about it, he was a wonderful pilot; and an even better shot.’
This, the Germans and Screwball Beurling’s friends in Malta learned, when he used to pick his victim and nominate his shot at prodigious ranges and with unerring certainty. ‘Guess I’ll hit this one in the star-board engine’ … a burst from his guns … smoke from the enemy’s starboard engine. ‘I’ll get the pilot, this time’ … a few seconds’ shooting, … and an apparently undamaged aircraft, free of smoke or flame, diving out of control with a dead man in its cockpit. Beurling was killed while landing at Istres long after the war was over.
The six months at Hawarden passed, for Lacey, very slowly. But they were made more tolerable when he realized that other pilots had their rough moments in this war, too. At least the risks he took were on operations, and the sooner he got back to them the happier he would be. But others never had the satisfaction of flying against the enemy, yet had to face situations which he would not have relished.
Such as his old friend, the former Chief Flying Instructor at the Yorkshire Aeroplane Club, Captain Worral, who had been Sir Alan Cobham’s navigator in the latter’s flight round Africa in the Short ‘Singapore’ in 1927-8.
Aged about fifty-seven when the war broke out, he immediately joined Avro’s as a test pilot. Lacey went to lunch with him one day in 1942, and just as he arrived Worral was about to test a Manchester. ‘Sorry I can’t take you up in this one, Ginger, but I’ve got a lot of boffins and flight engineers aboard. However, I’ve got another one to test before lunch, so I’ll take you up with me in that.’
Half-way down the runway, when it was too late to stop, one engine caught fire. Worral took off, went round the aerodrome in flames, and landed.
‘He strolled back and said, “Come on, Ginger, we’ll go and test the other one now.’ As you can imagine, you couldn’t have got me into that second one with an armed escort.”’
He watched Worral take off again. Half-way down the runway, one engine of this Manchester also caught fire. The pilot flew round the circuit, in flames, and landed.
‘This is a dear old gentleman of fifty-nine or sixty; and not even batting an eyelid: we went straight off to lunch as though nothing had happened.’
An O.T.U. didn’t seem too bad, in contrast.
In March, 1942, he got his wish and was posted back to a squadron. The Commanding Officer of the O.T.U., Group Captain D. F. W. Atcherley, (later Air Vice Marshal, C.B.E., D.S.O., D.F.C.), who was killed in 1954 when he was flying a Meteor over the Mediterranean, was sorry to see him go.
He wrote:
10th March 1942
Dear Ginger,
I was so sorry to have missed you yesterday as I would particularly have liked to have said goodbye and thank you to you before you went.
I got back in the Master just after you had left. However, as I have missed the opportunity I am writing to wish you luck—I know you have got it, and to thank you very sincerely for the admirable job you have done here.
You may, or may not have guessed it, I don’t know, but it was apparent to me from the word ‘go’ that your Flight was the best in the O.T.U. You have not only turned out good pupils, but you have also turned out good Instructors, and it was evident too that it was a happy concern from top to bottom. Well you have left your mark, and we will see to it that the standard is kept. I am not very hopeful of securing any official commendation for you, and anyway it is not a thing to discuss, nevertheless I would like you to know that if it lies within my power you shall have some recognition.
All of us wish you luck and are certain of the successes in front of you. You can reflect, if the subject interests you, on the probability or otherwise of having done more good for the general cause by your work here, than hundreds of others have; even in sweeps. At least that is what I think.
Cheerio,
Yours sincerely,
David Atcherley.
He joined No. 602 (City of Glasgow) Squadron, at Kenley. It was commanded by Squadron Leader B. E. (‘Paddy’) Finucane, D.S.O., D.F.C., an Irishman, who was at the time the subject of great notoriety for his swift accumulation of successes which had come after the Battle of Britain; and was later killed when his score stood at thirty-two confirmed.
This squadron was equipped with Spitfire 5Bs, which carried four machine guns and two 20 mm. cannons.
Lacey liked his C.O. and liked his aeroplane, and was beginning to enjoy life again.
On 24th March, exactly a fortnight after joining 602, he was in action for the first time since his rest. He took off in the afternoon as leader of Yellow Section, on a ‘Circus’ to Comines, with the rest of the squadron. They were at 25,000 feet near Cassel, at 4 p.m., on their way to Comines.
The R/T buzzed in their ears as someone switched on to transmit. ‘Yellow One from Yellow Two. My engine keeps cutting.’
‘I wondered why you were keeping such lousy formation. O.K. turn back: we’ll escort you.’
The squadron leader cut in. ‘Red Three (who was his own left wing man) detach and join Yellow Section.’
‘Understood.’ Red Three sounded brassed off at having to leave before the party had really started.
Yellow Section peeled off with Red Three flying cross-overs behind them, diving for the coast, which they crossed at 7,000 ft over Mardyck. That was all right: no enemy fighters had interfered and they were well on their way.
A couple of minutes later, in mid-Channel, Flight Lieutenant Lacey counted his chickens. Something odd … he counted again … they had won a bonus: instead of five aircraft, there were six. The sixth was at the rear of the section and slightly below, climbing to catch up.
Lacey decided to take a closer look at the straggler. ‘Yellow Section, I’m just turning back to have a look at that chap behind.’
The others flew on while he banked steeply away.
He ran at the stranger head-on and when they were four hundred yards apart it pulled hard round to port.
He recognized it as a Focke-Wulf 190.
If the Me. 109 had brought a chill to him, the first time he saw it, the FW 190 was enough to make anyone pass blue lights.
‘Allowing,’ as his combat report records, ‘a windscreen-and-a-half deflection,’ he opened fire and saw a cannon shell explode on its port
wing, leaving a big hole.
That was all he could do. A few seconds later he was left with the impression of a fighter which ‘could walk away from a Spitfire with no trouble at all.’
He watched it disappear in cloud, heading for France, and rejoined his section; it was obviously useless to give chase, and Yellow Two needed escorting home.
He had to wait three weeks before he saw a 190 again. Returning from a sweep between Fecamps and Le Treport, the squadron saw seven of them, 2,000 ft below: but twelve to seven were not odds that the Germans were willing to accept. As the Spitfires began to dive, the Focke-Wulfs opened their throttles; and, without having to dive themselves, disappeared rapidly from sight. This was before the Spitfire 5 had its wingtips clipped.
The sweeps continued nearly every day, but without seeing many enemy aircraft. They were not being drawn: the fighter formations were a taunt to which Goering would not respond; as long as they stayed on the ground, his aeroplanes were safe, and the fighters could not do the damage that the bombers could, so it was not worth going up to try to drive them off; particularly as German aircraft production had fallen, as a result of our bomber raids.
But on the 25th April, while sweeping Hardelot-Hesdin-Le Touquet, about a hundred FW 190s swarmed up to meet the wing in which 602 was flying.
Lacey, leading Yellow Section at 20,000 ft., saw Red Section, which was leading, open fire on one while two more appeared behind them. He called a warning to Red Section and at the same time stall-turned to get in a favourable position; but the two 109s dived away before he could shoot. Red Section had broken and was out of sight; so, with Yellow Two, he went looking for more trade. They saw a pair a thousand feet below and wheeled starboard to move up-sun; then they went in together. In the instant before the Spitfires were in effective range, their quarry saw them and nosed down in a forty-five-degree dive, trailing white smoke and pulling away easily. Although the range was 400 yards, Lacey tried a short burst at one from dead astern and the enemy aircraft steepened its dive, while the smoke emerging from it turned dark brown.
Looking up and behind, Lacey saw two FWs above him. He climbed steeply until he was over them, but they both dived away.
He turned towards Le Touquet, and almost at once another pair of FW 190s came in sight, approaching 500 ft below. He reefed into them and delivered a beam attack during which he saw cannon strikes on their rear fuselages; but again they dived and out-distanced him.
When he came in to land he noticed a group of officers standing, as usual, counting the returning Spitfires. But there was something unusual about this group. Even from a couple of hundred feet up, he could see that the Station Commander and his Staff were there, in their best blue; and there was one figure isolated from the others.
When he stood up in his cockpit he observed that the officer standing a little in front of the group of spectators kept turning to address remarks to his companions and that nobody spoke to him first.
The fitter who jumped up on the wing of the Spit. was grinning with pleasure. He said a few quick words which explained everything and as Lacey looked more closely, he recognized the King.
His Majesty had tea in the Officers’ Mess, and later Lacey was sent for and presented as the officer who had shot down the Heinkel which had bombed the Palace nineteen months before.
King George VI’s first question was: ‘How did you know that that was the Heinkel which bombed the Palace?’
‘I hadn’t the slightest idea that it had been near the Palace, sir. It was the Ops. Room who informed me, when I got back to camp, of the Heinkel’s identity.’
Even this royal occasion had a particularly R.A.F., essentially a Fighter Command, facet. While talking to His Majesty, Lacey noticed that the Mess bar had opened and, with spontaneous politeness, he asked: ‘Would you like a drink sir?’
To which King George replied: ‘Yes, please.’
And Lacey, meaning no disrespect, uttered the words which came naturally to every R.A.F. officer. He turned to the barman: ‘Two beers please.’
The King drank his without hesitation, and it was only when Lacey noticed a frown on the face of the C-in-C Fighter Command and some apprehension on the faces of the Staff and the C.O., that he gave the matter any thought. He noticed that when the King had his next drink, it was a glass of sherry.
His time with No. 602 Squadron was short. He had earned great fame; and, America having entered the war only five months earlier, British fighting men with outstanding records were being sent on goodwill tours to awaken enthusiasm.
On 25th April, 1942, he was told to prepare for a visit to the U.S.A. He left the squadron with an assessment of flying ability, signed by Paddy Finucane, of ‘Exceptional’.
The rest of April and the early days of May were spent in being briefed on his mission to the States. At the American Embassy he was in the care of the Assistant Air Attache, ‘a wonderful American called Tommy Hitchcock’, who was a ten-goal polo player; America’s greatest.
Major Hitchcock, American Army Air Corps, had a luxurious flat in Grosvenor Square, where Flight Lieutenant Lacey used to stay. It was a fabulous spell of easy living after more than two-and-a-half years of active service; it was also an introduction to genuine American informality.
One morning, after a celebratory night, the effects of which not even long immersion in a sunken marble bath could quite dispel, Tommy said that he had to go across the square to his office to do a few jobs before they took up where they had left off the previous evening. ‘Would you like to come across and meet my boss?’
His guest thought that the least he could do was meet the Air Attache. He followed Major Hitchcock into a room after a perfunctory knock at the door; and was casually introduced to Mr John Winant, the American Ambassador; who took one look at the two haggard visitors, said ‘I don’t know what the hell you were doing last night, but I’ve got the best cure for it,’ and produced a large bottle of Bourbon from the bottom drawer of his desk.
Lacey still has the large packet of letters of introduction that Tommy Hitchcock gave him: unopened; because the Treasury cancelled his trip on the plea of a lack of dollars.
It was a sharp disappointment, but getting ready for it had been fun. He was posted to H.Q. No. 81 Group as Tactics Officer. And, to mitigate the disappointment, promoted to Acting Squadron Leader, on the 27th May 1942. Air Commodore (later Air Vice Marshal Sir Stanley, C.B.) S. F. Vincent, D.F.C., A.F.C., the A.O.C., gave him a generous brief: ‘There’s a Spitfire established for you as Tactics Officer, and if I see you sitting behind your desk you’re not doing your job. Get round the squadrons. Get round the O.T.Us.’ So his new Tactics Officer did just that. His Spitfire 5, unencumbered by cannons, was a fast personal hack and he darted all over 81 Group. ‘I wasn’t quite certain what my job as Tactics Officer was, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.’
But, after four months, writing training syllabuses palled, despite the abundance of flying and freedom; and when he heard that all the O.T.U.’s had to be canvassed for a very experienced Hurricane pilot to volunteer for rocket development at Boscombe Down, he short-circuited the procedure for obtaining the volunteer by attaching himself to Boscombe Down in that role.
Here, he was part of a small unit commanded by a wing commander, with himself, a flying officer and a sergeant as the other pilots. The work was interesting: working up rocket-shooting to a high enough stage of accuracy to get rockets accepted as a weapon by the Royal Air Force.
It was not the safest of jobs and both the wing commander and the flying officer were killed very soon when their rockets went off while still attached to their aeroplanes.
Eventually the unit refined this weapon enough to be able to hit a tank with it, then began experimenting with 40 mm. cannons for ground attack. By the time they had got these accepted, it had been decided to start a school, at Milfield, near Alnwick, Northumberland, to train instructors in low attack.
Squadron Leader Lacey was posted there as Chief Instructor. He di
d not welcome a return to instructing, although it was on rockets and 40 mm cannons: he wanted to go back to a squadron. By now it was November 1942.
Living on a dispersed site, well away from the airfield, in the hard northern winter, with only the modest fleshpots of two small country towns as relaxation from work which was consistently arduous, the members of No. 1 Special Low Attack Instructors’ School set about making their quarters almost Babylonian in luxury. Lacey’s was an electrical marvel: with an arrangement of lights which would have done credit to the Palladium, heaters, radio sets, a gramophone and a toaster, the room was a web of wires—all emanating from one central light plug. When he switched on this array, all the other lights in the building dimmed while the generators took up the load.
On the 26th March, 1943, he was posted overseas.
CHAPTER TEN - Get Your Knees Brown
He went aboard the S.S. Aorangi, in Liverpool, former flagship of the Canadian-Australasian Lines, not knowing where he was bound.
One of the first things he heard was that a draft of 250 Wrens was coming aboard. The girls appeared while the officers were at dinner. Boarding the ship, they had to walk round the balcony surrounding the First Class Dining Saloon, on the way to their cabins; the handsome parade of legs in black silk stockings was much admired. ‘And the finest pair of legs of the lot belonged to a girl called Sheila, whom I got to know quite well during the trip.’
The voyage got off to an exciting start. Aorangi sailed to Gourock to join a convoy, which would follow the normal practice of crossing the North Atlantic almost to America, before setting a southerly course; to make things more difficult for the U-boats. But one of her engines needed repair and the convoy sailed without her, so she had to make a lone dash two days later, escorted by three destroyers, by the direct route across the Bay of Biscay. The passage was, perforce, made at high speed; filters had been put in the funnels, to prevent sparks from escaping and betraying the vessel’s presence in dangerous waters: her very speed was responsible, by reason of the extra pressure of smoke, for blowing these out of position and she careered jauntily down the Irish Sea and into Biscay laying a trail which, at night, could be seen for many miles by German submarines.
Ginger Lacey: Fighter Pilot Page 14